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^-^.    /VlvO-o-rL. 


THE 


POETICAL    WORKS 


JOHN    MILTON. 


EDITED  BY 


SIR    EGEETON    BEYDGES,    BART. 


Is  not  each  great,  each  amiable  Muse 

Of  classic  ages  in  our  Milton  met  ? 

A  genius  universal  as  his  theme ; 

Astonishing  as  Chaos ;  as  the  bloom  » 

Of  blowing  Eden  fair;  as  Heaven  sublime !  — THOMSON. 


■     NEW  YORK: 
A.    0.    ARMSTRONG-    &    SON", 
714  Broadway. 


4- 


1/J7I. 


TO 

WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH  AND  ROBERT  SOUTHEY, 
THIS  VOLUME 

IS   APPROPKIATELT  DEDICATED. 


ivilOlllS 


COI^TEISTTS. 

PiLOE. 

xl 

c 
ci 
cii 
cii 
cv 

111 
114 
143 
172 
193 
221 
245 
272 
290 
310 
342 
372 
395 

416 
420 
451 
488 
514 
550 
554 
620 
690 
697 
714 
717 
726 

LIFE  OF  MILTON 

APPENDIX:— 

I.  MEMORANDA  RELATING  TO  THE  FAMILY  OF  POWELL,  OP  FOREST  HILL,  OX 
FORDSHIRE 

n.  DESCENDANTS  OF  MILTON 

III.  MILTON'S  AGREEMENT  WITH  MR.  SYMONS  FOR  "  PARADISE  LOST  " 

IV.  COWLEY'S  PREFACE  TO  HIS  POEMS,  1656 

V.  SELECTED  ENCOMIASTIC  LINES 

PARADISE  LOST:— 

INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS  ON  THE  POEM 

BOOK  I 

—      II 

—     Ill 

—     IV 

—       V 

—     VI 

—    VII 

—  YIII * 

—      IX 

X 

—      XI 

—    XII 

PARADISE  REGAINED:— 

INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS  ON  THE  POEM 

BOOK  I 

—      II 

—     Ill 

—     IV 

REMARKS  ON  MILTON'S  VERSIFICATION 

SAMSON  AGONISTES 

COMUS 

ARCADES 

LYCIDAS 

LALLEGRO  and  IL  PENSEROSO ; 

l'allegro 

IL  PENSKfiOSO •. 

(5) 

vi  CONTENTS. 


PXOE. 

SONNETS:— 

■'--I.  To  the  Nightingale 737 

II.  "  Donna  legiadra,  il  cui  bel  nome  honora  " 738 

III.  "  Qual  in  colle  aspro,  al  imbrunir  di  sera  " 739 

Canzone 739 

IV.  "  Diodati,  e  te  1'  diro  con  maraviglia  " 740 

r.  "  Per  certo  i  bei  vostr'  occhi,  Donna  mia  " 740 

VI.  "  Giovane  piano,  e  senaplicetto  amante  " 740 

VII.  On  his  being  arrived  to  the  Age  of  twenty-three 741 

VIII.  When  the  Assault  was  intended  to  the  City 742 

IX.  To  a  virtuous  young  Lady 743 

X.  To  the  Lady  Margaret  Ley 743 

XI.  On  the  Detraction  which  followed  upon  my  writing  certain  Treatises  744 

XII.  On  the  same 745 

XIII.  To  Mr.  H.  Lavves,  on  the  publishing  his  Airs 746 

XIV.  On  the  Religious  Memory  of  Mrs.  Catharine  Thomson 747 

XV.  To  the  Lord  General  Fairfax 747 

XVI.  To  the  Lord  General  Cromwell 748 

XVII.  To  Sir  Henry  Vane  the  younger 749 

xviii.  On  the  late  Massacre  in  Piemont 750 

■^xix.  On  his  Blindness 751 

XX.  To  Mr.  Lawrence 751 

XXI.  To  Cyriack  Skinner 753 

XXII.  To  the  same 753 

XXIII.  On  his  deceased  Wife 754 

ON  THE  MORNING  OF  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY 755 

THE  PASSION 764 

ODES 766 

Upon  the  Circumcision 767 

T)n  the  Death  of  a  fair  Infant,  dying  of  a  Cough 768 

On  Time 771 

At  a  solemn  Musick 771 

An  Epitaph  on  the  Marchioness  of  Winchester 772 

Song  on  Maj'  Morning 774 

MISCELLANIES  :— 


AT  A  VACATION  EXERCISE  IN.  THE  COLLEGE 775 

AN  EPITAPH  ON  THE  ADMIRABLE  DRAMATIC  POET,  WaLLIAM  SHAKSPEARE.  .  .  779 

ON  THE  UNIVERSITY  CARRIER 779 

ANOTHER  ON  THE  SAME 780 

ON  THE  NEW  FORCES  OP  CONSCIENCE  UNDER  THE  LONG  PARLIAMENT 781 

TRANSLATIONS:— 

HORACE,  ODE  V.  LIB.  1 783 

jFROM  GEOFFREY  OF  MONMOUTH 783 

—  DANTE 783 

—  VARIOUS  'AUTHORS 784 

'^^  PSALMS 785 


CONTENTS.  vii 


PAGE. 

JOANNIS  MILTONI  LONDINENSIS  POBMATA 804 

ELEGIAKUM  LIBER  :— 

I.  Ad  Carolum  Deodatum 808 

II.  Iq  Obitum  Praeconis  Academici  Cantabrigiensis 811 

III.  In  Obitum  Praesulis  Wintoniensis  812 

IV.  Ad  Thomam  Junium,  &c 814 

V.  In  Adventum  Veris 817 

VI.  Ad  Carolum  Deodatum  ruri  commorantem 821 

VII 823 

EPIGRAMMATUM  LIBER:— 

I.  In  Proditionem  Bombardicam 826 

II.  In  eandem 826 

•      in.  In  eandem 827 

IV.  In  eandem 827 

V.  In  Inventorem  Bombardse 827 

VI.  Ad  Leonoram  Romae  canentem 827 

VTi.  Ad  eandem. 827 

VIII.  Ad  eandem 828 

IX  In  Salmasii  Hundredam 828 

X.  In  Salmasium 829 

XI.  In  Morum 829 

xn.  Apologus  de  Rustico  et  Hero 829 

xni.  Ad  Christinam  Suecorum  Reginam,  nomine  Cromwelli 830 

SILVARUM  LIBER  :— 

Psalm  cxiv 831 

Philosophus  ad  Regem  quendam 831 

In  EfBgiei  ejus  Sculptorem 831 

In  Obitum  Procancellarii,  Medici 832 

In  Quintum  Novembris 833 

In  Obitum  Pr^sulis  Eliensis 838 

Naturam  non  pati  Senium 840 

De  Idea  Platonica  quemadmodum  Aristoteles  intellexit 842 

Ad  Patrem 843 

Ad  Salsillum,  Poetam  Romanum,  segrotantem 845 

Mansus 847 

Epitaphium  Damonis 850 

Ad  Joaunem  Rousium,  Oxoniensis  Academiae  Bibliothecarium 856 


ADVERTISEMENT 

TO    THE    ORIGINAL    EDITION. 


To  endeavour  to  remedy  that  which  has  been  well  denominated  by  the 
first  literary  authority  in  England,  "a  disgraceful  defect  in  literature" — ■ 
the  want  of  such  an  edition,  as,  he  flatters  himself,  the  present  will  be 
found — ^to  restore  Milton's  loftiest  poem  to  its  original  purity  j  bringing 
it,  by  means  of  luminous  critical  and  explanatory  notes,  within  the 
comprehension  of  his  humblest  countrymen,  and  at  a  price  which  will 
enable  all  to  become  possessed  of  it : — in  fine,  to  do  justice  to  the  fame 
of  the  greatest  epic  poet  of  any  age  or  country,  by  removing  the  prejudices 
which  party  zeal  and  hate  had  heaped  on  his  memory ; — was  pronounced  a 
bold,  if  not  an  impracticable  undertaking.  That  the  publisher  has  been 
enabled  to  achieve  all  this,  and  bring  the  work  to  a  triumphant  close 
(although  at  an  outlay  which  must,  in  the  event  of  failure,  have  been 
ruinous),  will  ever  be  to  him  a  source  of  the  proudest  gratulation.  That  he 
has  done  so,  he  has  the  collective  testimony  of  the  press,  without  a  single 
exception, — of  an  already  extensive  and  daily  increasing  circulation, — of 
many  distinguished  friends,  whose  expressions  of  approbation,  and  still 
more  substantial  aid,  he  regrets  he  is  not  permitted  to  acknowledge  more 
openly. 

He  takes,  however,  this  opportunity  of  expressing  his  general  obliga- 
tions to  his  reviewers,  as  well  as  to  those  whose  private  applause  is  equally 
gratifying.  To  the  venerable  and  highly-endowed  Editor,  Sir  Egerton 
Brydges,  for  his  unwearied  labour,  research,  and  assiduity — to  the  Lau- 
i"eate,  but  for  whose  kindly  encouragement  and  countenance,  it  is  probable 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


the  issue  would  not  have  been  contemplated — to  the  classical  taste  and 
research  of  Mr.  James  Boaden,  by  whom  the  text  has  been  diligently 
collated  and  revised  from  every  existing  edition,  and  whose  critical 
sagacity  has  enabled  him  to  detect  many  glaring  errors  in  the  estab- 
lished readings — to  Mr.  Allan  Cunningham,  for  his  pleasant  tradition- 
ary notes  on  "Comus." 

With  these  advantages,  enriched  by  all  that  scholarship,  art,  beauty 
of  materials,  and  elegance  of  exterior  can  bestow ;  this  (it  may  with- 
out presumption  be  named)  first  complete  and  perfect  Edition  of 
THE  Poetical  Works  of  Milton  is  ushered  to  public  approbation  and 
patronage. 


3  Saint  James's  Sqtjaek. 
Jtfovember,  1835. 


LIFE  OF  MILTOJS". 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    POBt'S    BtRTH CHARACTSB   OP  THE    TIMES — HIS   EARLT  JtHnc^TIOS    AND 

PROPENSITIES. 

Thb  nativity  of  John  Milton  was  cast  at  an  epoch  when  mighty  events  were  brewinfr 
in  the  political  institutions  of  England,  and  when  poetry  had  been  advanced  to  greaier 
perfection  than  it  has  ever  since  reached,  except  by  his  own  voice.  Spenser  had  not 
oeen  dead  ten  years,  and  Shakspeare  was  still  living.  In  these  two  all  the  inexhaust- 
ible abundance  of  poetical  thought,  imagery,  and  language  was  to  be  found,  even  if 
all  other  fountains  had  been  shut. 

It  was  a  stirring  time  for  all  minds,  in  every  department.  The  whole  reign  of 
Queen  Elizabeth  had  been  full  of  gallantry,  adventure,  and  grcat-mindedness ; — of  ail 
that  captivates  the  imagination,  and  all  that  exercises  and  elevates  the  understanding  ; 
and  it  was  as  profound  in  learning  as  original  and  brilliant  in  native  faculties  of  the 
intellect:  but  there  was  the  leaven  of  an  unholy  and  factious  spirit  mixed  with  it. 
The  Puritans  had  been  woricing  under-gi-ound  and  above-ground  with  incessant 
industry,  intrigue,  and  talent;  nor  were  the  Papists  more  quiet. 

Amid  these  fermenting  elements  of  discord,  grown  into  a  frightful  strength  under 
the  government  of  the  pusillanimous,  indiscreet,  and  pedantic  monarch,  James  I.,  was 
car  great  poet  born  on  the  9th  of  December,  1608,  in  the  parish  of  Allhallows,  Bread 
Street,  London ;  the  son  of  John  Milton,  scrivener.  His  mother's  name  was  Caston, 
derived,  according  to  the  best  authority,  from  a  Welsh  family.* 

Milton's  grandfather  was  under-ranger  of  the  forest  of  Shotover,  ne.ar  Halton,  in 
Oxfordshire,  in  which  neighbourhood  his  family  wag  ancient,  but  had  lost  their  estate! 
in  the  civil  contests  of  the  houses  of  York  and  Lancaster.  This  grandfather  was  a 
rigid  Papist;  and,  having  disinherited  his  son  for  embracing  the  Protestant  faith, 
though  he  had  educated  him  at  Christ  Church,  Oxford,  this  disinherison  drove  him  to 
the  meaner  profession  of  a  scrivener. 

His  father  was  advanced  to  more  than  a  middle  age  when  the  poet  was  born.  He 
was  eminent  for  his  skill  in  music. 

It  is  a  curious  question,  how  far  accidental  circumstances  operated  on  the  bent  and 
colours  of  Milton's  genius.  Probably  he  was  early  educated  in  Puritan  principles. 
His  earliest  tutor.  Young,  was  a  rigid  and  zealous  Puritan  ,•  yet  there  are  many  traits 
in  his  early  taste  and  early  poems  which  make  us  hesitate  as  to  his  boyish  attachment 
to  this  sect.  His  ruling  love  of  poetry  and  classical  erudition  was  not  very  congenial 
with  it :  his  love  of  the  theatre,  and  all  feudal  and  chivalrous  magnificence,  was  alien 
to  it.     There  are,  however,  a  few  passages  in  his  Lycidas  concordant  with  it. 

It  does  not  seem  to  me  that  there  are  any  traces  of  these  Calvinistic  prejudices  at 
the  time  he  visited  Italy,  unless  his  friendship  to  Charles  Deodate  be  a  sign  of  it; 
which  I  think,  looking  at  the  poetical  addresses  to  him,  it  is  not.  The  nature  of 
Milton's  lofty  temper,  which  could  not  endure  submission  even  to  college-discipline, 
is  the  more  probable  cause. 

As  the  resistance  to  monarchical  autUonty  grew  daily  bolder,  more  obstinate,  and 
more  bitter,  the  chance  is  that  Milton  heated  his  mind,  and  became  more  fixed  in  his 

*  What  becomes  of  the  heralds,  who  always  omit  what  they  most  ought  to  telH  Witness 
the  details  of  pedigree  of  Spenser  and  Milton,  botli  of  genlilitial  descent;  and  the  chief  of  the 
former  living  at  that  time  in  great  affluence  and  magnificence  at  Althrop,  allied  to  all  the 
highest  nobility. 


,  I^FB  OP  MILTON. 


native  l^ve  q/  lif.eitfai^  self  gpver^rment.  As  he  was  a  reader  of  the  most  abtruse 
b<jc^^,  he,  cntaBg^efi  himsielf  i)a  tflitf.welife  of  controversy. 

When  King  James  clied, ' March  27'th,  1625,  Milton  was  yet  a  boy,  aged  sixteen. 
That  monarcli  could  impress  upon  the  poet  nothing  but  scorn  and  hatred ;  his  tyranny 
provoked  rebellion ;  his  cowardice  encouraged  it :  his  odious  and  imbecile  pedantry 
was  in  itself  a  ground  of  aversion  to  a  great  mind :  and  these  unlucky  aids  were  added 
to  a  flame  already  strong  enough  to  burst  from  its  bondage.  The  character  of  the 
court  was  notoriously  corrupt  and  profligate :  the  favourite  Villiers  was  alone  sutficient 
to  rouse  all  great  and  good  minds  against  it :  the  preceding  favourite,  Carr.  had  been 
still  worse :  there  was  not  only  a  want  of  principle,  but  of  talent,  in  the  administration. 
England  had  become  the  laughing-stock  of  foreign  powers :  the  internal  policy  waa 
full  of  vicious  abuses:  the  gentry  were  discontented;  their  swords  were  rusting, 
and  parvenus  began  to  mount  over  their  heads ;  the  order  of  knighthood  was  cheapened 
and  prostituted:  the  Church  lost  the  veneration  it  had  tiU  now  possessed;  and  sects, 
that  had  hitherto  lurked  in  holes  and  corners,  arose  and  displayed  themselves  openly. 

The  cruel  and  infamous  sacrifice  of  the  life  of  the  heroic  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  had 
filled  the  nation  with  horror  and  disgust ;  and  Bacon's  mixture  of  glory  and  littleness 
had  taken  from  high  station  half  its  respect  and  all  its  splendour.  All  the  relics  of  the 
public  men  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  lofty  reign  had  gradually  disappeared.  Buckhurst, 
Cecil,  Egerton,  Coke,  the  great  navigators  and  soldiers ;  the  gallant  courtiers  of  ancient 
nobility;  and  all  the  leading  names  of  commoners,  rich  in  domains  as  well  as  in 
blood, — who  carried  more  respect  and  influence  than  most  of  the  best  of  modern 
nobility.  Percy,  the  Earl  of  Northumberland,  was  iinmured  a  prisoner  in  the  Tower : 
the  head  of  th-e  Howards  had  not  recovered  attainder  and  confiscation :  the  Veres, 
Cliffords,  Nevils,  Staffords,  <tc.,  were  all  impoverished :  the  Courtenays  had  lost  all 
their  honours :  young  Essex  was  oppressed,  insulted,  and  spurned.  The  sharers  of  the 
spoils  of  Church  lands  alone  of  the  former  century  were  rich. 

This  state  of  things  encouraged  those  political  opinions  which  Milton's  tutor, 
Toung,  had  probably  instilled  into  him :  but  his  acquaintance  with  the  Countess  of 
Derby  at  Harefield,  and  the  Earl  of  Bridgewater,  her  son-in-law,  must  be  supposed  to 
have  counteracted  them  for  a  time. 

There  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  poet's  travels  to  Italy  increased  this  counteraction 
Milton  left  England  in  1638,  in  his  thirtieth  year;  was  presented  to  Grotius,  at  Paris, 
by  Lord  Scudamore,  the  English  ambassador;  proceeded  to  Nice,  embarked  for  Genoa, 
and  thence  through  Leghorn  and  Pisa  to  Florence.  Here  he  stayed  two  months :  hence 
he  passed  through  Sienna  to  Rome,  where  he  stayed  another  two  months.  On  quitting 
Rome  he  visited  Naples:  it  was  his  purpose  also  to  have  visited  Sicily  and  Athens; 
but  the  intelligence  nf  the  disturbances  which  had  broken  out  in  his  own  country  made 
him  think  of  home. 

He  passed  back  through  Rome,  where  he  again  stayed  two  months ;  and  then  again 
to  Florence,  where  also  he  stopped  two  months.  He  now  visited  Lucca;  thee  went 
across  the  Apennines,  by  Bologna  and  Ferrara,  to  Venice:  here  he  sojourned  for  a 
month ;  and  then  travelled  by  Verona  and  Milan  to  Geneva.  His  way  back  lay  through 
France;  having  been  absent  about  fifteen  months. 

I  have  brought  these  facts  together  rather  out  of  order,  becan?e  I  believe  they  Tfere 
the  preservatives  of  Milton's  poetical  genius  against  his  political  adoptions.  I  now  go 
back  to  his  earliest  manhood.  From  school  the  poet  was  sent  to  Christ's  College,  Cam« 
bridge,  in  February,  1624,  set  16,  just  before  King  James's  death.  Already,  or  abjut 
this  time,  be  had  commenced  his  poetical  character,  for  he  had  paraphrased  two  of  the 
Psalms,  cxiv.  and  cxxxvi.  In  this  latter  are  some  fine  stanzas,  indicative  of  the 
character  of  his  futur3  genius;  witness  this  speaking  of  the  Creator:  — 

Who  by  his  wisdom  did  create 
The  painted  heavens  so  full  of  state  : 
Who  did  the  solid  earth  ordain 
To  rise  above  the  watery  main  : 
Who  by  his  all-commanding  might 
Did  fill  the  new-made  world  w^ith  light, 
.  And  caused  tlie  golden-trassed  sun 

All  the  day  long  his  course  to  run ; 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


The  horned  moon  to  shine  by  night 

Amongst  her  spangled  sisters  bright. 

He  with  his  thunder-clasping  hand 

Smote  the  first-born  of  Kgypt  land ; 

And,  m  despite  of  Pharaoh  fell, 

He  brought  from  thence  his  Israel. 

The  ruddy  waves  he  cleft  in  twain 

Of  the  Erythreean  main : 

The  floods  stood  still,  like  walls  of  glass. 

While  the  Hebrew  bands  did  pass  : 

But  full  soon  they  did  devour 

The  tawny  king  with  all  his  power. 

His  chosen  people  he  did  bless 

In  the  wasteful  wilderness : 

Ib  bloody  battle  he  brought  down 

Kings  of  prowess  and  renown : 

He  foii'd  both  Seon  and  his  host, 

That  ruled  the  Araorrean  coast ; 

And  large-limb'd  Og  he  did  subdue, 

With  all  his  over-hardy  crew; 

And  to  his  servant  Israel 

He  gave  their  land,  therein  to  dwell. 

Jn  1625,  also,  Milton  wrote  his  poem  "On  the  death  of  a  Fair  Infant  Djing  of 
Congh,"  said  to  be  his  niece,  daughter  of  his  sister  Phillips.    It  has  some  fine  stonzoa 
but  a  little  quaint  and  far-fetched.    Take  these  for  instance : — 

V. 

Vet  can  I  not  persuade  me  thou  art  dead. 
Or  that  thy  corse  corrupts  in  earth's  dark  womb ; 

Or  that  thy  beauties  lie  in  wormy  bed, 
Hid  from  the  world  in  a  low-delved  tomb. 
Could  heaven,  for  pity,  thee  so  strictly  doom  ? 

Oh,  no  !  for  something  in  thy  face  did  shine 
Above  mortality,  that  show'd  thou  wast  divine. 

VI. 

Resolve  me,  then,  O  soul,  most  purely  bless'd  ! 

(If  so  it  be  that  thou  these  plaints  dost  hear,) 
Tell  me,  bright  spirit,  where'er  thou  hoverest, 

Whether  above  that  high  first-moving  sphere, 

Or  in  the  Elysian  fields,  if  such  there  were ; 
Oh,  say  me  true,  if  thou  wert  mortal  wight. 
And  why  from  us  bo  quickly  thou  didst  take  thy  flight  ? 

Thomas  Warton  observes  of  this  Ode,  that  "  on  the  whole,  from  a  boy  of  seventeen, 
it  is  an  extraordinary  effort  of  fancy,  expression,  and  versification :  even  in  the  con- 
ceits,  which  are  many,  we  perceive  strong  and  peculiar  marks  of  genius.  I  think 
Milton  has  here  given  a  very  remarkable  specimen  of  his  ability  to  succeed  in  the 
Spenserian  stanza :  he  moves  with  great  ease  and  address  amidst  the  embarrassment 
of  a  frequent  return  of  rhyme." 

Several  other  poems  of  Milton,  both  English  and  Latin,  were  written  at  college  j 
from  all  these  extraordinary  compositions  it  appears  that  the  tone,  richness,  and  cha- 
racter of  Milton's  genius  were  always  the  same  from  the  age  of  fifteen ;  and  probably 
even  much  earlier:  it  was  always  miaed  up  with  both  classical  and  abstruse  learning j 
and  with  an  infusion  from  the  poetry  of  the  Bible.  His  Latin  verses  had  less  of 
the  wild,  the  sublime,  and  the  visionary,  than  his  English,  which  of  course  arost 
from  the  difference  of  his  models,  and  the  different  characters  of  the  respective  lan- 
guages. The  feudal  institutions,  the  enthusiasm  and  splendour  of  chivalry,  and  tha 
superstitions  of  the  dark  ages,  had  introduced  a  new  school  of  poetry  in  Dente, 
Petrarch,  Ariosto,  Sackville,  Spenser,  and  Shakspeare,  more  suited  to  Milton's  genius ; 
which  yet  he  was  deterred  from  introducing  in  compositions,  where  ho  endeavoured  to 
rival  the  ancient  classics.  There  is  more  of  what  would  be  by  cold  minds  called  sobet 
thoughts,  sentiments,  and  images  in  his  Latin  productions  than  in  hi?  vernacular;  bu< 
there  certainly  is  not  the  same  raciness,  vigour,  and  picturesqueness. 

nis  Epistles  to  his  friend  Charles  Deodate  are,  indeed,  very  beautiful :  fhey  relate 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


his  studies  his  amustments,  bis  feelings,  his  ambitions;  but  these  have  more  of  omia-. 
ble  virtue  in  them  than  of  imaginative  richness. 

From  one  of  thjse  poems  it  comes  out  that  he  was  rusticated  from  his  college  :  the 
cause  has  been  spaculated  upon  with  various  comments  and  conclusions,  according  to 
the  tempers  and  political  and  personal  prejudices  of  the  censors ;  but  I  have  no  doubt 
that  Mr.  Mitford's  opinion  is  the  correct  one.  Milton,  with  a  haughty  spirit,  and  a 
ponsciousness  of  his  own  great  genius  and  learning,  would  not  submit  to  academical 
discipline.     The  line — 

Ceeteraque  ingenio  non  subeunda  meo — 

obviously  means  nothing  but  a  repugnance  to  the  observation  of  those  petty  formalities 
and  rules  which  irritate  and  insult  great  minds :  it  is  absurd  to  construe  it  to  have  been 
oorporal  punishment 

He  retired  to  his  father's  villa  at  Horton,  near  Colebrook,  in  Middlesex,  glad  to  quit 
the  dulness  of  the  reedy  Cam ;  and  gave  himself  up  entirely  to  the  literature  of  his  own 
taste  in  his  exile — except  during  occasional  visits  to  the  capital  to  enjoy  the  theatres, 
and  the  conversation  of  his  friends.  His  college  was  glad  to  have  him  back  again, 
conscious  of  the  honour  he  did  them  by  his  mighty  gifts  and  acquirements  of  intellect 
Bjit  at  Horton  he  says  of  himself, 

Tempora  nam  licet  hie  placidis  dare  libera  Musis, 

£t  totum  rapiunt  me,  mea  vita,  libri. 
Excipit  hinc  fessum  sinuosi  pompa  theatri, 

Et  vocat  ad  plausus  garruia  scena  suos. 

Warton  says,  "  Milton's  Latin  poems  may  be  justly  considered  as  legitimate  classical 
compositions,  and  are  never  disgraced  with  such  language  and  such  imagery  as  Cow- 
ley's. Cowley's  Latinity,  dictated  by  an  irregular  and  unrestrained  imagination,  pre- 
sents a  mode  of  diction,  half  Latin  and  half  English.  It  is  not  so  much  that  Cowley 
wanted  a  knowledge  of  the  Latin  style,  but  that  he  suflTered  that  knowledge  to  be  per- 
verted and  corrupted  by  false  and  extravagant  thoughts.  Milton  was  a  more  perfect 
scholar  than  Cowley,  and  his  mind  was  more  deeply  tinctured  with  the  excellences  of 
ancient  literature  :  he  was  a  more  just  thinker,  and  therefore  a  more  just  writer :  in  a 
word,  he  had  more  taste,  and  more  poetry,  and  consequently  more  propriety.  If  a 
fondness  for  the  Italian  writers  has  sometimes  infected  his  English  poetry  with  false 
ornaments,  his  Latin  verses,  both  in  diction  and  sentiment,  are  at  least  free  from  gross 
depravations. 

"  Some  of  Milton'e  Latin  poems  were  written  in  his  first  year  at  Cambridge,  when  he 
was  only  seventeen:  they  must  be  allowed  to  be  very  correct  and  manly  performances 
for  a  youth  of  that  age ;  and,  considered  in  that  view,  they  discover  an  extraordinary 
copiousness  and  command  of  ancient  fable  and  history.  I  cannot  but  add  that  Gray 
resembles  Milton  in  many  instances :  among  others,  in  their  youth  they  were  both 
ttrongly  attached  to  the  cultivation  of  Latin  poetry." 

Such  was  MilvOn's  boyhood  and  youth ;  so  predominant  was  his  genius  from  the  first. 
It  was  at  Horton  that  Milton  seems  to  have  meditated  an  Epic  poem  on  King  Arthur, 
or  some  other  part  of  the  old  British  story.  See  "Epitaphium  Damonia"  (Deodatus), 
and  "  Epistola  ad  Mansum." 

In  his  "  Elegia  in  adventum  Veris,"  written  in  his  twentieth  year,  the  poet  tells  us 
that  his  poetical  powers  revived  with  the  spring. 

Milton's  early  love  of  the  theatre  has  been  already  aentioned;  Warton  also  observes 
this,  and  refers  to  "L'AUegro,"  v.  131 :  but  in  another  place  the  critic  remarks,  that 
Lie  warmest  poetical  predilections  were  at  last  totally  obliterated  by  civil  and  religions 
enthusiasm.  Milton's  writings  afiford  a  striking  example  of  the  strength  and  weakness 
of  the  same  mind.  Seduced  by  the  gentle  eloquence  of  fanaticism,  he  listened  no  more 
to  the  "  wild  and  native  wood-notes  of  Fancy's  child."  In  his  "  Iconoclastos"  ho  cen- 
sures King  Charles  for  studying  "one,  whom  we  well  know  was  the  closet  companion 
of  his  solitudes,  William  Shakspeare." 

^Nothing  could  be  farther  than  Milton  was,  in  his  own  early  poetry,  from  this  sour 
Puritanism.  In  his  "  Ode  at  a  Solemn  Masick,"  he  addresses  "  the  harmonious  sisters. 
Voice  and  Verse,"  to  "wed  their  divine  sounds:" — 


LIFE  OF  MILTON". 


And  to  our  high-raised  phantasy  present 
That  undisturbed  song  of  pure  consent, 
Aye  sung  before  the  sapphire-coloured  throne 
,  To  him  that  sits  thereon, 

With  saintly  shout  and  solemn  jubilee ; 
Where  the  bright  Seraphim,  in  burning  row, 
Their  loud  uplifted  angel-trumpets  blow; 
And  the  cherubick  host,  in  thousand  quires, 
Touch  their  immortal  harps  of  golden  wires, 
With  those  just  spirits  that  wear  victorious  palmi, 
Hymns  devout  and  holy  psalms, 
Singing  everlastingly,  &c. 

Here  is  an  anticipation  of  the  "  Paradise  Lost." 

Again :  in  his  "  Address  to  his  Native  Language,"  at  a  vacation  exercise  in  the  col 
lege,  anno  setatis  19,  he  says, — 

But  haste  thee  straight  to  do  me  once  a  pleasure, 
And  from  thy  wardrobe  bring  thy  choicest  treasure ; 
Not  those  new-fangled  toys  and  trimming  slight, 
Which  takes  our  late  fantasticks  with  delight ; 
But  cull  those  richest  robes  and  gayest  attire, 
Which  deepest  spirits  and  choicest  wits  desire.  / 

Yet  I  had  rather,  if  I  were  to  choose. 
Thy  service  in  some  graver  subject  use  ; 
Such  as  may  make  thee  search  thy  coffers  round 
Before  thou  clothe  my  fancy  in  fit  sound  ; 
Such  where  the  deep  transported  mind  may  soar 
Above  the  wheeling  poles,  and  at  Heaven's  door 
Look  in,  and  see  each  blissful  deity. 
How  he  before  the  thunderous  throne  doth  lie. 
Listening  to  what  unshorn  Apollo  sings 
To  the  touch  of  golden  wires,  while  Hebe  brings 
Immortal  nectar  to  her  kingly  sire  :  &c. 
"fiere,"  Warton  again  observes,  "are  strong  indications  of  a  young  mind,  antici- 
pating the  subject  of  the  '  Paradise  Lost,'  if  we  substitute  Christian  for  Pagan  ideas. 
Ho  was  now  deep  in  the  Greek  poets." 

The  style,  the  picturesqueness  of  language,  the  character  of  the  imagery,  whicb 
Milton  adopted  from  the  first,  was  peculiar  to  himself.  I  do  not  say  that  many  of  the 
Tords,  and  even  images,  might  not  be  found  scattered  in  preceding  poets,  as  Spenser, 
Shakspeare,  Ben  Jonson,  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  and  Joshua  Sylvester's  Du  Bartas ; 
but  they  could  not  be  found  combined  into  a  uniform  and  unbroken  texture,  nor  with 
the  same  uniformity  of  elevated  and  spiritual  thought  In  almost  all  precedent  poeta 
they  are  patches.  That  Milton  was  minutely  familiar  with  the  poems  of  all  his  cele- 
brated predecessors  is  sufficiently  evident :  but  so  far  as  he  used  them,  he  only  used 
them  as  ingredient  particles.  Spenser  is  rich  and  picturesque,  but  Milton  has  a  cha- 
racter distinct  from  him.  Milton's  texture  is  more  massy :  the  gold  is  weightier :  he 
has  a  haughtier  solemnity. 


CHAPTER  IL 
CRrncAL  AccouifT  op  MILTON'8  colleoe  poktry. 
Thottoh  there  were  many  things  which  had  a  tendency  to  make  Milton  in  his  boy- 
hood and  first  youth  discontented  with  the  social  institutions  of  his  country,  as  tliey 
then  displayed  themselves  in  all  their  abuses ;  yet  the  relics  of  former  greatness  stiD 
remained  in  such  preservation  as  to  give  full  force  to  the  imagination :  the  names,  the 
feudal  history,  the  trophies  of  former  magnificence,  were  all  fresh.  Though  King 
James  was  mean,  pedantic,  and  corrupt,  King  Charles  had  a  royal  spirit,  and  a  benevo- 
lent, accomplished  mind :  he  loved  literature  and  the  arts,  and  had  subtle,  if  not  grand, 
abilities.  At  this  time,  therefore,  Milton's  love  of  monarchical  and  aristoeratical 
Bplendour  was  contending  with  his  puritanic  education,  and  his  personal  hatred  of 
arbitrary  power :  his  rich  imagination  and  his  stern  judgment  were  at  variance :  his 
early  poems  rarely,  if  ever,  touch  upon  sectarianism:  Spenser  and  Shakspeare, courts. 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


castles,  and  theatres,  did  not  agree  with  Calvinistic  rigours  and  formalities.    Milton's 
enthusiasm  was,  as  Warton  observes,  the  enthusiasm  of  the  poet,  not  of  the  puritan. 

At  this  time  he  had  more  of  description  and  less  of  abstract  thought :  that  sublime 
elevation  of  axiomatic  wisdom  was  not  yet  reached;  but  from  his  earliest  years  be' 
appears  to  have  been  conversant  and  delighted  with  the  tone  and  expressions  of  the 
Hebrew  poetry :  his  grand  and  inimitable  "Hymn  on  the  Nativity"  proves  this.  In 
that  hymn  is  every  poetical  perfection,  mingled  with  a  sort  of  prcphetio  solemnity, 
which  fills  us  with  a  religious  awe :  the  nervous  harmony  and  climax  of  the  lines  are 
also  admirable.  It  was  written  in  1629,  when  he  was  in  bis  twenty-first  yearj  probab]\ 
as  a  college  exercise.    Mark  this  stanza : — 

No  war,  or  battle's  sound, 
Was  heard  the  world  around ; 
The  idle  spear  and  shield  were  high  uphung; 
The  hooked  chariot  stood 
Unstain'd  with  human  blood  ; 
The  trumpet  spake  not  to  the  armed  th'ong' ; 
And  kings  sat  still  with  awful  eye, 
As  if  they  surely  knew  their  sovran  Lord  was  by. 

On  these  two  stanzas : 

The  oracles  are  dumb 
No  voice,  or  hideous  hum, 
Runs  through  the  arched  roof  in  words  doceiving ; 
Apollo  from  his  shrine 
Can  no  more  divine, 
With  hollow  shriek  the  steep  of  Delphos  leaving. 
No  nightly  trance,  or  breathed  spell, 
Inspires  the  pale-eyed  priest  from  the  prophetic  cell. 

The  lonely  mountains  o'er, 

And  the  resounding  shore, 
A  voice  of  weeping  heard,  and  loud  lament ; 

From  haunted  spring,  and  dale 

Edged  with  poplar  pale, 
The  parting  genius  is  with  sighing  sent : 

With  flower-inwoven  tresses  torn 
The  nymphs  in  twilight  shade  of  tangled  thickets  mourn. 

Dr.  Joseph  Warton  observes  here :  "  attention  is  irresistibly  awakened  and  engaged 
by  the  air  of  solemnity  and  enthusiasm  that  reigns  in  this  stanza  and  some  that  follow. 
Buch  is  the  power  of  true  poetry,  that  one  is  almost  inclined  to  believe  the  superstition 
real." 

I  cannot  doubt  that  this  hymn  was  the  congenial  prelude  of  that  holy  and  inspired 
Imagination  which  produced  the  "Paradise  Lost,"  nearly  forty  years  afterwards. 

I  am  not  aware  that  our  young  bard  had  any  prototype  in  this  sort  of  ode :  the  form, 
the  matter,  the  imagery,  the  language,  the  rhythm,  are  all  new.  Milton  seems  himself 
in  the  state  of  wonder  and  awe  of  the  shepherds,  and  of  all  those  whom  he  describes  as 
aflTected  by  this  miracle.  The  trembling,  the  fervour,  the  blaze,  is  true  inspiration.  In 
this  state,  the  poet,  visited  by  heavenly  appearances,  must  have  forgot  all  worldly  fear, 
and  written  at  this  early  age  solely  after  his  own  ideas.  The  manner  in  which  he  de- 
icribes  the  dim  superstitions  of  the  false  oracles  is  quite  magical. 

I  mention  these  things  here  as  illustrative  of  Milton's  life.  We  must  consider  him 
now,  when  he  had  scarcely  reached  manhood,  as  already  a  perfect  poet :  he  had 
stamped  his  power,-  and  was  entitled  to  take  his  own  course  accordingly  in  future  life. 
Good  words  and  pleasing  thoughts  may  easily  be  worked  into  harmonious  verse ;  but 
this  is  not  poetry.  I  know  nothing  in  which  the  genuine  spell  of  poetry  more  breaks  out 
ftflo  in  the  hymn  I  have  here  been  praising.    To  show  this,  I  must  cite  one  more  stanza  :— 

And  sullen  Moloch,  fled, 

Hath  left  in  shadows  dread 
His  burning  idol  all  of  blackest  hue : 

In  vain  with  cymbals'  ring 

They  call  the  grisly  king 
In  dismal  dance  about  the  ftamace  bHie  • 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


The  brutal  gods  of  Nile  as  fast, 

Isis,  and  Orus,  and  the  dng  Anubis,  haste. 

"  These  dreadful  circumstances,"  says  Warton,  "  are  here  endued  with  life  and 
action  ;  they  are  put  in  motion  before  our  eyes,  and  made  subservient  to  a  new  purpose 
of  the  poet  by  the  superinduetion  of  a  poetical  fiction,  to  which  they  give  occasion. 
Milton,  like  a  true  poet,  in  describing  the  Syrian  superstitions,  selects  such  as  were 
most  susceptible  of  poetical  enlargoment ;  and  which,  from  the  wildness  of  their  core- 
monies,  were  most  interesting  to  the  fancy." 

There  are  magical  words  of  the  same  character  in  almost  every  stanza.  There  is 
not  a  finer  line  in  the  whole  range  of  descriptive  poetry  than  this  :— 

In  dismal  dance  about  the  furnace  blue. 
Yet  this  ode  Johnson  passes  over  in  silence.     Milton  was  already  in  a  state  of  mental 
fervour,  in  which  all  the  materials  of  poetry  were  spiritualized  into  a  pure  golden 
Same  ascending  in  glory  to  the  skies. 

Read  also  the  two  following  lines,  where  the  poet  speaks  of  the  flight  of  Osiris : — 

In  vain  with  timhrell'd  anthems  dark 

The  sable-stoled  sorcerers  bear  his  worsliipp'd  ark. 

We  cannot  reason  upon  the  effect  of  such  combinations  of  words, — the  charm  is 
Indefinable.     Into  what  a  temperament  of  aerial  power  must  the  author  have  been 
worked !     Well  might  this  sublime  priest  of  the  muses  then  e:cclaim, 
Nee  duri  libet  usque  minas  perferre  magistri, 
Cseteraque  ingenio  non  subeunda  meo. 

No  notice  has  been  handed  down  how  this  extraordinary  performance  was 
received :  it  seems  yet  to  have  produced  no  fame  to  him.  When  he  retired  to  his 
father's  house  at  Horton  next  year,  he  retired  as  one  who  had  yet  done  nothing.  His 
Latin  poems  want  the  solemnity,  the  sublimity,  the  enthusiasra,  the  wildness,  the 
imaginativeness,  of  these  English,  in  which  the  spirit  of  Dante  and  Spenser  already 
began  to  show  itself;  moulded  up  with  a  character  of  his  own.  But  Ovid  was  a  poet 
of  a  more  whimsical  and  undignified  kind,  of  whom  it  was  strange  that  he  should 
have  been  fond,  but  whom  his  Latin  verses  almost  everywhere  show  to  have  been  a 
great  favourite  with  him. 

When  we  see  to  what  holy  subjects  and  what  holy  imagery  Milton's  mind  was 
turned,  there  is  reason  for  some  surprise  that  he  should  still  have  had  it  in  contempla 
tion  to  produce  an  epic  poem  on  the  inferior  and  comparatively  puerile  theme  of  King 
Arthur,  which  no  imaginative  invention  could  have  invested  with  the  same  dignity ; 
when  even  chivalry  had  not  yet  arrived  at  its  historic  grandeur,  and  when  every- 
thing must  have  had  a  fabulousness  which  shocked  probability.  This  is  the  more 
extraordinary,  because  Milton,  though  intimately  conversant  with  the  old  romances, 
was  still  more  familiar  with  the  spirit,  the  language,  the  sublimity  of  the  Sacred 
Story.  It  is  clear  that  he  was  not  frightened  by  the  difficulty  of  duly  treating  thig 
awful  subject,  from  the  manner  in  which  he  touched  upon  it  in  his  majestic  hymn, 
where  he  showed  himself  a  master  of  all  its  mysterious  tones.  Had  he  at  this  time 
taken  subjects  from  the  Bible  for  a  series  of  odes  and  hymns,  he  might  even  have 
excelled  himself. 

He  has  been  supposed  not  to  have  had  a  lyrical  ear :  nothing  can  be  a  greater  mis- 
take. The  arrangement  of  his  stanza,  and  the  climax  of  his  rhymes  in  this  hymn, 
are  perfect.  To  my  perception  there  is  no  other  lyrical  stanza  in  our  language  bo 
varied,  so  musical,  and  so  grand.  The  Alexandrian  close  is  like  the  swelling  of  the 
wind  when  the  blast  rises  to  its  height. 

The  poet,  perhaps,  already  grasped  at  too  immense  a  circuit  of  hum^n  learning:  he 
might  be  at  this  early  age  darkening  his  mind  with  the  factitious  subtleties  of  politics 
and  theology,  which  might  overlay  the  sublime  and  inimitable  fire  of  the  Muse.  It 
seems  as  if  he  pursued  the  most  abstruse,  dry,  and  puzzling  tracks  of  study.  It  is 
indeed  to  be  remarked,  that  in  most  of  his  poems,  there  is  an  occasional  over-fondness 
for  allusion  to  these  blind  parts  of  learning.  Life  is  not  long  enough  for  everything ; 
nor  can  the  most  ardent  flame  of  the  intellect  entirely  overcome  an  excessive  superin- 
cumbence  of  dead  matter. 


LIFE  OF  MILTON". 


Though  Milton's  Latin  poetry  has  been  remarked  not  generally  to  partake  of  the 

■  character  of  his  English,  it  has  some  exceptions.     Warton  observes  of  his  poem  "  lu 

Quintum  -Novembris," — a  college  exercise, — that  "it  contains  a  council,  conspiracy, 

and  expedition  of  Satan,  which  may  be  considered  as  an  eaj.'ly  and  promising  prolusion 

of  the  hard's  genius  to  the  '  Paradise  Lost.' " 

In  this  poem  the  cave  of  Phonos  (Murther)  and  Prodotes  (Treason)  with  its  inha- 
bitants, are  finely  imagined,  and  in  the  style  of  Spenser. 

"  There  is,"  says  Warton,  "  great  poetry  and  strength  of  imagination  in  supposing 
that  Murther  and  Treason  often  fly  as  alarmed  from  the  inmost  recesses  of  their  own 
horrid  cavern,  looking  back,  and  thinking  themselves  pursued." 

In  his  seventeenth  year  Milton  wrote  a  poem,  ("  In  Obitum  Praesulis  Eliensis,")  on 
Dr.  Nicholas  Felton,  bishop  of  Ely,  who  died  5th  October,  1626.  In  the  midst  of  his 
lamentations  he  supposes  himself  carried  to  heaven.  Cowper  shall  give  the  general 
reader  a  taste  of  it ;  for  as  Warton,  candid  in  his  very  admiration,  observes,  "  this 
Bort  of  imagery,  so  much  admired  in  Milton,  appears  to  me  to  be  much  more  practi- 
cable than  many  readers  seem  to  suppose." 

I  bade  adieu  to  bolts  and  bars. 
And  soar'd  with  angels  lo  the  stars, 
Like  him  of  old,  to  whom  'twas  given 
To  mount  on  hery  wheels  to  heaven, 
Bootes'  wagon,  slow  with  cold, 
Appall'd  me  not ;  nor  to  behold 
The  sword  that  vast  Orion  draws. 
Or  e'en  the  Scorpion's  horrid  claws,  Ice.  tee. 

The  same  elegant  and  classical  commentator  remarks,  that  "  the  poet's  natural  dis- 
position, so  conspicuous  in  the  '  Paradise  Lost,'  and  even  in  his  prose  works,  for 
describing  divine  objects,  such  as  the  bliss  of  the  saints,  the  splendour  of  heaven,  and 
the  music  of  the  angels,  is  perpetually  breaking  forth  in  some  of  the  earliest  of  his 
juvenile  poems,  and  here  more  particularly  in  displaying  the  glories  of  heaven,  which 
he  locally  represents,  and  clothes  with  the  brightest  material  decorations  :  his  fancy, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  Apocalypse,  was  aided  and  enriched  with  descriptions  in  romances." 
The  next  poem,  "Naturam  non  pati  senium,"  a  college  exercise,  is  also  praised  by 
Warton.  He  says  that  it  "  is  replete  with  fanciful  and  ingenious  allusions.  It  has 
also  a  vigour  of  expression,  a  dignity  of  sentiment,  and  elevation  of  thought,  rarely 
found  in  very  young  writers." 

Tne  poem  consists  of  sixty-nine  lines.  The  whole  is  beautifuL  In  answer  to  those 
The  assert  the  liability  of  nature  to  old  age,  the  poet  says. 

At  Pater  Omnipotens,  fundatis  fortius  astris, 

Consuluit  rerum  summffi,  certoque  percgit 

Pondere  fatorum  lances,  atque  ordine  summo 

Singula  perpetuum  jussit  servare  tenorem. 

Volvitur  hinc  lapsu  mundi  rota  prima  diurno  ; 

Raptat  et  ambitos  socia  vertigine  ceelos. 

Tardier  hand  solito  Saturnus,  et  acer  ut  olira 

Fulmineum  rutilat  cristata  casside  Mavors. 

Floridus  aeternum  Phcebus  juvenile  coruscat, 
I  Nee  fovet  effoetas  loca  per  declivia  terras 

Devexo  temone  Deus  ;   sed  semper  arnica 

Luce  potens,  eadem  eurrit  per  signa  rotarum. 

Surgit  odoratis  pariter  formosus  ab  Indis, 

Slthereum  pecus  albenti  qui  cogit  Olympo, 

Mane  vocans,  et  serus  agens  in  pascua  cffili: 

Temporis  et  gemino  dispertit  regna  colore 

No  !  the  Almighty  Father  surer  laid 

His  deep  foundations,  and  providing  well 

For  the  event  of  all,  the  scales  of  Fate  ♦ 

Suspended,  in  just  equipoise,  and  bade 

His  universal  works,  from  age  to  age, 

One  tenour  hold,  perpetual  undisturh'd. 

Hence  the  prime  mover  wheels  itself  about 
Continual,  day  by  day,  and  with  it  bOEiTS 


LIFE  OP  MILTON. 


In  locial  measure  swift  the  heavens  around. 

Nor  tardier  now  is  Saturn  than  of  old, 

Nor  radiant  less  the  burning  casque  of  Mara. 

Phoebus,  his  vigour  unimpnir'd,  still  shows 

The  effulgence  of  his  youth,  nor  needs  the  god 

A  downward  course,  tliat  he  may  warm  the  vales  ; 

But  ever  rich  in  influence,  runs  his  road, 

8ign  after  sign,  through  all  the  heavenly  zone. 

Beautiful,  as  at  first,  ascends  the  star 

From  odoriferous  Ind,  whose  office  is 

To  gather  home  betimes  the  eetherial  flock, 

To  pour  them  o'er  the  skies  again  at  eve, 

And  to  discriminate  the  night  and  day. — Cowper. 
Gray,  a  century  afterwards,  wrote  tripos  verses,  at  Cambridge,  on  the  subject — 
"Anne  Luna  est  habitabilis  ?" 

In  1627,  anno  setatis  18,  Milton  wrote  his  elegy,  "Ad  Thomam  Junium  praeceptorem 
suum,  apud  mercatores  Anglicos  Hamburghse  agentes,  Hastoris  munere  fungentem." 
This  Thomas  Young  was  Milton's  tutor  before  he  went  to  St.  Paul's  school.  He  was  a 
Puritan,  of  Scotch  birth.  He  returned  to  England  in  1628,  and  was  afterwards  pre- 
ferred by  the  Parliament  to  the  mastership  of  Jesus  College,  Cambridge,  in  1644, 
whence  he  was  ejected  for  refusing  the  engagement.  He  died,  and  was  buried  at 
Stow-market,  in  Suffolk,  where  he  had  been  vicar  thirty  years.* 

From  Young,  Milton  says  that  he  received  his  first  introduction  to  poetryt 

Primus  ego  Aonios,  illo  prseeunte,  recessus 

Lustrabam,  et  Difidi  sacra  vireta  jugi; 
Pieriosque  hausi  latices,  Clioque  favente, 

Castalio  sparis  lacta  ter  ora  mero. 


CHAPTER  in. 

THE  SUBJECT  OF  MILTOK'S  COLLEGE  POETKT  CONTINUED. 

It  does  not  appear  at  what  exact  date  Milton  wrote  his  beautiful  Latin  poem  to  hia 
father  (who  lived  till  1647),  excusing  his  devotion  to  the  Muses:  it  was  probably  before 
he  left  Cambridge.  Though  it  assumes  that  his  father  did  not  oppose  his  pursuits,  yet 
I  think  we  may  infer  that  he  had  endeavoured  to  persuade  him  to  occupy  himself  with 
Bome  lucrative  profession : —  , 

Nee  tu  perge,  precor,  sacras  contemnere  Musas,  &c. 
The  poet  ends  in  this  noble  manner : — 

Et  vos,  o  nostri,  juvenilia  carmina,  lusuB, 
Si  modi  perpetuos  sperare  audebitus  anni^s, 
Et  domini  superesse  rngo,  lucemque  tueri. 
Nee  spisso  rapient  oblivia  nigra  sub  Oreo  ; 
Forsitnn  has  laudes,  decantatumque  parentis 
Nomen,  ad  exemplum,  sero  servabitis  eevo. 

This  is  an  aspiration  which  Warton  praises  with  congenial  enthusiasm,  and  which 
was  duly  fulfilled  to  its  utmost  extent 

This  poem  may  be  taken  as  perfectly  biographical,  as  well  as  poetical;  I  think  it 
proper,  therefore,  to  give  the  whole  poem,  as  translated  by  Cowper. 

TO  HIS  FATHER. 

(TRANSLATED   BY   WILLIAM   COWPKE.) 

O,  that  Pieria's  spring  would  through  thy  breast 
Pour  Its  inspiring  influence,  and  rush 
No  rill,  but  rather  an  o'erflowing  flood  ! 
That,  for  my  venerable  father's  sake. 
All  meaner  themes  renounced,  my  Muse  on  wings 
Of  duty  borne,  might  reach  a  loftier  strain. 
For  thee,  my  Father !  howsoe'er  it  please, 
She  frames  this  slender  work;  nor  know  I  aught 
That  may  thy  gifts  more  suitably  requite  ; 

•  See  Mitford's  Poetical  Dedication  to  h'  s  edition  of  Parnell. 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


Though  to  requite  them  suitably  would  ask 
Returns  much  nobler,  and  surpassing  far 
The  meagre  stores  of  verbal  gratitude; 
But  such  as  I  possess,  I  send  thee  all : 
This  page  presents  thee  in  their  full  amount 
With  thy  son's  treasures,  and  the  sum  is  nought  • 
Nought  save  the  riclies  tliat  from  airy  dream, 
tn  secrf  t  grottoes  and  in  laurel  bowers, 
I  have  by  golden  Clio's  gift  acquired. 

Verse  is  a  work  divine  :  despise  not  thou 

Verse,  therefore,  which  evinces  (nothing  more) 

Man's  heavenly  source,  and  which,  retaining  still 

Some  scintillations  of  Promethean  fire, 

Bespeaks  him  animated  from  above. 

The  gods  love  verse  :  the  infernal  powers  themselves 

Confess  the  influence  of  verse,  which  stirs 

The  lowest  deep,  and  binds  in  triple  chains 

Of  adamant  both  Pluto  and  the  shades. 

In  verse  the  Delphic  priestess,  and  the  pale 

Tremulous  sibyl,  make  the  future  known: 

A.nd  he  who  sacrifices,  on  the  slirine 

Hangs  verse,  both  when  he  smites  tlie  threatening  bull, 

knd  when  he  spreads  his  reeking  entrails  wide 

To  scrutinize  the  fates  enveloped  there. 

We  too,  ourselves,  what  time  we  seek  again 

Our  native  skies,  (and  one  eternal  now 

Shall  be  the  only  measure  of  our  being), 

Crown'd  all  with  gold,  and  chanting  to  the  lyre 

Harmonious  verse,  shall  range  the  courts  above 

And  make  the  starry  firmament  resound : 

And  even  now  the  fiery  spirit  pure, 

That  wheels  yon  circling  orbs,  directs,  himseli* 

Their  mazy  dance  vcitn  melody  of  verse 

Unutterable,  immjrtal ;  hearing  which. 

Huge  OphiucuB  holds  his  hiss  suppress'd, 

Orion,  soften'd,  drops  his  ardent  blade; 

And  Atlas  stands  unconscious  of  his  load. 

Verse  graced  of  old  the  feasts  of  kings,  ere  yel 

Luxurious  dainties,  destined  to  the  gulf 

Immense  of  gluttony,  were  known,  and  ere 

Lyaeus  deluged  yet  the  temperate  board. 

Then  sat  the  bard  a  customary  guest. 

To  share  the  banquet;  and  his  length  o/ locks 

With  beechen  honours  bound,  proposed  in  verse 

The  character  of  heroes,  and  their  deeds 

To  imitation  :  sang  of  chaos  old ; 

Of  nature's  birth;  of  gods  that  crept  in  search 

Of  acorns  fallen,  and  of  the  thunder-bolt 

Not  yet  produced  from  Etna's  fiery  cave : 

And  what  avails,  at  last,  tune  without  voice, 

Devoid  of  matter  ?  Such  may  suit  perhaps 

The  rural  dance,  but  such  was  ne'er  the  song 

Of  Orpheus,  whom  the  streams  stood  still  to  hear, 

And  the  oaks  follow'd.    Not  by  chords  alone 

Well  touch'd,  but  by  resistless  accents  more 

To  sympathetic  tears  the  ghosts  therhselves 

He  moved  :  these  praises  to  his  verse  he  owes. 

Nor  thou  persist,  I  pray  thee,  still  to  slight 

The  sacred  Nine,  and  to  imagine  vain 

And  useless  powers,  by  whom  inspiied,  thyself 

Art  skilful  to  associate  verse  with  airs 

Harmonious,  and  to  give  the  human  voice 

A  thousand  modulations,  heir  by  right 

Indisputable  of  Arion's  fame. 

Now  say,  what  wonder  is  it,  if  a  son 

Of  thine  delight  in  verse,  if  so  conjoin'd 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


In  close  affinity,  we  sympathize 

In  social  arts,  and  kindred  studios  sweot? 

Such  distribution  of  himself  to  us 

Was  Phffibus'  choice  :  thou  hast  thy  gift,  and  I 

Mine  also;  and  between  us  we  receive, 

Father  and  son,  the  whole  inspiring  god. 

No  I  howsoo'er  the  semblance  thou  assume 

Of  hate,  thou  hatest  not  the  gentle  Muse, 

My  Father  !  for  thou  never  bad'st  me  tread 

The  beaten  path  and  broad,  that  leads  right  on 

To  opulence,  nor  didst  condemn  thy  son 

To  the  insipid  clamours  of  the  bar. 

To  laws  voluminous  and  ill  observed  ; 

But,  wisliing  to  enrich  me  more,  to  fill 

My  mind  with  treasure,  led'st  me  far  away 

From  city  din  to  deep  retreats,  to  banks 

And  streams  Aonian,  and,  with  free  consent, 

Didst  place  me  happy  at  Apollo's  side. 

I  speak  not  now,  on  more  important  themea 

Intent,  of  common  benefits,  and  such 

As  nature  bids,  but  of  thy  larger  gifts. 

My  Father !  who,  when  I  had  open'd  once 

The  stores  of  Roman  rhetoric,  and  learn'd 

The  full-toned  language  of  the  eloquent  Greeks, 

Whose  lofty  music  graced  the  lips  of  Jove, 

Thyself  didst  counsel  me  to  add  the  flowers 

That  Gallia  boasts, — those  too  with  which  the  smooth, 

Italian  his  degenerate  speech  adorns. 

That  witnesses  his  mixture  with  the  Goth; 

And  Palestine's  prophetic  songs  divine. 

To  sum  the  whole,  whate'er  the  heaven  contai&a 

The  earth  beneatli  it,  and  the  air  between. 

The  rivers  and  the  restless  deep,  may  all 

Prove  intellectual  gain  to  me,  my  wish 

Concurring  with  thy  will  ;  science  herself, 

All  cloud  removed,  inclines  her  beauteous  head, 

And  offers  me  the  lip,  if  dull  of  heart 

I  shrink  not,  and  decline  her  gracious  boon. 

Go,  now,  and  gather  dross,  ye  sordid  minda 

That  covet  it :  what  could  my  Father  more  t 

What  more  could  Jove  himself,  unless  he  gave 

His  own  abode — the  heaven  in  wliich  he  reigns 

More  eligible  gifts  than  these  were  not 

Apollo's  to  his  son,  had  they  been  Kufe 

As  they  were  insecure,  who  made  the  boy 

The  world's  vice-luminary,  bade  him  rule 

The  radiant  chariot  of  the  day,  and  bind 

To  his  young  brows  his  own  all-dazzling  wreath. 

I,  therefore,  although  last  and  least,  my  place 

Among  the  learned  in  the  laurel  grove 

Will  hold,  and  where  the  conqueror's  ivy  twinea. 

Henceforth  exempt  from  the  unletter'd  throng 

Profane,  nor  even  to  be  seen  by  such. 

Away,  then,  sleepless  Care  I  Complaint,  away  , 

And  Envy,  with  thy  jealous  leer  malign  ! 

Nor  let  the  monster  Calumny  shoot  forth 

Her  venom'd  tongue  at  me.    Detested  foeal 

Ye  all  are  impotent  against  my  peace. 

For  I  am  privileged,  and  bear  my  breast 

Safe,  and  too  high  for  your  viperean  wound. 

But  thou,  my  Father  !  since  to  render  thanks 

Equivalent,  and  to  requite  by  deeds 

Thy  liberality,  exceeds  my  power. 

Suffice  it,  that  I  thus  record  thy  gifts. 

And  bear  them  treasured  in  a  grateful  mind. 

Ye,  too,  the  favourite  pastime  of  my  youth, 

My  voluntary  numbers !  if  ye  dare 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


To  hope  longevity,  and  to  survive 

Your  master's  funeral,  not  soon  absorb'd 

In  the  oblivious  Lethean  gulf, 

Shall  to  futurity  perhaps  convey 

This  theme,  and  by  these  praises  of  my  aire 

Improve  the  fathers  of  a  distant  a^e. 

In  162T,  Milton  wrote  his  first  Latin  elegy,  addressed  to  Charles  Deodate,*  in  answer 
to  a  letter  from  Cheshire. 

Milton's  Latin  epistles  are  written  in  the  style  of  Ovid,  but  the  matter  and  language 
not  servilely  borrowed  from  him.  It  seems  to  me  extraordinary  that  Milton  should 
have  taken  Ovid  for  his  model.  I  agree  with  Warton  that  it  would  have  been  more 
probable  that  he  would  have  taken  Lucretius  and  Virgil,  as  more  congenial  to  him. 
His  poems,  "  Ad  Patrem"  and  "  Mansus,"  I  consider  much  superior,  and  in  a  different 
manner.  I  cannot  agree  that  "  his  inherent  powers  of  fancy  and  invention  display 
themselves"  much  in  the  "Elegies."  I  suspect  that  the  greater  part  of  them  might  have 
been  by  any  classical  scholar  of  lively  talents,  rich  in  learning,  and  practised  in  con- 
versation. Not  so  "Ad  Patrem"  or  "Mansus;"  or  some  of  the  college  exercises. 
But  it  is  no  more  than  justice  to  quote  Warton's  more  favourable  judgment  on  the 
sixth  elegy,  also  addressed  to  Deodate.  He  says,  "  the  transitions  and  corrections  of 
this  elegy  are  conducted  with  the  skill  and  address  of  a  master,  and  form  a  train  of 
allusions  and  digressions,  productive  of  fine  sentiment  and  poetry.  From  a  trifling 
and  unimportant  circumstance,  the  reader  is  gradually  led  to  great  and  lofty  imagery." 

Of  all  the  elegies,  that  which  pleases  me  most,  and  which  I  consider  far  the  most 
poetical,  and  at  the  same  time  time  the  most  original  in  its  imagery,  is  the  fifth  elegy, 
"In  Advcntum  Veris,"  aetatis  20,  1629. 

But  even  here  the  images  have  not  the  raciness  and  wildness  of  the  descriptions  in 
his  English  poems.     Warton  speaks  of  it  as  excellent  in  all  the  requisites  of  poetry. 

Here  Milton  says  that  his  poetical  genius  returns  in  the  spring :  in  later  life,  he  has 
said  that  the  autumn  was  the  season  of  his  composition. 

The  last  elegy  is,  perhaps,  the  best,  next  to  that  upon  the  Spring.  Milton  wasapt 
to  encumber  his  poetry  with  too  many  learned  allusions,  which  unfitted  them  for  the 
general  readers,  who  might  have  taste  and  sympathy  without  much  technical  erudition. 

At  this  period,  Milton's  mind,  though  his  English  poems  prove  that  at  times  it  was 
grave  and  deep,  yet  occasionally  showed  all  the  playfulness  of  his  youthful  age.  I  am 
not  sure  that  I  like  his  Ovidian  graces.  I  prefer  the  solemn  tones  of  his  grander 
imagery ;  his  picturesque  descriptions  of  the  scenery  of  nature  :  his  voices  among  the 
lonely  mountains;  his  evening  contemplations,  and  his  studious  melancholy  by  the 
night-lamp.  I  prefer  his  allusions  to  the  fables  of  Gothic  romance  rather  than  to  the 
pantheon  of  the  classics,  which  does  not  carry  with  it  any  part  of  our  belief.  Our 
imaginations  can  easily  enter  into  the  superstitions  of  the  dark  ages,  which  have  far 
more  of  dignity  and  sublimity. 

Perhaps  Milton  was  at  this  date  more  proud  of  his  scholarship  than  of  his  own  origl 
nal  genius,  as  Petrarch  to  the  last  preferred  his  own  Latin  poems  to  his  Italian,  and 

*  Cliarles  Deodate,  the  son  of  Theodore,  was  bom  in  1574,  at  Geneva,  where  the  family  still 
Conrislies.  See  Galiffe's  "  Genfealogies  des  Families  Genevoises."  Theodore  came  to  Eng- 
land, and  married  a  lady  of  good  birth  and  fortune.  In  1609  he  appears  to  have  been  physician 
lo  Henry,  Prince  of  Wales,  and  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  afterwards  Queen  of  Bohemia.  He 
vras  brother  of  John  Beodate,  a  learned  Puritan  divine,  whose  theological  works,  printed  nt 
Geneva,  are  well  known.    The  family  came  from  Lucca  on  account  of  their  religion. 

The  following  notice  as  to  the  family,  I  am  favoured  with  by  one  of  its  members,  a  learned 
librarian  in  the  Public  Library  of  Geneva.  It  is  extracted  from  a  letter  written  by  Theodore, 
the  father  of  Charles  Deodate,  and  dated  London,  20th  March,  1875. 

"  Nous  avons  tenu  le  premier  rang  entre  les  families  nobles  et  patriciennes  de  tons  terns  a 
Lucques,  et  en  sommes  encore  en  possession  ;  le  p6re  de  mon  grand-p6re  logea  en  son  palaiii 
I'erapereur  Charles  Quint :  il  fetoit  alors  gonfalonier  ;  auquel  terns  mon  grand-p6re  nacquit,  et 
I'empereur  fQt  son  parrain,  et  le  homma  Charles,  et  lui  donna  I'enseigne  des  diamans,  qu'il 
portait  en  son  col,  a  son  dfepart.  Nous  avons  ea  des  genferaux  d'armees.  Le  gfeneral  Diodati 
conserva  Brissac  a  I'empereur  eontre  I'armee  des  princes  d'AUemagne ;  et  fut  tufe  d'une  volee 
de  canon  dans  Munich  en  Bavidre.  A  cette  heure  nous  avons  Don  Jean  Diodati,  chevalier  de 
Malthe,  grand-prieur  de  Venise,  cousin-gerraain  de  feu  mon  pere,"  &c. 


LIFE  OF  MILTOX. 


placed  on  them  his  hopes  of  fame.  But  in  a  language  which  is  not  our  own  wo  car 
never  equally  express  our  unborrowed  thoughts.  In  bringing  our  phraseology  to  the 
test,  we  are  driven  to  the  train  of  mind  of  others.  It  is  only  when  the  language  rises 
np  with  the  mental  conception  that  it  is  racy  and  vigorous.  Hence,  in  my  opinion, 
there  is  a  radical  defect  in  all  modern  Latin  poetry — though  it  may  still  have  great  merit 
of  a  secondary  sort.  I  deny  that  Milton  shows  in  these  Latin  compositions,  unless,  per- 
haps, on  some  rare  occasion,  anything  of  the  peculiarity  of  his  native  genius. 

In  his  own  tongue  there  are  bursts  of  that  mind  which  produced  "Paradise  Lost," 
even  in  his  verses  from  the  age  of  thirteen.  Sometimes  an  image,  sometimes  an 
epithet  displays  it  A  holy  inspiration  had  already  commenced  in  his  mind.  The  tone 
of  the  sacred  writings  had  taken  fast  possession  of  his  enthusiasm :  this  perhaps  wae 
iacreased  by  his  study  of  Dante.  In  Spenser  there  is  more  profusion  and  more  flexi- 
oility,  but  not  the  same  sombre  and  sublime  cast.  In  Shakspeare  also,  there  is  more 
sweetness  and  less  study ;  more  of  the  "  native  wood-note  wild ;"  but  not  that  solemn 
and  divine  strain,  as  if  an  oracle  spoke.  There  is  a  sort  of  prophetic  awe  in  the  out- 
breathings  of  Milton,  like  that  of  the  Hebrew  poetry ;  yet  there  is  nothing  totally  un- 
compounded  with  human  learning.  Perhaps  it  were  better  if  it  had  been.  It  is  occa- 
eionally  encumbered. 

Milton  conforms  everything  to  his  own  grand  inventions.  Shakspeare  enters  into 
the  souls  of  others.  Spenser  brings  them  upon  the  stage  in  groups,  in  all  the  allegori- 
cal fabulousness  of  their  outward  forms.  He  is  the  painter  of  the  times  of  chivalry, 
moralized  into  fictions  of  his  own,  which  display  the  different  virtues  in  the  adventures 
of  different  knights  j  they  form  wonderful  tales  of  inexhaustible  variety, — giants,  and 
enchanted  castles,  and  imprisoned  damsels,  rescued  by  heroic  courage  and  divino 
Interference. 

> 

CHAPTER  rV. 

ON  l'ALLXGRO   Am)  IL  PENSEROSO. 

Milton  left  the  university  of  Cambridge  in  1632,  at  the  age  of  twenty-three,  and 
retired  to  the  villa  of  his  father  at  Horton  in  Buckinghamshire :  here  he  wrote  those 
jivenile  poems,  which  are  the  most  celebrated.  The  exact  date  of  the  "L'Allegro," 
and  "H  Penseroso,"  is  not  known:  it  is  evident  that  they  were  suggested  by  a  poem 
in  Burton's  "  Anatomy  of  Melancholy,"  and  by  a  few  beaijtiful  stanzas  of  Beaumont 
and  Fletcher.  These  poems  are  familiar  to  all :  they  are  rich  in  picturesque  descrip- 
tion of  natural  imagery,  selected  and  combined  with  the  power  of  splendid  genius, 
according  to  the  opposite  humours  of  cheerfulness  and  contemplative  melancholy ;  and 
are  the  more  attractive,  because  they  paint  Milton's  individual  taste,  character,  and 
habits.  The  style  of  the  scenery  is  principally  adapted  to  the  spot  and  neighbourhood 
where  he  now  lived. 

But  if  I  may  venture  the  opinion,  I  will  own  that  these  are  not  the  compositions  in 
which  the  peculiarity  of  the  grandeur  of  Milton's  genius  displays  itself.  Beautiful  as 
these  Odes  are,  there  are  others,  besides  Milton,  who  might  have  written  them : — not 
many  indeed.  They  have  not  the  solemnity, — the  dim  and  unearthly  visions, — the 
awful  and  gigantic  grandeur, — the  prophetic  enthusiasm, — the  terrible  roll  and  bound 
and  swell  of  the  "  Hymn  on  the  Nativity,"  The  subject  did  not  call  for  such  merita ; — 
bat  then,  if  they  are  excellent,  they  are  excellent  in  an  inferior  walk. 

Probably  I  shall  be  thought  heterodox  in  this  judgment.  I  much  prefer  "  H  Pense- 
roso" to  "L'Allegro,"  as  more  solemn,  more  deep-coloured,  and  more  original  in  its 
Imagery.  Perhaps  the  general  merit  of  these  two  pieces  lies  more  in  a  selection  of 
rural  pictures  combined  with  taste,  than  in  particular  images, — except  in  a  few  pass- 
ages of  the  latter  poem.     The  metre  wants  variety  and  sonorousness. 

The  passages  I  chiefly  allude  to,  are  Contemplation — 

Him  that  yon  soars  on  golden  wing, 
down  to 

the  far-off  curfew  sound, 

Over  some  wide-water'd  shore, 
Swinging  slow  with  sullen  roar. 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


Again : 

Thus,  Night,  oft  Bee  me  in  thy  pale  career; 
down  to  the  end. 

In  general,  there  is  more  of  description  than  of  sentiment,  more  of  the  material  thaji 
of  the  immaterial,  in  these  two  compositions :  but  there  are  some  parts  of  them  which  aro 
very  important  to  the  illustration  of  the  poet's  character.  The  poet  describes  a  very 
early  period  of  the  morning,  "by  selecting  and  assembling  such  picturesque  objects," 
says  Warton,  "as  were  familiar  to  an  early  riser.  He  is  waked  by  the  iirk,  and  goel 
into  the  fields :  the  sun  is  just  emerging,  and  the  clouds  are  still  hovering  over  tha 
mountains :  the  cocks  are  crowing,  and,  with  their  lively  notes,  scatter  the  lingering 
remains  of  darkness.  Human  labours  and  employments  are  reiiewed  with  the  dawn  of 
day :  the  hunter,  formerly  much  earlier  at  his  sport  than  at  present,  is  beating  the 
covert;  and  the  slumbering  morn  is  roused  with  the  cheerful  echo  of  hounds  and 
horns;  the  mower  is  whetting  his  scythe  to  begin  his  work;  the  milk-maid,  whose 
business  is  of  course  at  daybreak,  comes  abroad  singing;  the  shepherd  opens  his  fold, 
and  takes  the  tale  of  his  sheep,  to  see  if  any  were  lost  in  the  night,"  &c.  line  67. 

When  he  sees  towers  and  battlements  bosomed  high  in  tufted  trees,  the  same  ex- 
cellent commentator  says,  "  it  is  the  great  mansion-house  in  Milton's  early  days,  before 
the  old-fashioned  architecture  had  given  way  to  modern  arts  and  improvements 
Turrets  and  battlements  were  conspicuous  marks  of  the  numerous  new  buildings  of 
King  Henry  VIIL,  and  of  some  rather  more  ancient,  many  of  which  yet  remained  in 
their  original  state  unchanged  and  undecayed :  nor  was  that  style,  in  part  at  least, 
quite  omitted  in  Inigo  Jones's  first  manner;  where  only  a  little  is  seen,  more  is  left  to 
the  imagination.  These  symptoms  of  an  old  palace,  especially  when  thus  disposed, 
have  a  greater  effect  than  a  discovery  of  larger  parts,  and  even  a  full  display  of  the 
whole  edifice.  The  embosomed  battlements,  and  the  spreading  top  of  the  tall  grove, 
on  which  they  reflect  a  reciprocal  charm,  still  farther  interest  the  fancy  from  the 
novelty  of  combination ;  while  just  enough  of  the  towering  structure  is  shown  to  make 
an  accompaniment  to  the  tufted  expanse  of  venerable  verdure,  and  to  compose  a  pic- 
turesque association.  With  respect  to  their  rural  residence,  there  was  a  coyness  in  our 
gothic  ancestors :  modern  seats  are  seldom  so  deeply  ambushed :  they  disclose  all  their 
glories  at  once ;  and  never  excite  expectation  by  concealment,  by  gradual  approaches, 
and  by  interrupted  appearances." 

At  line  131,  the  poet  alludes  to  a  stage  worthy  of  his  presence : —  / 

Then  to  the  well-troii  stage  anon, 
If  Jonson's  learned  sock  be  on  ; 
Or  sweetest  Shakspeare,  fancy's  child, 
Warble  his  native  wood-notes  wild. 

Milton  had  not  yet  gone  such  extravagant  lengths  in  puritanism,  as  to  join  with  his 
reforming  brethren  in  condemning  the  stage. 

By  "  trim  gardens"  (H  Pens.  1.  50),  Milton  means  those  gardens  of  elaborate  artifice 
and  extravagance,  of  which  Bacon  has  given  a  description ;  some  of  which  I  still  re- 
member in  existence,  in  my  own  boyhood,  sixty  years  ago.  There  was  a  sort  of 
magnificence  and  variety  about  them,  in  some  respects  more  interesting  than  modern 
barrenness.  I  often  wish  them  back ; — the  terraces,  the  slopes,  the  wilderness-walks, 
the  mazes,  the  alleys,  the  garden-plots,  the  gravel-walks,  .the  bowers,  the  summer- 
houses,  the  bowling-greens,  have  been  too  rudely  and  indiscriminately  swept  away. 

Where  the  poet  says,  line  109, 

Or  call  up  him  who  left  half-told 
The  story  of  Cambuscan  bold, 

he  expresses  his  admiration  of  Chaucer,  "the  father  of  English  poetry,"  says  Warton, 
"who  is  here  distinguished  by  a  story  remarkable  for  the  wildness  of  its  invention 
and  hence  Milton  seems  to  make  a  very  pertinent  and  patural  transition  to  Spenser 
whose  'Faery  Queene,*  although  it  externally  professes  U  treat  of  tournaments  and  the 
trophies  of  knightly  valour,  of  forests  drear  and  terrific  enchantments,  is  yet  allegori 
cal,  and  contains  a  remote  meaning  concealed  under  the  reil  of  a  fabulous  story  and  of 
a  typical  narrative,  which  iB  not  immrdiately  perceived.    Spenser  sings  in  sage  and 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


lolemn  tunes,  with  respect  to  his  morality,  and  the  dignity  of  his  stanza.  In  the  mean 
time,  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  there  were  other  great  bards,  and  of  the  romantic 
plass,  who  sang  in  such  tunes,  and  who  mean  '  more  than  meets  the  ear.'  Both  Tasso 
and  Ariostc  pretend  to  an  allegorical  and  mysterious  meaning ;  and  Tasso's  enchanted 
forest,  the  most  conspicuous  fiction  of  the  kind,  might  have  been  here  intended. 
Herni  allows  that  his  incantations,  giants,  magic  gardens,  monsters,  and  other  romantic 
imageries,  may  amuse  the  ignorant,  but  that  the  intelligent  have  more  penetration 
Orl.  Inam.  1. 1.  c.  xxv. 

Ma  voi  ch'avete  gl'  intelletti  sani, 

Mirafe  la  flettriiio  che  s'  asconde 

Solto  queste  coperte  alte  e  profonde. 

"  One  is  surprised,"  continues  Warton,  "  that  Milton  should  have  delighted  in  ro- 
mances :  the  images  of  feudal  and  royal  life  which  those  books  afford,  agreed  not  at 
all  with  his  system.  A  passage  should  here  be  cited  from  our  author's  '  Apology  for 
Smectymnuus :' — '  I  may  tell  you  whither  my  younger  feet  wandered :  I  betook  me 
among  those  lofty  fables  and  romances  which  recount  in  solemn  cantos  the  deeds  of 
knighthood,'  Ac.  The  extraordinary  and  most  imaginative,  but  inconsistent  poet,  ex- 
claims, line  155, 

But  let  my  due  feet  never  fail 

To  walk  the  studious  cloisters  pale,  <fec. 

Being  educated  at  St.  Paul's  school,  contiguous  to  the  church,  he  thus  became  im- 
pressed with  an  early  reverence  for  the  solemnities  of  the  ancient  ecclesiastical 
architecture, — its  vaults,  shrines,  aisles,  pillars,  and  painted  glass,  rendered  yet  morp 
awful  by  the  accompaniment  of  the  choral  service." 

It  is  unnecessary  to  copy  the  opinion  which  Johnson  gives  of  "L' Allegro"  and  "H 
Penseroso,"  because  it  is  in  every  one's  hands.  Johnson  yet  allows  that  "  they  are  two 
nohle  efforts  of  imagination." — They  would  be  noble  for  a  common  poet;  but  not  com- 
paratively for  Milton :  I  cannot  allow  them  that  high  invention  which  belongs  to  the 
bard  of  "  Paradise  Lost."  Warton  criticises  Johnson's  comment  with  a  just  severity  : — 
"Never,"  says  he,  "were  fine  imagery  and  fine  imagination  so  marred,  mutilated,  and 
impoverished  by  a  cold,  unfeeling,  and  imperfect  representation." — "  No  part  of 
' L'AUegro,' "  says  Johnson,  "is  made  to  arise  from  the  pleasures  of  the  bottle.' 
What  sad  vulgarity  !     Who  could  suspect  that  Milton  would  write  a  Bacchanalian  song  ? 

It  seems  to  me  that  these  two  poems  are  much  more  valuable  for  their  development 
of  Milton's  studies  and  amusements,  than  for  their  poejry,  by  proving  his  love  of 
nature, — of  books, — of  solitude, — of  contemplation, — of  all  that  is  beautiful,  and  all 
that  is  romantic, — than  for  those  bold  figures,  and  that  glorious  fiction,  which  were  his 
power  and  his  chief  delight.  Observation  and  an  accurate  copy  of  the  external  ap- 
pearances of  nature  do  not  make  the  highest  poetry :  to  copy  always  restrains  the 
imagination. 

When  we  make  things  after  our  own  fashion,  we  have  the  ascendancy  over  them : 
it  is  better  to  deal  with  the  invisible  world  than  with  the  visible ;  but  we  ought  to  asso- 
ciate them  together :  mere  description  is  always  imperfect :  all  the  grandeur  of  naturai 
scenery  will  not  avail,  unless  by  its  tendency  to  operate  on  the  human  mind.  This  is 
the  spell  of  Gray's  poetry :  this  makes  the  charm  of  Collins'  "  Ode  to  Evening :"  this 
is  the  magic  of  the  poetical  part  of  Cowley's  "  Essays :"  all  those  parts  of  Shak- 
epeare's  dramas  which  break  into  pure  poetry,  are  of  this  cast.  It  is  a  charm,  which 
to  my  apprehension,  was  scarce  ever  reached  by  Dryden  or  Pope :  Byron  repeatedly 
reached  it;  sometimes  he  was  extravagant:  Wordsworth  absolutely  deals  in  it.  All 
Impression  on  the  mind  is  nothing,  unl»ss  the  mind  throws  back  its  own  colours  upon  it 

All  the  labour  and  all  tho^  art  in  the  world  will  do  nothing  for  poetry :  they  may 
draw  Dopiously  and  freely  from  a  cistern  which  they  have  previously  filled  with  bor- 
rowed water;  but  the  water  will  be  stale,  vapid,  and  good  for  nothing. 

I  have  said  the  more  on  these  two  lyrics  of  Milton,  because  they  are  so  much  more 
universal  favourites  than  some  of  his  diviner  compositions.  The  greate*  part  of  the 
images  are  within  every  one's  observance ;  but  this  is  not,  I  think,  a  high  merit :  the 
poet's  eyes  should  "  give  to  airy  nothing  a  local  habitation  and  a  name."  Here  the 
images,  for  the  most  part,  are  such  as  actually  exist  bodily :  the  touches  upon  their 
4 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


most  picturesque  featurei  are,  indeed,  exquisite ;  and  here  and  there  are  passages 
of  aerial  music  unknown  to  common  ears  :  but  tlien  the  want  of  dignity,  of- the  "long, 
resounding  pace"  in  the  versification,  lessens  the  magic.  The  whole  is  written  lightly, 
and  upon  the  surface  :  the  poet  skims  away,  just  touches  with  his  wings,  and  goes  on: 
he  does  not  here  rise  in  slow  and  majestic  dignity  to  the  sun ;  horering  sometimes  on 
his  mighty  pinions,  and  seeming  to  hang  over  the  earth,  as  if  his  eye  was  penetrating 
into  its  depths;  and  then,  as  if  with  an  angel's  power,  again  darting  into  the  upper 
regions  of  the  sky. 

I  can  scarcely  suppose  that  these  two  pieces  cost  Milton  any  labour,  or  time,  oi 
strong  exercise  of  mind :  each  of  them  might  easily  have  been  produced  by  him  in  a 
few  hours :  but  there  is  an  abstraction  of  mind,  a  visionary  enthusiasm,  which  requirea 
a  very  difiFerent  sort  of  nursing :  in  that  state  Milton  must  have  been  in  his  sublimer 
compositions.  Here  he  deals  with  nothing  difficult,  nor  enters  into  the  mysteries  of 
the  soul. 

If  I  say  that  there  is  not  much  sentiment  in  these  descriptions  I  shall  probably  be 
answered,  that  the  images  are  selected  by  sentiment,  and  so  arranged  as  to  produce  a 
particular  tone  of  sentiment.  If  it  be  so,  the  sentiment  is  not  brought  out;  and  the 
poet  ought  not  to  trust  to  others  to  bring  out  that  which  he  ought  to  express  himself. 
It  will  not  be  pretended  that  there  is  any  moral  pathos  here;  and  moral  pathos  is 
assuredly  one  of  the  finest  spells  of  poetry.  Pathos  cannot  be  produced  by  a  writer 
who  has  not  a  visionary  presence  of  the  objects  which  produce  it :  but  it  were  better  to 
give  more  of  the  pathos,  and  less  of  the  objects. 

This  faculty,  indeed,  was  not  Milton's  chief  excellence :  now  and  then  he  is  pathetic 
in  "  Paradise  Lost,"  but  he  has  none  of  Shakspeare's  human  pathos :  he  was  too  stern 
and  heroic  for  tears. 

It  is  rarely  that  I  get  into  a  different  track  of  criticism  from  "Warton ;  but  "Warton 
was  perhaps  too  exclusively  fond  of  imagery  and  descriptions,  and  therefore  has  esti- 
mated the  poems,  of  which  I  am  now  speaking,  higher  than  I  do.  Warton  also  wanted 
pathos,  but  he  was  not  without  a  gentle  and  kindly  sentiment. 

These  descriptive  poems  had  long  fallen  into  oblivion,  when,  about  1740,  they  were 
revived  by  tne  Wartons,  who  formed  a  school  upon  them.  Like  all  schools,  when  they 
once  took  up  the  thing,  they  carried  it  too  far :  but  Collins,  in  his  "  Ode  to  Evening," 
stopped  precisely  at  the  true  point :  Gray  caught  some  of  the  infusion ;  and  I  suspect, 
that  in  two  or  three  images  or  epithets,  he  was  indebted  to  Collins ;  but  did  not  owe  his 
tone  to  the  "Warton  school,  being  rather  their  senior,  and  drinking  from  the  original 
fountains,  not  only  of  Milton,  but  still  more  of  the  Italians,  as  well  as  of  the  clfissics. 
Altogether,  the  cast  and  combination  of  the  "Elegy  in  a  Country  Churchyard"  is  hia 
own,  though  he  may  have  borrowed  particular  ingredients.  His  is  a  perfect  model,  ««i 
jrenem.  Joseph  Warton's  "  Ode  to  Fancy"  is  an  attempted  echo  of  "  L'AUegro"  and 
"  H  Penseroso ;"  indeed,  almost  a  cento. 


CHAPTER  V. 

ON  LTCIDAS,   AND   EPITAPHniM  DAMONIS. 

Edward  King,  fellow  of  Christ's  College,  Cambridge,  the  friend  of  Milton,  passing 
over  to  Ireland  to  visit  his  friends,  the  ship  struck  on  a  rock  on  the  English  coast, 
August  10, 1637,  when  all  oh  board  perished,.  He  was  son  of  Sir  John  King,  knight, 
secretary  for  Ireland  under  Queen  Elizabeth,  James  I.,  and  Charles  I.  At  Cambridge, 
Edward  King  was  distinguished  for  his  piety  and  proficiency  in  polite  letters.  "  Ly- 
cidas,"  which  laments  his  death,  first  appeared  in  the  Cambridge  collection  of  verses 
on  that  occasion,  1688. 

Dr.  Johnson's  censure  on  this  poem  is  gross  and  tasteless :  it  is  disgraceful  only  to 
the  critic.  He  has  treated  with  insolent  rudeness  one  tenfold  greater  than  liimself : 
he  has  set  the  example  ;  and  why  should  lie  be  spared?  I  will  endeavour  to  discuss 
this  question  with  the  utmost  impartiality,  and  confer  neither  praise  nor  blame  from 
unfounded  prejudice. 

This  poem  is  so  far  from  deserving  the  character  applied  to  it  by  Johnson,  that  "  the 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


diction  is  harsh,  the  rhymes  uncertain,  and  the  numbers  unpieasing"—  that  the  Ian  • 
guage  is  throughout  imaginative  and  picturesque,  and  the  rhythm  harmonious  and 
enchanting :  there  is  no  poem  in  which  the  epithets  are  more  beautiful,  more  appro- 
priate, and  more  fresh :  they  are  lilce  the  diction  of  no  predecessor,  but  of  some  of  th« 
occasional  passages  of  rural  description  by  Shakspeare,  in  his  happiest  modes :  the 
outburst  at  the  commencement  is  eminently  striking,  and  rich  with  poetry :  the  images 
that  present  themselves,  and  the  transitions,  are  always  natural,  and  sometimes  sublime : 
they  have  this  difference  from  those  of  "L'Allegro"  and  "II  Penseroso,"  that  they  are 
more  spiritual ;  that  is,  they  are  more  mingled  up  with  intellect :  they  are  not  purely 
material.  As  to  the  poem  being  pastoral,  Johnson  might  much  more  object  to  the 
Psalms  i  as  in  Addison's  beautiful  version, — 

The  Lord  my  pasture  shall  prepare,  &c. 
where  the  Deity  himself  is  represented  in  the  character  of  a  shepherd. 

But  it  will  be  asked  what  invention  there  is  in  this  poem  ?  There  is  invention  in 
the  epithets,  in  the  combinations,  in  the  descriptions,  in  the  apostrophes,  in  the  vision- 
ary parts  of  the  poem,  in  the  sorrows,  the  predictions,  and  the  consolations :  in  all 
those  associations,  which  none  but  a  rich  and  poetical  mind  produces. 

Johnson  had  so  accustomed  himself  to  cultivate  dry  reason  only,  that  he  thought  all 
array  of  imagery  idle  and  useless.  If  he  had  any  feeling,  it  was  only  when  he  argued 
himself  into  it;  it  did  not  come  from  the  senses  :  he  loved  abstraction ;  but  it  was  not 
the  abstraction  of  shadows,  nor  the  "bodying  forth"  of  "airy  nothings."  Milton's 
mind  was  in  a  blaze,  surrounded  by  a  whole  range  of  invisible  worlds  and  their  aerial 
Inhabitants :  his  genius  gave  to  matter  an  ideal  light  and  ideal  properties :  he  con  - 
nected  the  dignity  of  human  existence  with  the  beauty  and  the  grandeur  of  the  scenery 
of  nature. 

The  epithets  which  true  poets  give  to  imagery  confer  upon  it  its  spell :  "  Lycidas" 
is  full  of  these  epithets  from  beginning  to  end :  they  are  always  fresh  and  exquisitely 
vivid,  but  never  extravagant  or  over-ornamental. 

The  versification  is  as  regular  as  is  consistent  with  vigour  and  variety :  the  five-feel 
lines  are  far  preferable  to  the  shorter  lines  of  the  two  poems  before  discussed. 

"Lycidas"  is  full  of  learned  allusions,  perhaps  too  full, — which  was  Milton's  fault. 

Dr.  Joseph  Warton  has  truly  said,  that  the  admiration  or  dislike  of  this  poem  is  an 
Infallible  test  whether  a  reader  has  or  has  not  a  poetical  taste :  he  who  is  not  enrap- 
tured with  it  can  have  no  genuine  idea  of  poetry.  « 

If  we  are  asked  what  puts  all  within  the  range  of  mind  before  us  in  such  brilliant  or 
such  affecting  colours,  wo  can  only  say  that  it  is  indefinable,  but  that  we  cannot  doubt 
its  effects.  All  secondary  poets  attempt  this  by  a  false  gloss :  they  are  full  of  orna- 
ment; but  the  ornament  is  a  glare,  or  a  set  of  artificial  flowers :  there  is  no  fragrance, — 
no  vivifying  spirit.  In  a  true  poet,  like  Milton,  all  springs  up  unsought  from  the  foun- 
tain of  the  soul  or  the  heart :  it  is  an  enthusiasm ;  but  an  enthusiasm  not  unapproved 
by  the  sober  judgment  and  the  conscience.  Nothing  is  good,  which  there  is  not  some 
susceptibility  within  us  ready  instantly  to  recognise :  nothing  can  be  forced  upon  us  by 
artful  effort :  no  factitious  gilding  will  avail.  The  poet's  difficulty  is  to  find  expression! 
for  what  he  really  feels. 

Now  and  then  there  may  be  a  momentary  blazo  in  inferior  authors ;  but,  in  bard* 
like  Milton,  all  is  one  texture  of  light 

Just  before  Milton's  return  from  Italy  in  1639,  his  friend  Charles  Deodate  died,  and 
the  news  met  him  on  his  arrival:  he  then  wrote  a  Latin  elegy  on  him,  entitled 
"Epitaphium  Damonis,"  which  has  some  similitude  t«  "Lycidas."  Warton  says,  that 
there  are  in  it  some  new  and  natural  country  images,  and  the  common  topics  are  often 
recommended  by  a  novelty  of  elegant  expression :  it  contains  some  passages  which 
Wander  far  beyond  the  bounds  of  bucolic  song,  and  are  in  his  own  original  style  of  the 
more  sublime  poetry.  Milton  cannot  be  a  shepherd  long :  his  own  native  powers  break 
forth,  and  cannot  bear  the  assumed  disguise. 

At  line  155  of  this  elegy,  he  hints  his  design  of  writing  an  epic  poem  on  some  part 
of  the  ancient  British  story.     So,  in  his  poem  entitled  "Mansus,"  he  says, 
Si  quando  indigenas  revocabo  in  carmina  reges, 
▲rturumque  etiam  sub  terris  bella  moventera. 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


These  are  the  ancient  kings  of  Britain :  this  was  the  suhject  for  an  epic  poem  that  first 
occupied  his  mind.  King  Arthur,  at  his  death,  was  supposed  to  be  carried  into  the 
Bubterraneous  land  of  fairy  or  of  spirits,  where  he  still  reigned  as  a  king ;  and  whence 
he  was  to  return  into  Britain,  to  renew  the  round  table,  conquer  all  his  enemies,  and 
re-establish  his  throne :  he  was  therefore  "  etiam  movens  bella  sub  terris,"  still  medi- 
tating wars  under  the  earth.  The  impulse  of  Milton's  attachment  to  this  subject  was 
not  entirely  suppressed :  it  produced  his  "  History  of  Britain."  By  the  expression, 
"  revocabo  in  carmina,"  the  poet  means,  that  these  ancient  kings,  which  were  once  the 
themes  of  the  British  bards,  should  now  again  be  celebrated  in  verse.  Milton,  in  hia 
•'Church  Government,"  written  in  1641,  says  that,  after  the  example  of  Tasso,  "it 
haply  would  be  no  rashness,  from  an  equal  diligence  and  inclination,  to  present  the  like 
offer  in  one  of  our  own  ancient  stories  !"  It  is  possible  that  the  advice  of  Manso,  the 
friend  of  Tasso,  might  determine  the  poet  to  a  design  of  this  kind. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ON  C0MU8. 

In  1634,  Milton  wrote  his  immortal  "Mask  of  Comus,"  for  John  Egerton,  first  Earl 
of  Bridgewater,  then  Lord  President  of  Wales,  to  be  presented  at  Ludlow  Castle,  which 
was  his  Lordship's  residence. 

The  poet's  father  held  his  house  under  the  Earls  of  Bridgewater,  at  Horton,  near 
Harefield,  and  not  far  from  Ashridge:  thus,  perhaps,  was  the  poet  introduced  to  that 
noble  family :  he  certainly  had  not  yet  become  a  decided  puritan  and  republican.  The 
Countess  of  Derby  (Alice  Spencer),  mother-in-law  of  the  Earl  of  Bridgewater,  and  also 
widow  of  Lord  Chancellor  Egerton,  was  a  generous  patroness  of  poets,  and,  among  the 
rest,  of  her  relation,  the  author  of  the  "  Faery  Queene."  Such  a  patroness  would  be, 
above  all  others,  grateful  to  Milton. 

"  Comus"  was  acted  by  the  Earl's  children,  the  Lord  Brackley,  Mr.  Thomas  Egerton, 
and  the  Lady  Alice  Egerton. 

The  Egertons  were  among  the  most  powerful  of  the  nobility,  and  lived  in  the  most 
state.  By  a  marriage  with  a  co-heiress  of  the  great  feudal  family  of  Stanley,  who  were 
co-heirs  to  the  royal  races  of  Tudor  and  Plantagenet,  they  held  a  sort  of  demi-regal 
respect.  Their  domains  were  large,  and  their  character  for  hospitality  and  accomplish- 
ments stood  high.  This#iistorical  house  have,  a  century  afterwards,  rendered  them- 
selves again  immortal  by  designing  and  patronizing  national  works  of  another  class.* 

Masks  had  been  common  in  the  time  of  Ben  Jonson.  I  leave  to  antiquaries  to  trace 
the  origin  of  the  subject  and  design  of  "  Comus."  The  merit  lies  not  in  the  hint  but  in 
the  superstructure.  The  story  is  said  to  have  been  occasioned  by  a  domestic  incident 
of  the  Egerton  family. 

When  we  open  this  poem,  we  seem  to  enter  on  the  beings  and  language  of  anothei 
world.     Every  word  is  poetry. 

The  first  of  the  dramatis  personas  is  the  Spirit,  whose  speech  runs  to  ninety-two 
lines.  It  is  of  the  deepest  interest  to  the  piece,  and  opens  to  us  the  sovereignty  of 
Neptune — the  quartering  of  our  island  to  his  blue-haired  deities — the  parentage  of 
Comus — his  dangerous  arts,  and  the  Spirit's  own  protecting  intervention. 

Next  comes  Comus  attended  by  his  monstrous  rout,  whom  he  thus  addresses : — 

The  star  that  bids  the  shepherd  fold 

Now  the  top  of  heaven  doth  hold,  &c. 
The  noise  of  their  revelry  calls  the  attention  of  the  Lady,  -who  now  enters : — 

This  way  the  noise  was,  if  mine  ear  be  true, 

My  best  guide  now. 
"  By  laying  the  scene  of  this  Mask,"  Warton  obser^'cs,  "  in  a  wild  forest,  Milton 
secured  to  himself  a  perpetual  fund  of  picturesque  description,  which,  resulting  from, 

*  The  canal  navigation  of  the  last  Duke  of  Bridgewater,  who  died  in  1803,  is  celebrated  alt 
over  the  world.  The  last  two  Earls,  who  succeeded  him,  were  indeed  less  eminent,  and 
dimmed— the  former  by  his  mediocrity,  the  latter  by  his  eccentricities— some  of  the  lustre  of  the 
name.    The  last  died  in  1829.    Such  are  the  chances  and  changes  of  time. 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


situation,  was  always  at  hand.  He  was  not  obliged  to  go  out  of  his  way  for  this 
Btriking  embellishment :  it  was  suggested  of  necessity  by  present  circumstances.  The 
same  happy  choice  of  scene  supplied  Sophocles  in  '  PhUoctetes,'  Shakspeare  in  '  As 
You  Like  It,'  and  Fletcher  in  the  '  Faithful  Shepherdess/  with  frequent  and  even  una- 
voidable opportunities  of  rural  delineation ;  and  that  of  the  most  romantic  kind.  But 
Milton  has  had  additional  advantages  :  his  forest  is  not  only  the  residence  of  a  magician, 
but  is  exhibited  under  the  gloom  of  midnight.  Fletcher,  however,  to  whom  Milton  is 
confessedly  indebted,  avails  himself  of  the  latter  circumstance." 
The  lady  exclaims, 

A  thousand  phantasies 
Begin  to  throng  mto  my  memory, 
Of  calling  shapes,  and  beckoning  shadows  dire, 
And  aery  tongues,  that  syllable  men's  names 
On  sands,  and  shores,  and  desert  wildernesses. 

Warton  says,  "  1  remember  these  superstitions,  which  are  here  finely  applied,  in  the 
ancient  voyages  of  Marco  Paolo  the  Venetian,  speaking  of  the  vast  and  perilous  desert 
of  Lop  in  Asia,  '  Cernuntur  et  audiuntur,  in  eo  interdiu,  et  acepiua  iwctu,  deemonum 
varisB  illusiones.  Unde  viatoribus  summe  cavendum  est,  ne  multum  ab  invicem  seipsos 
dissocient,  aut  aliquis  a  tergo  sese  diutius  impediat  Alioquin,  quamprimum  propter 
montes  et  calles  quispiam  comitum  suorum  aspeetum  perdiderit,  non  facile  ad  ecs  per 
veniet :  nam  audiuntur  ibi  voces  da^monum,  qui  solitarie  incedentes  propriia  appellant 
nominibiu,  voces  fingentea  illorum  quos  comitari  se  putant,  ut  a  recto  itinere  abductus  in 
pemiciem  deducant.' — De  Regionib.  Oriental.  1.  i.  o.  44.  But  there  is  a  mixture  from 
Fletcher's  *  Faithful  Shepherdess,'  A.  i.  S.  i.  p.  108.  The  shepherdess  mentions,  among 
other  nocturnal  terrors  in  a  wood,  '  Or  voices  calling  me  in  dead  of  night.'  These 
fancies  from  Marco  Paolo  are  adopted  in  Heylin's  *  Cosmographie,'  I  am  not  sure  if  in 
ttny  of  the  three  editions  printed  before  '  Comus'  appeared."  *  The  song  on  Echo  is 
more  exquisite  than  anything  of  its  kind  in  our  language. 

"  Comus,"  says  Warton,  "  is  universally  allowed  to  have  taken  some  of  its  tints  from 
the  '  Tempest.' " 

The  following  is  a  beautiful  passage : 

'Tis  most  true 
That  musing  meditation  most  affects 
The  pensive  secrecy  of  desert  cell. 
Far  from  the  cheerful  haunt  of  men  and  herds, 
And  sits  as  safe  as  in  a  senate-house.. 

On  which  Warton  has  the  following  somewhat  singular  note : — "  Not  many  years 
after  this  was  written,  Milton's  friends  showed  that  the  safety  of  a  senate-house  was 
not  inviolable :  but  when  the  people  turn  legislators,  what  place  is  safe  from  the  tumults 
of  innovation,  and  the  insults  of  disobedience  ?"  True — if  uncontrolled  by  king  and 
lords,  as  they  have  lately  attempted  to  be. 

The  poet,  speaking  of  chastity,  says. 

Yea,  there,  where  very  desolation  dwells, 
/  By  grots  and  caverns  shagg'd  with  horrid  shades, 

She  may  pass  on  with  unblonch'd  majesty, 
Be  it  not  done  in  pride,  or  in  presumption. 
Dr.  Joseph  Warton  remarks,  in  his  "  Essay  on  Pope,"  that  poet's  imitation  of  this 
and  other  passages  of  Milton's  juvenile  poems.  "  This  is  the  first  instance,"  adds 
Thomas  Warton,  "  of  any  degree  even  of  the  slightest  attention  being  paid  to  Milton's 
smaller  poems  by  a  writer  of  note  since  their  first  publication.  Milton  was  never  men- 
tioned or  acknowledged  as  an  English  poet  till  after  the  appearance  of  '  Paradise 
Lost ;'  and  long  after  that  time  these  pieces  were  totally  forgotten  and  overlooked.  It 
Is  strange  that  Pope,  by  no  means  of  a  congenial  spirit,  should  be  the  first  who  copied 
'  Comus'  or  *  II  Penseroso.'  But  Pope  was  a  gleaner  of  the  old  English  poets ;  and  he 
was  here  pilfering  from  obsolete  English  poetry,  without  the  least  fear  or  danger  of 
being  detected." 

At  1.  780  the  lady  says, 

•  See  lib.  in.  p.  201,  edit.  1652,  fol.  Sylvestre,  in  Du  Bartas,  has  also  the  tradition  n  the 
text,  ed,  fol.  ut  (rapr.  p.  274 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


To  him  that  dares 
Arm  his  profane  tongue  with  contemptuous  words 
Against  the  sun-clad  power  of  chastity, 
Fain  would  I  something  say,  yet  to  what  end  f 
Thou  hast  nor  ear  nor  soul  to  apprehend 
The  sublitne  notion,  and  high  mystery, 
That  must  be  uttered  to  unfold  the  sage 
And  serious  doctrine  of  virgmity  ; 
And  thou  art  worthy  that  thou  shouldst  not  know 
More  happiness  than  this  thy  present  lot. 

UpoE  this  passage,  also,  Warton  has  the  following  curious  note  : — 
"By  studying  the  reveries  of  the  Platonic  writers,  Milton  contracted  a  theory  con- 
cerning chastity  and  the  purity  of  love,  in  the  contemplation  of  which,  like  othei 
visionaries,  he  indulged  his  imagination  with  iaeal  refinements,  and  with  pleasing  bul 
unmeaning  notions  of  excellence  and  perfection.  Plato's  sentimental  or  metaphysical 
love,  he  seems  to  have  applied  to  the  natural  love  between  the  sexes.  The  very  phi- 
losophical dialogue  of  the  Angel  and  Adam,  in  the  eighth  book  of  'Paradise  Lost,' 
altogether  proceeds  on  this  doctrine.  In  the  '  Smectymnus'  he  declares  his  initiation 
Into  the  mysteries  of  this  immaterial  love.  '  Thus  from  the  laureate  fraternity  of  poets, 
riper  years,  and  the  ceaseless  round  of  study  and  reading,  led  me  to  the  shady  spaces 
of  philosophy;  but  chiefly  to  the  divine  volume  of  Plato,  and  his  equal  Xenophon  ; 
where,  if  I  should  tell  ye  what  I  learned  of  chastity  and  love,  I  mean  that  which  ia 
truly  so,'  Ac.  But  in  the  dialogue  just  mentioned,  where  Adam  asks  his  celestial 
guest,  'Whether  angels  are  susceptible  of  love,  whether  they  express  their  passion  by 
looks  only,  or  by  a  mixture  of  irradiation,  by  virtual  or  immediate  contact  ? '  our  author 
seems  to  have  overleaped  the  Platonic  pale,  and  to  have  lost  his  way  among  the  solemn 
conceits  of  Peter  Lombard  and  Thomas  Aquinas.  It  is  no  wonder  that  the  angel 
blushed,  as  well  as  smiled,  at  some  of  these  questions." 
The  incomparable  poem  of  "  Comus"  thus  ends : — 

Mortals,  that  would  follow  me, 
Love  Virtue  ;  she  alone  is  free ; 
She  can  teach  ye  how  to  climb 
Higher  than  the  sphery  chime ; 
Or  if  Virtue  feeble  were, 
Heaven  itself  would  stoop  to  her. 

Thyer  says,  that  "the  moral  of  this  poem  is  very  finely  summed  \vp  in  the  six  con- 
cluding lines.  The  thought  contained  in  the  last  two  might  probably  be  suggested  to 
our  author  by  a  passage  in  the  '  Table  of  Cebes,'  where  Patience  and  Perseverance  are 
represented  stooping  and  stretching  out  their  hands  to  help  up  those  who  are  endea- 
vouring to  climb  the  craggy  hill  of  Virtue,  and  yet  are  too  feeble  to  ascend  themselves." 

Mr.  Francis  Egerton  (afterwards  the  last  Earl  of  Bridgewater)  has  observed  upon 
this,  that,  '  had  this  ingenious  critic  duly  reflected  on  the  lofty  mind  of  Milton, 
Smit  with  the  love  of  saerod  song, 

and  so  often  and  so  sublimely  employed  on  topics  of  religion,  he  might  readily  have 
found  a  subject,  to  which  the  poet  obviously  and  divinely  alludes  in  these  concluding 
lines,  without  fetching  the  thought  from  the  '  Table  of  Cebes.'  In  the  preceding  attack 
I  an"  convinced  Mr.  Thyer  had  no  ill  intention ;  but  by  overlooking  so  clear  and  pointed 
an  aUusion  to  a  subject  calculated  to  kindle  that  lively  glow  in  the  bosom  of  every 
Christian,  which  the  poet  intended  to  excite,  and  by  referring  it  to  an  image  in  a  pro- 
fane author,  he  may,  beside  stifling  the  sublime  efi"ect  so  happily  produced,  aSbrd  a 
handle  to  some  in  these  'evil  days,'  who  are  willing  to  make  the  religion  of  Socrates 
and  Cebes  (or  that  of  Nature)  supersede  the  religion  of  Christ.  The  moral  of  this 
poem  is,  indeed,  very  finely  summed  up  in  the  six  concluding  lines,  in  which,  to  wind 
np  one  of  the  most  elegant  productions  of  his  genius, 

The  poet's  eye,  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling, 
threw  up  his  last  glance  to  Heaven,  in  rapt  contemplation  of  that  stupendous  mystery, 
whereby  H?,  the  lofty  theme  of  Paradise  Regained,  stooped  from  above  all  height 
'  bowed  tha  Heavens,  and  camo  down  on  Earth,'  to  atone  as  man  for  the  sins  of  men 


LIFE  OP  MILTON. 


CO  strengthen  feeble  Virtue  by  the  infiuetce  of  his  grace,  and  to  teach  hor  to  ascend 
his  throne." 

Numerous  critics,  from  Tolan'd  to  Todl,  have  given  the  character  of  this  poem;  but 
Thomas  Warton's  is  by  far  the  best :  Johnson,  with  some  good  passages,  has  intermixed 
much  captious  objection,  and  not  a  little  vulgarity.  He  cannot  refrain  from  a  sort  of 
coarse  sneer,  which  affects  to  be  humour. 

"We  must  not,"  says  AVarton,  "read  Comus  with  an  eye  to  the  stage,  or  with  the 
expectation  of  dramatic  propriety.  Under  this  restriction  the  absurdity  of  the  Spirit 
speaking  to  an  audience  in  a  solitary  forest  at  midnight,  and  the  want  of  reciprocation 
In  the  dialogue,  are  overlooked.  *  Comus'  is  a  suite  of  speeches,  not  interesting  by 
discrimination  of  character ;  not  conveying  a  variety  of  incidents,  nor  gradually  exci- 
ting curiosity ;  but  perpetually  attracting  attention  by  sublime  sentiment,  by  fanciful 
imagery  of  the  richest  vein,  by  an  exuberance  of  picturesque  description,  poetical  allu- 
sion, and  ornamental  expression."  To  this  the  critic  adds  many  other  excellent  obser- 
vations. 

A  Mask,  written  for  a  private  theatre,  and  to  be  performed  by  highly-educated 
actors,  is  not  like  a  play  to  bo  exhibited  to  a  mixed  and  common  audience:  long 
speeches,  therefore,  of  a  tone  too  lofty  for  vulgar  ears,  are  not  here  objectionable.  Of 
the  texture  of  the  present  composition  every  word  is  eminently  poetical.  Passages  of 
similar  beauty  may  be  found  in  Shakspeare,  and  even  in  Fletcher, — but  not  a  uniform 
and  unbroken  web.  It  is  true  that  there  is  little  passion  in  this  dramatic  poem ;  but 
none  is  pretended  to :  while  it  is  enchantingly  descriptive,  it  is  at  the  same  time  philo- 
sophically calm.  AVe  are  carried  into  a  fairy  region  of  good  spirits  and  bad :  and 
everything  of  rural  scenery  that  is  delightful,  associated  with  wild  and  picturesque 
beliefs  of  an  invisible  world  in  mountains,  valleys,  forests,  and  rivers,  is  introduced  to 
keep  up  the  magic.  Were  it  a  mere  description  of  inanimate  nature,  it  would  be  com- 
paratively dull.  Here,  too,  a  beautiful  girl,  of  high  rank,  richly  accomplished  in  mind, 
is  introduced,  to  pour  out,  under  alarming  circumstances,  a  divine  eloquence  of  exalted 
and  affecting  sentiment.  Virtue  and  truth,  and  purity  of  intellect  and  heart,  break  out 
at  every  word.  To  these  strains  who  can  deny  poetical  invention  !  What  definition 
of  poetry  can  be  given,  by  which  this  Mask  can  be  excluded  from  a  very  high  placo? 
Is  it  not  evrywhere  either  brilliant  and  picturesque  or  lofty  fiction?  It  is  said  that 
the  characters  have  no  passion;  but  how  is  passion  a  necessary  ingredient  of  poetry? 
Poetry  must  create ;  but  it  may  create  beings  of  tranquil  beauty,  and  calm  exaltation. 
Cavillers  say  that  the  Brothers  ought  not  to  philosophize,  -s^hile  the  Sister  is  left  alone 
in  the  dangers  of  a  solitary  forest:  but  their  faith  in  a  protecting  Providence  will  not 
allow  them  to  think  her  in  great  danger.  It  may  be  replied  that  this  is  an  improbable 
degree  of  faith.  Is  it  a  poetical  improbability  ?  It  seems  as  if  such  censors  think  that 
nothing  must  be  represented  which  does  not  occur  in  every-day  life.  Poetry  is  lite- 
rally, and  to  all  extent,  the  reverse  of  this. 

Minor  bards  may  give  occasional  touches  of  outward  poetry  by  illustrations  of 
imagery  and  description ;  but  the  whole  structure  and  soul  of  Milton's  "  Comus"  is 
poetry :  not  the  dress,  but  the  intrinsic  spirit,  and  the  essence.  The  characters  of  the 
Attendant  Spirit,  and  of  Comus,  are  exquisite  inventions.  What  is  copied  from  obser- 
vation, is  not  always  poetry ;  therefore  Dryden  and  Pope  were  very  often  not  poets. 

There  are  numerous  ideas  implanted  in  our  nature,  which  are  not  bodily  truths,  but 
imaginative  truths :  even  single  epithets  convey  these,  as  is  shown  by  every  part  of 
"  Comus,"  while  picturesque  words  point  out  the  leading  features  of  every  rural  objccti 
No  such  words  ever  appear  in  Dryden  or  Pope,  unless  they  are  borrowed.  Their 
descriptions  are  general  and  vague :  they  convey  fine  sounds,  but  no  precise  ideas. 
The  true  poet  cannot  avoid  seeing :  images  haunt  him ;  he  cannot  get  rid  of  them  :  he 
does  not  call  up  his  memory  to  produce  empty  words,  but  he  draws  from  the  visionary 
shapes  before  him. 

While  Milton  was  framing  the  "Comus,"  he,  no  doubt,  lived  in  the  midst  of  his  own 
creation:  he  only  clothed  the  tongues  of  hie  characters  wi*Ji  what  it  appeared  to  him 
in  his  vision  they  actually  spoke. 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ON    THE    ARCADES. 

The  "Arcades"  was  a  Mask,  which  was  part  of  an  entertainment  presented  to  Alice 
Spencer,  Countess  Dowager  of  Derby,  and  afterwards  widow  of  Lord  Chancellor  Eger- 
ton,  at  Harefjeld  in  Middlesex,  and  acted  by  some  noble  persons  of  her  family. 

This  celebrated  lady  was  daughter  of  Sir  John  Spencer  of  Althorp,  who  was  then 
one  of  the  richest  commoners  of  England.  Her  first  husband.  Earl  Ferdinando,  was  a 
nost  accomplished  nobleman,  who  died  in  the  flower  of  his  age ; — it  is  supposed  by 
poison,  because  he  would  not  enter  into  the  plots  of  the  Jesuits  to  claim  the  crown 
fiom  Queen  Elizabeth,  on  account  of  his  royal  descent;  for  which  see  the  famous 
volume,  called  "  Dolman's  Conference,"  written  by  Parsons  the  Jesuit,  and  see  also 
Hallam,  and  Hargrave. 

Norden,  in  his  "  Speculum  Britanniae,"  about  1590,  speaking  of  Harefield,  says, 
"There  Sir  Edmoud  Anderson,  Knight,  Lord-Chief-Justice  of  the  Commoii  Pleas, 
hath  a  fair  house,  standing  on  the  edge  of  the  hill ;  the  river  Colne  passing  near  the 
same,  through  the  pleasant  meadows  and  sweet  pastures,  yielding  both  delight  and 
profit."  "  I  viewed  this  house,"  says  Warton,  "  a  few  years  ago,  when  it  was  for  the 
most  part  remaining  in  its  original  state.  It  has  since  been  pulled  down ;  the  porters' 
lodges  on  each  side  of  the  gateway  are  converted  into  a  commodious  dwelling-house. 
It  is  near  Uxbridge ;  and  Milton,  when  he  wrote  '  Arcades,'  was  still  living  with  his 
father  at  Horton,  near  Colnebrook,  in  the  same  neighbourhood.  He  mentions  the 
singular  felicity  he  had  in  vain  anticipated  in  the  society  of  his  friend  Deodate,  on  the 
shady  banks  of  the  river  Colne: — 

Imus,  et  arguta  paulum  recubamus  in  umbra, 
Aut  ad  aquas  Colni,  &c. — Epit.  Damon.  1.  149. 

Amidst  the  fruitful  and  delightful  scenes  of  this  river  the  nymphs  and  shepherds  had 
no  reason  to  regret,  as  in  the  third  song,  the  Arcadian  '  Ladon's  lilied  banks.'  Unques- 
tionably this  Mask  was  a  much  longer  performance.  Milton  seems  only  to  have 
written  the  poetical  part,  consisting  of  these  three  songs  and  the  recitative  soliloquy 
of  the  Genius :  the  rest  was  probably  prose  and  machinery.  In  many  of  Jonson's 
Masques  the  poet  but  rarely  appears,  amid  a  cumbersome  exhibition  of  heathen  gods 
and  mythology." 

The  Countess  of  Derby  died  26th  January,  1635-6,  and  was  buried  at  Harefield. 
(See  "  Lyson's  Environs  of  London.") 

Harrington  has  an  epigram  on  this  lady,  B.  iii.  47. 

IN  PRAISE  OF  THE  COUNTESS  OF  SERBT,  MARRIED  TO  THE  LOBD  CHANCBLLOB. 

This  noble  Countess  lived  many  years 

With  Derby,  one  of  England's  greatest  peers: 

Fruitful  and  fair,  nnd  of  so  clear  a  name, 

That  all  this  region  marvell'd  at  her  fame. 

But  this  brave  peer  extinct  by  hasten'd  fate, 

She  stay'd,  ha,  too,  too  long  in  widow's  state; 

And  in  that  state  took  so  sweet  state  upon  hor. 

All  ears,  eyes,  tongues,  lieard,  saw,  and  told  her  honour,  &c. 

But  Milton  is  not  the  only  great  English  poet  who  has  celebrated  the  Countes.s 
Dowager  of  Derby.  She  was  the  sixth  daughter,  as  we  have  seen,  of  Sir  John  Spencer, 
with  whose  family  Spenser  the  poet  claimed  an  alliance.  In  his  "  Colin  Clout's  come 
home  again,"  written  about  1595,  he  mentions  her  under  the  appellation  of  Amaryllis, 
with  her  sisters  Phyllis  or  Elizabeth,  and  Charyllis  or  Anne;  these  three  of  Sir  John 
Spencer's  daughters  being  best  known  at  Court.     See  1.  536. 

No  less  praiseworthy  are  the  sisters  throo, 
The  honour  of  the  noble  family, 
Of  which  I  meanest  boast  myself  to  be, 
And  most  that  unto  them  I  am  so  nigh. 

After  a  panegyric  on  the  first  two,  he  next  comes  to  Amaryllis,  or  Alice,  our  lady,  the 
dowager  of  Earl  Ferdinando,  lately  deceased : — 


LIFE  OP  MILTON. 


But  Amary.lis,  whether  fortunate, 

Or  else  unfortunate  may  I  aread, 

That  freed  is  from  Cupid's  yoke  by  fate, 

Since  which  she  doth  new  bands  adventure  dread, 

Shepherd,  whatever  thou  hast  heard  to  bo 

In  this  or  that  praised  diversely  apart, 

In  her  thou  mayeat  them  assembled  see, 

And  seal'd  up  in  the  treasure  of  her  heart 

And  in  the  same  poem  he  thus  apostrophizes  to  her  late  husband,  under  the  name 
of  Amyntas:  see  I.  434. 

Amyntas  quite  is  gone,  and  lies  full  low, 

Having  his  Amaryllis  left  to  moan  ! 

Help,  O  ye  shepherds  I  help  ye  all  in  this,— 

Her  loss  is  yours ;  your  loss  Amyntas  is  ! 

Amyntas,  flower  of  shepherds'  pride  forlorn} 

He,  whilst  he  lived,  was  the  noblest  swain 

That  ever  piped  on  an  oaten  quill ; 

Both  did  ho  other,  which  could  pipe,  maintain, 

And  eke  could  pipe  himself  with  passing  skill. 

And  to  the  same  Lady  Alice,  when.  Lady  Strange,  before  her  husband  Ferdinando's 
succession  to  the  earldom,  Spenser  addressed  his  "  Tears  of  the  Muses,"  published  in 
1591,  in  a  dedication  of  the  highest  regard;  where  he  speaks  of  "your  excellent 
beauty,  your  virtuous  behaviour,  and  your  noble  match  with  that  most  honourable  lord, 
the  very  pattern  of  right  nobility."  He  then  acknowledges  the  particular  bounties 
which  she  had  conferred  upon  the  poets.  Thus  the  lady  who  presided  at  the  repre- 
sentation of  Milton's  "  Arcades"  was  not  only  the  theme  but  the  patroness  of  Spenser. 
The  peerage-book  of  this  most  respectable  countess  is  the  poetry  of  her  times. 


CHAPTER  VnL 

ON  Milton's  foreign  travels. 

In  1637,  set.  twenty-nine,  Milton,  on  the  death  of  his  mother,  obtained  his  father's 
leave  to  visit  Italy.  I  have  already  mentioned  the  course  of  his  travels.  The  accom- 
plished and  amiable  Sir  Henry  Wotton,  whose  admiration  and  heart  had  been  won.  by 
the  poet's  "  Comus,"  gave  him  his  advice  and  recommendations.  At  Florence,  Rome, 
and  Naples,  he  was  received  with  applause  and  kindness  by  all  the  most  eminent 
literati.  He,  who  had  been  little  noticed  in  his  own  country,  was  received  with  the 
most  distinguished  honours  abroad,  in  the  country  of  Dante,  Petrarch,  Ariosto,  and 
Tasso. 

How  happened  this  ?     Yet  such  is  the  perversity  of  human  nature  ! 

It  is  a  subject  of  deep  regret  that  Milton  has  not  left  a  written  account  of  his  travels, 
with  details  such  as  modern  visiters  of  the  same  and  other  countries  give ;  or  even 
such  short  notes  as  Gray  sent  in  his  letters.  It  is  impossible  to  conceive  any  other  so 
qualified  to  receive  delight  from  these  visits  as  Milton.  Above  all  other  men,  his  mind 
was  full  of  the  richest  and  most  profound  classical  recollections.  Not  only  his  fancy 
held  a  mirror  to  all  the  beautiful  and  golden  scenery,  and  all  the  exquisite  and  g-and 
displays  of  the  arts  of  painting  and  sculpture,  but  he  had  a  creative  imagination, 
beyond  all  other  men,  which  must  have  fired  into  a  blaze  at  them.  All  with  which  his 
mind  had  been  stored  from  boyhood,  drawn  from  distant  sources,  must  now  have 
seemed  to  be  realized.  He  saw  the  very  identical  relics  of  classical  times  embodied 
before  his  eyes :  he  saw  clear  skies,  and  beautiful  scenes,  of  which  we  have  no  idea  in 
a  northern  climate.  The  Alps  and  the  Apennines,  the  Mediterranean  and  the  Adriatic, 
and  above  all  the  bay  of  Naples,  gave  him  landscapes  and  sea-views  such  as  an 
Englishman,  who  has  never  quitted  his  own  country,  can  have  no  conception  of. 

He  visited  Galileo,  which,  however,  was  supposed  to  have  raised  some  dangerous 

prejudices  against  him :  but  his  great  friend  was  the  Marquis  Manso  of  Naples,  who 

bad  been  the  friend  of  Tasso,  and  who  was  himself  a  poet.     "Ad  Mansum"  is  one  of 

the  best  of  his  Latin  poems.    With  what  enthusiasm  must  Milton  have  entered  into 

5 


LIFE  OF  MILTON". 


Tasso's  character,  as  well  as  that  of  Dante,  Petrarch,  and  Ariosto !  Dante's  genius 
was,  no  doubt,  the  nearest  to  his  own :  but  in  addition  to  the  epic  imagination,  there  ia 
In  his  personal  history  something  so  striking,  lo  melancholy,  and  so  full  of  deep  inte- 
rest, that  it  adds  twofold  to  the  attraction  with  which  we  read  his  poetry. 

Three,  at  least,  of  these  four  mighty  poets  suffered  great  misfortunes :  but  the  history 
of  their  lives  is  well  known,  and  this  is  not  the  place  for  treating  of  them.  We  have 
nothing  English  of  the  same  sort  as  their  respective  geniuses,  unless,  perhaps,  Spenser. 
The  sombreness  and  mystical  sublimity  of  Dante,  is  peculiar  to  himself:  he  has  been 
admirably  translated  by  Gary :  he  lived  in  a  glorious  time  for  poetry,  when  superstitiou 
fostered  and  coloured  all  its  noblest  creations  ;  and  when  the  chilling  and  false  artifices 
of  the  cold  critic  had  not  yet  paralyzed  exertion ; — when  all  was  hope  and  adventure, 
both  of  mind  and  body. 

Had  Milton's  mind  at  this  epoch  been  so  strongly  infected  with  puritanism  as  his 
enemies  averred,  he  could  not  have  enjoyed  Italian  manners  and  Italian  genius. 
There  he  saw  all  the  pomp  and  warmth  of  religion :  puritanism  had  all  its  acidity  and 
rigidness,  and  all  its  freezing  bareness.  Coming  fresh  from  these  things,  of  which  he 
has  expressed  his  delight,  I  know  not  how  he  could  so  at  once  plunge  into  principles, 
which  would  destroy  them  all  to  the  very  root ;  but  such  are  the  inconsistencies  of  frail 
humanity !  Gray  saw  all  these  things  with  equal  sensibility  and  taste,  if  not  with 
equal  genius ;  and  he  remained  fixed  in  the  love  of  them  through  life. 

But  it  is  worthy  of  remark,  that  as  soon  as  Milton  actively  took  the  side  of  this  cause 
of  destruction,  the  Muses  left  him  for  twenty  years.  Coming  fresh  from  the  living 
fountains  of  all  imaginative  creation,  the  happy  delirium  of  glorious  genius  subsided 
Into  a  cold  and  harsh  stagnation  of  all  that  was  eloquent  and  generous.  The  blight 
was  more  violent  and  effective  in  proportion  as  the  bloom  had  been  strong. 

Milton  did  not  stay  long  enough  at  any  of  the  great  Italian  cities :  instead  of 
eighteen  months  among  them  all,  his  stay  ought  to  have  been  four  or  five  years. 

I  give  in  this  place  Cowper's  translation  of  the  Latin  epistle  to  Manso. 
TO  GIOVANNI  BATTISTA  MANSO, 

MARQUIS    OF    VILLA. 

f"  Oiovanni  Battista  Manso,  Marquis  of  Villa,  is  nn  Italian  nobleman  of  the  highest  estima- 
tion among  his  countrymen  for  genius,  literature,  and  military  accomplishments.  To  him 
Torquato  Tasso  addressed  his  '  Dialogues  on  Friendship  ;'  for  he  was  much  the  friend  of 
Tasso,  who  has  also  celebrated  him  among  the  other  princes  of  his  country  in  his  poem 
entitled  '  Gerusaiemme  Conquistata,'  book  xx. 

Fra  cavalier  magnanimi,  e  cortesi, 
Risplende  il  Manso. 
During  the  author's  stay  at  Naples,  he  received  at  the  hands  of  the  Marquis  a  thousand 
kind  offices  and  civilities;  and,  desirous  not  to  appear  ungrateful,  sent  him  this  poem  a 
short  time  before  his  departure  from  that  city."] 

These  verses  also  to  thy  praise  the  Nine, 

O  Manso  !  happy  in  that  theme,  design  ; 

For,  Gallus  and  Miscenas  gone,  they  see 

None  such  besides,  or  whom  they  love,  as  thee; 

And,  if  my  verse  may  give  the  meed  of  fame, 

Thine  too  shall  prove  an  everlasting  name. 

Already  such  it  shines  in  Tasso's  page, 

For  thou  wast  Tasso's  friend,  from  age  to  age; 

And  next,  the  Muse  consign'd,  not  unaware 

How  high  the  charge,  Marino  to  thy  care  ; 

Who,  singing  to  the  nymphs  Adonis'  praise, 

Boasts  thee  the  patron  of  his  copious  lays. 

To  thee  alone  the  poet  would  intrust 

His  latest  vows ;  to  thee  alone  his  dust : 

And  thou  with  punctual  piety  hast  paid, 

In  labour'd  brass,  thy  tribute  to  his  shade. 

Nor  this  contented  thee — but,  lest  the  grave 

Should  aught  absorb  of  theirs,  which  thou  couldst  save, 

All  future  ages  thou  hast  deign'd  to  teach 

The  life,  lot,  genius,  character  of  each, 

Eloquent  as  the  Carian  sage,  who  true 

To  his  great  theme,  the  life  of  Homer  drew 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


I,  therefore,  though  a  stranger  youth,  who  come, 
ChilI'd  by  rude  blastB,  that  freeze  my  northern  home, 
Thee  dear  to  Clio,  confident  proclaim, 
And  thine,  for  Phoebus'  suke,  a  deathless  name. 
Nor  thou,  BO  kind,  wilt  view  with  scornful  eye 
A  Muse  scarce  rear'd  beneath  a  northern  sky ; 
Who  fears  not,  indiscreet  as  she  is  young. 
To  seek  in  Latium  hearers  of  her  song. 
We  too,  where  Thames  with  his  unsullied  waves 
The  tresses  of  the  blue-hair'd  ocean  laves, 
Hear  oft  by  night,  or,  slumbering,  seem  to  hear. 
O'er  his  wide  stream,  the  swan's  voice  warbling  clear ; 
And  we  could  boast  a  Tityrus  of  yore. 
Who  trod,  a  welcome  guest,  yon  happy  shore. 

Yes — dreary  as  we  own  our  northern  clime, 
Ev'n  we  to  Phtsbus  raise  the  polish'd  rhyme; 
We  too  serve  Phoebus:  Phoebus  has  received, 
If  legends  old  may  claim  to  be  believed. 
No  sordid  gifts  from  us,  the  golden  ear. 
The  burnish'd  apple,  ruddiest  of  the  year, 
The  fragrant  crocus,  and,  to  grace  his  fane, 
Fair  damsels  chosen  from  the  Druid  train; 
Druids,  our  native  bards  in  ancient  time, 
Who  gods  and  heroes  praised  in  hallow'd  rhyme ! 
Hence,  often  as  the  maids  of  Greece  surround 
Apollo's  shrine  with  hymns  of  festive  sound. 
They  name  the  virgins,  who  arrived  of  yore 
With  British  oflerings  on  the  Delian  shore: 
Loxo,  from  giant  Corineus  sprung ; 
Upis,  on  whose  bless'd  lips  the  future  hung; 
And  Hecaerge,  with  the  golden  hair. 
All  deck'd  with  Pictish  hues,  and  all  with  bosoms  bare. 

Thou,  therefore,  happy  sage,  whatever  clime 
Bhall  ring  with  Tasso's  praise  in  after-time. 
Or  with  Marino's,  shalt  be  known  their  friend, 
And  with  an  equal  flight  to  fame  ascend. 
The  world  shall  hear,  how  Phcsbus  and  the  Nine 
Wete  inmates  once,  and  willing  guests  of  thino. 
Yet  Phoebus,  when  of  old  constrain'd  to  roam 
The  earth,  an  exile  from  his  heavenly  hom«, 
Enter'd,  no  willing  guest,  Admetus'  door. 
Though  Hercules  had  ventured  there  before. 
But  gentle  Chiron's  cave  was  near,  a  scene 
Of  rural  peace,  clothed  with  perpetual  green  ! 
And  thither,  oft  as  respite  he  required 
From  rustic  clamours  loud,  the  god  retired : 
There  many  a  time,  on  Peneus'  bank  reclined 
At  some  oak's  root,  with  ivy  thick  entwined, 
Won  by  his  hospitable  friend's  desire, 
He  soothed  his  pains  of  exile  with  the  lyre. 
Then  shook  the  hills,  then  trembled  Peneus'  shore 
Nor  CEta  felt  his  load  of  forests  more; 
The  upland  elms  descended  to  the  plain. 
And  soften'd  lynxes  wonder'd  at  the  strain. 
Well  may  we  think,  O  dear  to  all  above! 
Thy  birth  distinguished  by  the  smile  of  Jove, 
And  that  Apollo  shed  his  kindliest  power, 
And  Maia's  son,  on  that  propitious  hour ; 
Since  only  minds  so  born  can  comprehend  . 
A  poet's  worth,  or  yield  that  worth  a  friend. 
Hence,  on  thy  yet  unfaded  cheek  appears, 
The  lingering  freshness  of  thy  greener  years ; 
Hence  in  thy  front  and  features  we  admire 
Nature  unwither'd,  and  a  mind  entire. 
O,  mihgt  so  true  a  friend  to  me  belong. 
So  skill'd  to  grace  the  votaries  of  song, 


xxxvi  LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


Should  I  recall  hereafter  into  rhyme 

The  kings  and  heroes  of  my  native  clime; 

Arthur  the  chief,  who  even  now  prepares, 

In  subterraneous  being,  future  wars, 

With  all  his  martial  knights,  to  be  restored 

Each  to  his  seat,  around  the  federal  board; 

And,  O  !  if  spirit  fail  me  not,  disperse 

Our  Saxon  plunders  in  triumphant  verse  ! 

Then,  after  all,  when  with  the  past  content, 

A  life  I  finish,  not  in  silence  spent, 

Should  he,  kind  mourner,  o'er  my  death-bed  bend, 

I  shall  but  need  to  say,  "  Be  yet  my  friend  !" 

He  too,  perhaps,  shall  bid  the  marble  breathe 

To  honour  me,  and  with  the  graceful  wreath. 

Or  of  Parnassus,  or  the  Paphian  isle, 

Shall  bind  my  brows — but  I  shall  rest  the  while. 

Then  also,  if  the  fruits  of  faith  endure. 

And  virtue's  promised  recompense  be  sure. 

Borne  to  those  seats,  to  which  the  blest  aspire 

By  purity  of  soul  and  virtuous  fire, 

These  rites,  as  Fate  permits,  I  shall  survey 

With  eyes  illumined  by  celestial  day ; 

And,  every  cloud  from  my  pure  spirit  driven, 

Joy  in  the  bright  beatitude  of  heaven  ! 

We  may  conceive  what  delight  Milton  had  in  talking  with  Manso  about  Taseo,  amd 
Uow  it  encouraged  his  own  desire  of  poetical  immortality.  The  honours  paid  to  Tasso 
as  a  poet  were  of  a  kind  of  which  the  cold  northern  clime  of  England  gave  no  example. 
Spenser  had  died  in  poverty,  ruined  and  neglected :  Shakspeare  seems  to  have  been 
little  personally  known  in  his  lifetime ;  for  nothing  is  recorded  of  his  habits  and  private 
character. 

But  though  Tasso  was  cruelly  used  by  his  inglorious  and  base  prince,  his  countrymen 
worshipped  him,  and  bore  with  all  his  eccentricities.  In  England,  except  by  Chaucer 
and  Spenser,  there  had  been  no  great  epics  of  fiction.  The  metrical  narratives  wero^ 
for  the  most  part,  dull  chronicles:  that  fiery  force,  where  life  breathes  in  every  line 
and  every  image,  was  almost  unknown.  It  is  by  the  invention  of  grand  fables  that 
poets  must  stand  high :  little  patches  of  flowers — a  style  of  simil*  and  metaphors,  will  not 
do.  The  manners  and  credences  of  Europe,  from  the  commencement  of  the  crusades, 
aflbrded  inexhaustible  subjects  of  heroic  poetry :  fictions  improved  upon  the  romantic 
tales  of  the  Provencal  bards  could  never  be  wanting  to  the  imagination  or  the  lyre. 

Milton  returned  by  Venice,  where  he  made  a  large  collection  of  music  for  his  father; 
and  thence  passed  through  Geneva,  at  which  he  made  a  short  sojourn  with  John  Deo- 
date,  a  learned  theologian  and  professor,  the  relation  of  his  friend  Charles  Deodate, 
and  became  acquainted  with  Frederic  Spanheim.  Here  he  is  supposed  to  have  renewed 
his  Calvinistie  and  puritanical  prejudices.  It  is  somewhat  strange  that  this  small 
place  should  have  been  the  focus  of  all  that  troubled  the  governments  of  Europe  for 
more  than  a  century.  They  were  not  content  with  forming  a  republican  government  for 
their  own  petty  canton,  for  which  it  was  well  suited,  but  struggled  to  turn  all  the  great 
monarchies  into  republics. 

The  poet  must  have  been  delighted  with  the  lake-scenery  and  Alpine  summits  of  this 
magnificent  country:  yet,  after  the  pomp  of  Italy,  its  splendid  arts,  its  princely  socie- 
ties, its  genial  skies,  its  imaginative  delights,  men  must  have  seemed  here  to  havo 
dwindled  into  formal  and  dull  automatons.  Here  might  be  learning;  but  it  was  dry 
and  tasteless :  here  was  now  no  Beza,  or  D'Aubign^ ;  nor  any  anticipation  of  the  elo- 
quent and  passionate  Rougseau,  or  spiritual  De  Stael,  or  historic  and  philosophical 
Sismondi. 

I  have  endeavoured  to  find  some  traces  of  Milton's  visit  in  Geneva;  but  have  yet 
discovered  none.  I  am  told  it  is  a  mistake  that  the  Deodate  campagne  at  the  adjoining 
rillaate  of  Cologni,  which  Byron  inhabited  in  1816,  was  that  which  belonged  to  the 
Deodate  family  when  Milton  was  here.  In  the  "  Livre  dcs  Anglais,"  preserved  in  the 
State-archives  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  are  registers  of  the  English  (including  John  Knox), 
who  took  refuge  here  from  1554  to  1658,  and  had  an  English  chapel  in  Geneva. 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

ON  THE  eOMHBNCEMENT  OF  MILTOlf's  PROSE  WORKS. 

In  1639  Milton  returaed  to  England:  he  had  the  grief  of  finding  that  his  friend 
Charles  Deodate  was  already  dead :  on  that  occasion  he  wrote  the  Latin  pastoral  enti- 
tled "  Epitaphium  Damonis."  He  now  undertook  the  tutorship  of  his  two  nephews, 
John  and  Edward  Phillips,  and  added  to  them  some  other  pupils.  Having,  professed 
to  have  been  drawn  back  to  England  to  take  a  part  in  the  cause  of  liberty,  then  break- 
ing out  into  open  contest,  Johnson  considers  this  occupation  a  falling  ofiF  from  his 
boasted  high  intentions,  and  utters  a  growling  sort  of  merriment  at  the  failure.  This 
is  in  the  tone  of  the  biographer's  usual  insults  on  the  great  bard:  he  is  on  these  occa- 
sions coarse,  pompous,  and  unjust  Milton  did  not  come  home  to  take  a  part  by  the 
sword,  but  by  the  pen :  if  therefore  he  endeavoured  to  aid  an  incompetent  income  by 
taking  pupils,  what  inconsistency  was  there  in  this  ?  The  sneer  comes  doubly  ill  from 
one  who  had  been  himself  a  schoolmaster. 

It  seems  that  Milton  endeavoured  to  teach  his  scholars  a  wider  range  of  knowledge 
than  the  Doctor  thought  practicable;  whereupon  follows  that  famous  passage  of  Johnson, 
which  has  been  so  often  cited,  and  which  is  so  excellent,  that  I  must  repeat  it  again : — 

"The  purpose  of  Milton,"  he  begins,  "was  to  teach  something  more  solid  than  the 
common  literature  of  schools,  by  reading  thooe  authors  that  treat  of  physical  subjects, 
such  as  the  Georgic  and  astronomical  treatises  of  the  ancients.  This  was  a  scheme 
of  improvement  which  seems  to  have  busied  many  literary  projectors  of  that  age. 
Cowley,  who  had  more  means  than  Milton  of  knowing  what  was  wanting  to  the  embel- 
lishments of  life,  formed  the  same  plan  of  education  in  his  imaginary  college. 

"  But  the  truth  is,  that  the  knowledge  of  external  nature,  and  the  sciences  which 
that  knowledge  requires  or  includes,  are  not  the  great  or  the  frequent  business  of  the 
human  mind.  Whether  we  provide  for  action  or  conversation ;  whether  we  wish  to  be 
useful  or  pleasing,  the  first  requisite  is  the  religions  and  moral  knowledge  of  right  and 
wrong :  the  next  is  an  acquaintance  with  the  history  of  mankind,  and  with  those 
examples  which  may  be  said  to  embody  truth,  and  prove  by  events  the  reasonableness 
of  opinions.  Prudence  and  justice  are  virtues  and  excellences  of  all  times  and  all 
places ;  we  are  perpetually  moralists,  but  we  are  geometricians  only  by  chance.  Our 
intercourse  with  intellectual  nature  is  necessary;  our  speculations  upon  matter  are 
voluntary  and  at  leisure.  Physiological  learning  is  of  suclv  rare  emergence,  that  one 
may  know  another  half  his  life  without  being  able  to  estimate  his  skill  in  hydrostatics 
or  astronomy;  but  his  moral  and  prudential  character  immediately  appears. 

"Those  authors,  therefore,  are  to  be  read  at  schools  that  supply  most  axioms  of  pru- 
dence, most  principles  of  moral  truth,  and  most  materials  for  conversation ;  and  these 
purposes  are  best  served  by  poets,  orators,  and  historians. 

"Let  me  not  be  censured  for  this  digression  as  pedantic  or  paradoxical;  for,  if  I  have 
Milton  against  me,  I  have  Socrates  on  my  side.  It  was  his  labour  to  turn  philosophy 
from  the  study  of  nature  to  speculations  upon  life ;  but  the  innovators  whom  I  oppose 
are  turning  off  attention  from  life  to  nature.  They  seem  to  think  that  we  are  placed 
here  to  wat-ch  the  growth  of  plants,  or  the  motions  of  the  stars :  Socrates  was  rather  of 
opinion  that  what  we  had  to  learn  was,  how  to  do  good  and  avoid  evil. 

"Om  rot  iv  fttyapoiat  KOKivr'  iyaB6iirt  riroKrat." 
Had  Johnson  always  written  so,  what  a  beautiful  and  perfect  work  he  would  have 
•  made ! 

But  now  Milton's  evil  days  began :  he  entered  into  thorny  controversies  which  blina 
the  imagination,  and  harden  and  embitter  the  heart  It  was  not  for  sublime  talents, 
like  his,  to  entangle  themselves  in  these  webs :  his  mighty  genius  could  not  move 
under  the  oppressive  weight  of  so  much  abstruse,  and,  I.will  add,  useless,  though  mul- 
tifarious and  astonishing  learning.  But  I  am  bound  to  notice  what  has  been  stated  on 
the  other  side.  Fletcher,  in  the  "Introductory  Review  of  Milton's  Prose  Works," 
says,  "  Let  us  never  think  of  John  Milton  as  a  poet,  merely ;  however  in  that  capacity 
he  may  have  adorned  our  language,  and  benefited,  by  ennobling,  Ms  species.    He 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


was  a  citizen  also,  with  whom  patriotism  was  as  heroical  a  passion,  prompting  him  to 
do  his  country  service,  as  was  that '  inward  prompting'  of  poesy,  by  which  he  did  hit 
country  honour.  He  was  alive  to  all  that  was  due  from  man  to  man  in  all  the  rela- 
tions of  life :  he  was  invested  with  a  power  to  mould  the  mind  of  a  nation,  and  to  lead 
the  people  into  'the  glorious  ways  of  truth  and  prosperous  virtue.'  The  poet  has  long 
oclipsed  the  man:  he  has  been  imprisoned  even  in  the  temple  of  the  Muses;  and  the 
very  splendour  of  the  bard  seems  to  be  our  title  to  pass  '  an  act  of  oblivion'  on  the 
Bhare  he  bore  in  the  events  and  discussions  of  the  momentous  times  in  which  he  lived. 
Ought  not,  rather,  his  wide  renown  in  this  capacity  to  lead  us  to  the  contemplation  and 
Btudy  of  the  whole  of  his  character  and  his  works?  Sworn  by  a  father,  who  knew 
what  persecution  was,  at  the  first  altar  of  freedom  erecrt;ed  in  this  land,  he,  a  student, 
of  the  finest  temperament,  bent  on  grasping  all  sciences,  and  professing  none,  and 
burning  with  intense  ambition  for  distinction,  forsook  his  harp,  and  '  the  quiet  and  still 
air  of  delightful  studies,'  and  devoted  the  energies  of  earliest  and  maturest  manhood, 
to  be  aiding  in  the  grandest  crisis  of  the  first  of  human  causes :  and  he  became  the 
most  conspicuous  literary  actor  in  the  dreadful  yet  glorious  drama  of  the  grand  rebel- 
lion. He  beheld  tyranny  and  intolerance  trampling  upon  the  most  sacred  prerogatives 
of  God  and  man;  and  he  was  compelled  by  the  nobility  of  his  nature,  by  the  obliga- 
tions of  virtue,  by  the  loud  summons  of  beleaguered  truth;  in  short,  by  his  patriotism 
as  well  as  his  piety,  to  lay  down  the  lyre,  whose  earliest  tones  are  yet  so  fascinating; 
to  'doff  his  garland  and  singing  robes,'  and  to  adventure  within  the  circle  of  peril  and 
glory;  and  buckling  on  the  controversial  panoply,  he  threw  it  off  only  when  the 
various  works  of  this  volume,  surpassed  by  none  in  any  sort  of  eloquence,  became  the 
record  and  trophy  of  his  achievements,  and  the  worthy  forerunners  of  those  poems, 
which  a  whole  people  'will  not  willingly  let  die.'" 

The  summit  of  fame  is  occupied  by  the  poet,  but  the  base  of  the  vast  elevation  may 
justly  be  said  to  rest  on  these  prose  works ;  and  we  invite  his  admirers  to  descend 
from  the  former,  and  survey  the  region  that  lies  round  about  the  latter; — a  less 
explored,  but  not  less  magnificent  domain. 

Fletcher  has  (p.  vii.)  inserted  the  following  extract.  In  the  "Second  Defence  of  the 
People  of  England,"  Milton  is  led  in  self-defence,  he  says,  "to  rescue  his  life  from  that 
species  of  obscurity  which  is  the  associate  of  unprincipled  depravity.  He  then  com- 
mences in  this  strain  his  too  brief  autobiography : — 

"  This  it  will  be  necessary  for  me  to  do  on  more  accounts  than  one :  first,  that  so 
many  good  and  learned  men  among  the  neighbouring  nations,  who  read  my  works, 
may  not  be  induced  by  this  fellow's  calumnies  to  alter  the  favourable  opinion  which 
they  have  formed  of  me,  but  may  be  persuaded  that  I  am  not  one  who  ever  disgraced 
beauty  of  sentiment  by  deformity  of  conduct,  or  the  maxims  of  a  freeman  by  the  actions 
of  a  slave ;  and  that  the  whole  tenour  of  my  life  has,  by  the  grace  of  God,  hitherto  been 
unsullied  by  any  enormity  or  crime:  next,  that  those  illustrious  worthies,  who  are  tin 
objects  of  my  praise,  may  know  that  nothing  could  afflict  me  with  more  shame  than  to 
have  any  vices  of  mine  diminish  the  force  or  lessen  the  value  of  my  panegyric  upon 
them ;  and,  lastly,  that  the  people  of  England,  whom  fate,  or  duty,  or  their  own  vir- 
tues, have  incited  me  to  defend,  may  be  convinced  from  the  purity  and  integrity  of  my 
life,  that  my  defence,  if  it  do  not  redound  to  their  honour,  can  never  be  considered  aa 
In  sir  disgrace. 

"I  will  now  mention  who  and  whence  I  am.  I  was  born  at  London,  of  an  honest 
family:  my  father  was  distinguished  by  the  undeviating  integrity  of  his  life;  my 
mother,  by  the  esteem  in  which  she  was  held,  and  the  alms  which  she  bestowed.  My 
father  destined  me  from  a  child  to  the  pursuits  of  literature;  and  my  appetite  for 
knowledge  was  so  voracious,  that  from  twelve  years  of  age  I  hardly  ever  left  my 
Btudies,  or  went  to  bed  before  midnight.  This  primarily  led  to  my  lo&s  of  sight :  my 
eyes  were  naturally  weak,  and  I  was  subject  to  frequent  headaches ;  which,  however, 
oould  not  chill  the  ardour  of  my  curiosity,  or  retard  the  progress  of  my  improvement. 
My  father  had  me.  daily  instructed  in  the  grammar  school,  and  by  other  masters  at 
home :  he  then,  after  I  had  acquired  a  proficiency  in  various  languages,  and  had  mads 
a  considerable  progress  in  philosophy,  sent  me  to  the  university  of  Cambridge, 
Here  I  passed  seven  years  in  the  usual  course  of  instruction  and  study,  with  the  appro- 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


bation  of  the  good,  and  without  any  stain  upon  my  character,  till  I  took  the  degree  of 
Master  of  Arts. 

"  After  this  I  did  not,  as  this  miscreant  feigns,  run  away  into  Italy,  but  of  my  own 
Bccord  retired  to  my  father's  house,  whither  I  was  accompanied  by  the  regrets  of  most 
of  the  fellows  of  the  college,  who  showed  me  no  common  marks  of  friendship  and 
esteem.  On  my  father's  estate,  where  he  had  determined  to  pass  the  remainder  of  his 
days,  I  enjoyed  an  interval  of  uninterrupted  leisure,  which  I  devoted  entirely  to  the 
perusal  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  classics;  though  I  occasionally  visited  the  metropolis, 
either  for  the  sake  of  purchasing  books,  or  of  learning  something  new  in  mathematics 
or  in  music,  in  which  I,  at  that  time,  found  a  source  of  pleasure  and  amusement. 
In  this  manner  I  spent  five  years,  till  my  mother's  death :  I  then  became  anxious  to 
risit  foreign  parts,  and  particularly  Italy.  My  father  gave  me  his  permission,  and  I 
left  home  with  one  servant.  On  my  departure,  the  celebrated  Henry  Wotton,  who  had 
lohg  been  King  James's  ambassador  at  Venice,  gave  me  a  signal  proof  of  his  regard, 
in  an  elegant  letter  which  he  wrote,  breathing  hot  only  the  warmest  friendship,  but 
containing  some  maxims  of  conduct  which  I  found  very  useful  in  my  travels.  The 
noble  Thomas  Scudamore,  King  Charles's  ambassador,  to  whom  I  carried  letters  of 
recommendation,  received  me  most  courteously  at  Paris.  His  lordship  gave  me  a  card 
of  introduction  to  the  learned  Hugo  Grotius,  at  that  time  ambassador  from  the  Queen 
of  Sweden  to  the  French  court;  whose  acquaintance  I  anxiously  desired,  and  to  whose 
house  I  was  accompanied  by  some  of  his  lordship's  friends.  A  few  days  after,  when  I 
Bet  out  for  Italy,  he  gave  me  letters  to  the  English  merchants  on  my  route,  that  they 
might  show  me  any  civilities  in  their  power. 

"  Taking  ship  at  Nice,  I  arrived  at  Genoa,  and  afterwards  visited  Leghorn,  Pisa,  and 
Florence.  In  the  latter  city,  which  I  have  always  more  particularly  esteemed  for  the 
elegance  of  its  dialect,  its  genius  and  its  taste,  I  stopped  about  two  months ;  when  I 
contracted  an  intimacy  with  many  persons  of  rank  and  learning,  and  was  a  constant 
attendant  at  their  literary  parties ;  a  practice  which  prevails  there,  and  tends  so  much 
to  the  diffusion  of  knowledge  and  the  preservation  of  friendship.  No  time  will  ever 
abolish  the  agreeable  recollections  which  I  cherish  of  Jacob  Gaddi,  Carolo  Dati,  Freseo- 
baldo,  Cultellero,  Bonomatthai,  Clementillo,  Francisco,  and  many  others. 

"  From  Florence  I  went  to  Sienna,  thence  to  Rome ;  where,  after  I  had  spent  about 
two  months  in  viewing  the  antiquities  of  that  renowned  city,  where  I  experienced  the 
most  friendly  attentions  from  Lucas  Holstein,  and  other  learned  and  ingenious  men,  I 
continued  my  route  to  Naples;  there  I  was  introduced  by  a»certain  recluse,  with  whom 
I  had  travelled  from  Rome,  to  John  Baptista  Manso,  marquis  of  Villa,  a  nobleman  of 
distinguished  rank  and  authority,  to  whom  Torquato  Tasso,  the  illustrious  poet,  in- 
scribed his  book  on  '  Friendship.'  During  my  stay,  he  gave  me  singular  proofs  of  his 
regard;  he  himself  conducted  me  round  the  city,  and  to  the  palace  of  the  viceroy;  and 
more  than  once  paid  me  a  visit  at  my  lodgings.  On  my  departure  he  gravely  apolo- 
gized for  not  having  shown  me  more  civility,  which  he  said  he  had  been  restrained 
from  doing,  because  I  had  spoken  with  so  little  reserve  on  matters  of  religion. 

"  "When  I  was  preparing  to  pass  over  into  Sicily  and  Greece,  the  melancholy  intelli- 
gence which  I  received  of  the  civil  commotions  in  England  made  me  alter  my  purpose , 
for  I  thought  it  base  to  be  travelling  for  amusement  abroad,  while  my  fellow-citizens 
were  fighting  for  liberty  at  home. 

"While  I  was  on  my  way  back  to  Rome,  some  merchants  informed  me  that  the 
English  Jesuits  had  formed  a  plot  against  me  if  I  returned  to  Rome,  because  I  had 
spoken  too  freely  of  religion :  for  it  was  a  rule  which  I  laid  down  to  myself  in  those 
places,  never  to  be  the  first  to  begin  any  conversation  on  religion ;  but,  if  any  questions 
were  put  to  me  concerning  my  faith,  to  declare  it  without  any  reserve  or  fear.  I  never- 
theless returned  to  Rome.  I  took  no  steps  to  conceal  either  my  person  or  my  character ; 
ond  for  about  the  space  of  two  months,  I  again  openly  defended,  as  I  had  done  before, 
the  reformed  religion  in  the  very  metropolis  of  popery. 

*'  By  the  favour  of  God,  I  got  back  to  Florence,  where  I  was  received  with  as  much 
affection  as  if  I  had  returned  to  my  native  country.  There  I  stopped  as  many  months 
as  I  had  done  before,  except  that  I  made  an  excursion  of  a  few  days  to  Luoca ;  and 
crossing  the  Apennines,  passed  through  Bologna  and  Ferrara  to  Venice. 


xl  LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


"  After  I  had  Bpent  a  month  in  surveying  the  curiosities  of  this  city,  and  had  put  on 
board  a  ship  the  books  which  I  had  collected  in  Italy,  I  proceeded  through  Verona  and 
Milan,  and  along  the  Leman  lake  to  Geneva. 

"  The  mention  of  this  city  brings  to  my  recollection  the  slandering  More,*  and  makes 
me  again  call  the  Deity  to  witness,  that  in  all  those  places,  in  which  vice  meets  with  bo 
little  discouragement,  and  is  practised  with  so  little  shame,  I  never  once  deviated  from 
the  paths  of  integrity  and  virtue ;  and  perpetually  renected  that,  though  my  conduct 
might  escape  the  notice  of  men.  it  would  not  elude  the  inspection  of  God. 

"At  Geneva  I  held  daily  conferences  with  John  Diodati,  the  learned  professor  cf 
theology. 

"  Then,  pursuing  my  former  route  through  France,  I  returned  to  my  native  country, 
after  an  absence  of  one  year  and  about  three  months,  at  the  time  when  Charles,  having 
broken  the  peace,  iv&d  renewing  what  is  called  the  episcopal  war  with  the  Scots;  m 
which  the  royalists  being  routed  in  the  first  encounter,  and  the  English  being  aniver- 
Bally  and  justly  disafifected,  the  necessity  of  his  affairs  at  last  obliged  him  to  convene  a 
parliament. 

"  As  soon  as  I  was  able,  I  hired  a  spacious  house  in  the  city  for  myself  and  my 
books ;  where  I  again  with  rapture  renewed  my  literary  pursuits,  and  where  I  calmly 
awaited  the  issue  of  the  contest,  which  I  trusted  to  the  wise  conduct  of  Providence  and 
to  the  courage  of  the  people. 

"  The  vigour  of  the  parliament  had  begun  to  humble  the  pride  of  the  bishops.  As 
long  as  the  liberty  of  speech  was  no  longer  subject  to  control,  all  mouths  began  to  be 
opened  against  the  bishops ;  some  complained  of  the  vices  of  the  individuals ;  others 
of  those  of  the  order.  They  said  that  it  was  unjust  that  they  alone  should  differ  from 
the  model  of  other  reformed  churches,  and  particularly  the  word  of  God. 

"  This  awakened  all  my  attention  and  my  zeal :  I  saw  that  a  way  was  opening  for 
the  establishment  of  real  liberty ;  that  the  foundation  was  laying  for  the  deliverance  of 
man  from  the  yoke  of  slavery  and  superstition ;  that  the  principles  of  religion,  which 
were  the  first  objects  of  our  care,  would  exert  a  salutary  influence  on  the  manners  and 
constitution  of  the  republic ;  and  as  I  had  from  my  youth  studied  the  distinctions 
between  religious  and  civil  rights,  I  perceived  that,  if  I  ever  wished  to  be  of  use,  I 
ought  at  least  not  to  be  wanting  to  my  country,  to  the  church,  and  to  so  many  of  my  fel- 
low Christians,  in  a  crisis  of  so  much  danger.  I  therefore  determined  to  relinquish  the 
other  pursuits  in  which  I  was  engaged,  and  to  transfer  the  whole  force  of  my  talents 
and  my  industry  to  this  one  important  object.  I  accordingly  wrote  two  books  to  a 
friend,  concerning  '  The  Reformation  of  the  Church  of  England.' " 

Here  we  have  Milton's  own  account  of  his  own  early  life,  of  which  we  cannot  doubt 
the  accuracy. 

This  treatise  ends  in  the  form  of  a  prayer,  "piously  laying  the  sad  condition  of 
England  before  the  footstool  of  The  Almighty,"  than  which  there  is  not  a  more  sublime 
patriotic  Ode  in  any  language.     Thus : 

"  Thou  ih2refore  that  sittest  in  light  and  glory  unapproachable ;  Parent  of  angels  and 
men !  next,  thee  I  implore.  Omnipotent  King,  Redeemer  of  that  last  remnant,  whose 
nature  thou  didst  assume,  ineffable  and  everlasting  love !  And  thou,  the  third  subsist- 
ence of  divine  infinitude,  illumining  spirit,  the  joy  and  solace  of  created  things,  and 
Tripersonal  Godhead !  look  upon  this  thy  poor  and  almost  spent  and  expiring  church : 
leave  her  not  thus  a  prey  to  these  importunate  wolves,  that  wait,  and  think  it  long,  till 
they  devour  thy  tender  flock ;  those  wild  boars  that  have  broken  into  thy  vineyard,  and 
left  the  print  of  their  polluting  hoofs  on  the  souls  of  thy  servants.  0,  let  them  not 
bring  about  their  damning  designs,  that  stand  now  at  the  entrance  of  the  bottomless 
pit,  expecting  the  watch-word  to  open  and  let  out  those  dreadful  locusts  and  scorpions, 
to  re-involve  us  in  that  pitchy  cloud  of  infernal  darkness,  where  we  shall  never  more 
see  the  sun  of  thy  truth  again ;"  never  hope  for  the  cheerful  dawn ;  never  more  hear  the 
bird  of  morning  sing.  Be  moved  with  pity  at  the  afflicted  state  of  this  our  shaken 
monarchy,  that  now  lies  labouring  under  her  throes,  and  struggling  against  the  grudges 
of  more  dreadful  calamities. 

*  Alexander  More. 


LIFE  OF  MILTOX.  xlL 


"  0  thou,  that  after  the  impetuous  rage  of  five  bloo<ly  inundations  and  the  succeed- 
ing sword  of  intestine  war,  soaking  the  land  in  her  own  gore,  didst  pity  the  sad  and 
ceaseless  revolution  of  our  swift  and  thick-coming  sorrows;  when  we  were  quite  breath- 
less, of  thy  free  grace  didst  motion  peace  and  terms  of  covenant  to  us;  and,  having 
first  well-nigh  freed  us  from  anti-christian  thraldom,  didst  build  up  this  Britannic 
empire  to  a  glorious  and  enviable  height,  with  all  her  daughter-islands  about  her ;  stay 
03  in  this  felicity:  let  not  the  obstinacy  of  our  half-obedi(!nce  and  will-worship  bring  forth 
that  viper  of  sedition,  that,  for  these  fourscore  years,  has  been  breeding  to  eat  through 
the  entrails  of  our  peace ;  but  let  her  cast  her  abortive  spawn  without  the  danger  of  thiii 
travailing  and  throbbing  kingdom,  that  we  may  still  remember  in  our  solemn  thanksgiv- 
ings,  how  for  us  the  northern  ocean  even  to  the  frozen  thules  was  scattered  with  the  proud 
shipwrecks  of  the  Spanish  armada ;  and  the  very  maw  of  hell  ransacked,  and  made  to  give 
up  her  concealed  destination,  ere  she  could  vent  it  in  that  horrible  and  damned  blast. 

"  0,  how  much  more  glorious  will  those  former  deliverances  appear,  when  we  shall 
know  them  not  only  to  have  saved  us  from  greater  miseries  past,  but  have  reserved  us 
for  greater  happiness  to  come !  Hitherto  thou  hast  but  freed  us,  and  that  not  fully, 
from  the  unjust  and  tyrannous  claim  of  thy  foes ;  now,  unite  us  entirely,  and  appro- 
priate us  to  thyself;  tie  us  everlastingly  in  willing  homage  to  the  prerogative  of  thy 
eternal  throne. 

"And  now  we  know,  0  thou  our  most  certain  hope  and  defence,  that  thine  enemies 
have  been  consulting  all  the  sorceries  of  the  great  whore,  and  have  joined  their  plots 
with  that  sad  intelligencing  tyrant  that  mischiefs  the  world  with  his  mines  of  Ophir,  and 
lies  thirsting  to  revenge  his  naval  ruins  that  have  larded  our  seas :  but  let  them  all 
take  counsel  together,  and  let  it  come  to  nought;  let  them  decree,  and  do  thou  cancel 
it;  let  them  gather  themselves,  and  be  scattered;  let  them  embattel  themselves,  and 
be  broken ;  let  them  embattel,  and  be  broken,  for  thou  art  with  us  ! 

"  Then,  amidst  the  hymns  and  hallelujahs  of  saints,  some  one  may  perhaps  be  heard 
offering  at  high  strains,  in  new  and  lofty  measures,  to  sing  and  celebrate  thy  divine 
mercies  and  marvellous  judgments  in  this  land  throughout  all  ages,  whereby  this  great 
and'warlike  nation,  instructed  and  inured  to  the  fervent  and  continual  practice  of  truth 
and  righteousness,  and  casting  far  from  her  the  rags  of  her  old  vices,  may  press  on 
hard  to  that  high  and  happy  emulation  to  be  found  the  soberest,  wisest,  and  most 
Christian  people  at  that  day,  when  thou,  the  eternal  and  shortly-expected  King,  shalt 
open  the  clouds  to  judge  the  several  kingdoms  of  this  world ;  and  distributing  national 
honours  and  rewards  to  religious  and  just  commonwealths,  shalt  put  an  end  lo  all 
earthly  tyrannies,  proclaiming  thy  universal  and  mild  monarchy  through  heaven  and 
earth ;  where  they,  undoubtedly,  that,  by  their  labouri?,  counsels,  and  prayers,  have 
been  earnest  for  the  common  good  of  religion  and  the'ir  country,  shall  receive,  above 
the  inferior  orders  of  the  blessed,  the  regal  addition  of  principalities,  legions,  and 
thrones,  into  their  glorious  titles ;  and  in  supereminence  of  beatific  vision,  progressing 
the  doubtless  and  irrevoluble  circle  of  eternity,  shall  clasp  inseparable  hands  with  joy 
and  bliss,  in  over-measure  for  ever." 

It  would  be  quite  impossible  to  give  an  adequate  account  of  Milton's  life  and  cha- 
racter, were  I  to  omit  here  to  insert  the  whole  of  the  Preface  to  the  second  book  of  his 
"  Reason  of  Church  Government  urged  against  Prelates,"  of  which  parts  only  have 
been  hitherto  extracted  by  former  biographers : — 

"  How  happy  were  it  for  this  frail,  and,  as  it  may  be  called,  mortal  life  of  man,  sinoe 
all  earthly  things  which  have  the  name  of  good  and  convenient  in  our  daily  use,  are 
withal  so  cumbersome  and  full  of  trouble,  if  knowledj;e,  yet  which  is  the  best,  and 
Ughtsomest  possession  of  the  mind,  were,  as  the  common  saying  is,  no  burden;  and  that 
what  it  wanted  of  being  a  load  to  any  part  of  the  body,  it  did  not  with  a  heavy 
advantage  overlay  upon  the  spirit. 

"  For,  not  to  speak  of  that  knowledge  that  rests  in  the  contemplation  of  natural 
•auses  and  dimensions,  which  must  needs  be  a  lower  wisdom  as  the  object  is  low, 
certain  it  is,  that  he  who  hath  obtained  in  more  than  tlie  scantiest  measure  to  know 
anything  distinctly  of  God,  and  of  his  true  worship,  and  what  is  infallibly  good  and 
happy  in  the  state  of  man's  life ;  what  in  itself  evil  and  miserable,  though  vulgarly  not 
BO  eetoemed;  he,  that  hath  obtained  to  know  this,  the  only  high  valuable  wisdom 
6 


xlii  LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


indeed,  remembering  also  that  God,  even  to  a  strictness,  requires  tlie  improvement  of 
these  his  entrusted  gifts,  cannot  but  sustain  a  sorer  burden  of  mind,  and  more  pressing 
than  any  supportable  toil  or  weight  which  the  body  can  labour  under;  how  and  in 
what  manner  he  shall  dispose  and  employ  those  sums  of  knowledge  and  illumination, 
Jirhich  God  hath  sent  him  into  this  world  to  trade  with. 

"  And  that  which  aggravates  the  burden  more  is,  that,  having  received  amongst  hie 
allotted  p.arcels,  certain  precious  truths,  of  such  an  orient  lustre  as  no  diamond  can 
equal,  which  nevertheless  he  has  in  charge  to  put  off  at  any  cheap  rate,  yea,  foi 
nothing,  to  them  that  will ;  the  great  merchants  of  this  world,  fearing  that  this  course 
would  soon  discover  and  disgrace  the  false  glitter  of  their  deceitful  wares,  wherewith 
they  abuse  the  people,  like  poor  Indians,  with  beads  and  glasses,  practise  by  all  means 
how  they  may  suppress  the  vending  of  such  rarities,  and  at  such  a  cheapness  as  would 
ando  them,  and  turn  their  trash  upon  their  hands. 

"  Therefore,  by  gratifying  the  corrupt  desires  of  men  in  fleshly  doctrines,  they  stii 
them  up  to  persecute  with  hatred  and  contempt  all  those  that  seek  to  bear  themselves 
uprightly  in  this  their  spiritual  factory ;  which  they  foreseeing,  though  they  cannot  but 
testify  of  truth  and  the  excellency  of  that  heavenly  traffic  which  they  bring,  against 
what  opposition  or  danger  soever,  yet  needs  it  must  sit  heavily  upon  their  spirits,  that 
being  in  God's  prime  intention,  and  their  own,  selected  heralds  of  peace  and  dispensers 
of  treasure  inestimable,  without  price  to  them  that  have  no  peace ;  they  find  in  the  dis- 
charge of  their  commission,  that  they  are  made  the  greatest  variance  and  offence,  a  very 
eword  and  fire,  both  in  house  and  city,  over  the  whole  earth. 

"This  is  that  which  the  sad  prophet  Jeremiah  Laments: — 'Wo  is  me,  my  mother, 
that  thou  hast  borne  me  a  man  of  strife  and  contention  !'  And,  although  divine  inspi- 
ration must  certainly  have  been  sweet  to  those  ancient  prophets,  yet  the  irksomeness 
of  that  truth  which  they  brought  was  so  unpleasant  unto  them,  that  everywhere  they 
call  it  a  burden.  Yea,  that  mysterious  Book  of  Revelation  which  the  great  evangelist 
was  bid  to  eat,  as  it  had  been  some  eye-brightening  electuary  of  knowledge  and  fore- 
sight, though  it  were  'sweet  in  his  mouth,'  and  in  the  learning,  'it  was  bitter  in  his 
belly,'  bitter  in  the  denouncing. 

"  Nor  was  this  hid  from  the  wise  poet  Sophocles,  who,  in  that  place  of  his  tragedy 
where  Tiresias  is  called  to  resolve  king  (Edipus  in  a  matter  which  he  knew  would  be 
grievous,  brings  him  in  bemoaning  his  lot,  that  he  knew  more  than  other  men. 

"  For  surely  to  every  good  and  peaceable  man,  it  must  in  nature  needs  be  a  hateful 
thing  to  be  the  displeaser  and  molester  of  thousands ;  much  better  would  it  like  him 
doubtless  to  be  the  messenger  of  gladness  and  contentment,  which  is  his  chief  intended 
business  to  all  mankind,  but  that  they  resist  and  oppose  their  own  happiness. 

"But  when  God  commands  to  take  the  trumpet,  and  blow  a  dolorous  or  jarring  blast, 
it  lies  not  in  man's  will  what  he  shall  say  or  what  he  shall  conceal.  If  he  shall  think 
to  be  silent  as  Jeremiah  did,  because  of  the  reproach  and  derision  he  met  with  daily, 
'and  all  his  familiar  friends  watched  for  his  halting,'  to  be  revenged  on  him  for  speaking 
the  truth,  he  would  be  forced  to  confess  as  he  confessed ;  'his  word  was  in  my  heart  aa 
a  burning  fire  shut  up  in  my  bones ;  I  was  weary  with  forbearing,  and  could  not  stay.' 
"Which  might  teach  these  times  not  suddenly  to  condemn  all  things  that  are  sharply 
gpoken  or  vehemently  written  as  proceeding  out  of  stomach  virulence  and  ill-nature ; 
but  to  consider  rather,  that  if  the  prelates  have  leave  to  say  the  worst  that  can  be  said, 
or  do  the  worst  that  can  be  done,  while  they  strive  to  keep  themselves,  to  their  great 
pleasure  and  Commodity,  those  things  which  they  oaght  to  render  up,  no  man  can  bo 
justly  offended  with  him  that  shall  endeavour  to  impart  and  bestow,  without  any  gain 
to  himself,  those  sharp  and  saving  words,  which  would  be  a  terror  and  a  torment  in  him 
to  keep  back. 

"  For  me,  I  have  endeavoured  to  lay  up  as  the  best  treasure  and  solace  of  a  good  old 
eige,  if  God  vouchsafe  it  me,  the  honest  liberty  of  free  speech  from  my  youth,  where  ] 
ghall  think  it  available  in  so  dear  a  concernment  as  the  church's  good.  For,  if  I  be, 
whether  by  disposition,  or  what  other  cause,  too  inquisitive,  or  suspicious  of  myself  and 
mine  own  doings,  who  can  help  it? 

"  But  this  I  foresee,  that  should  the  church  be  brought  under  heavy  oppression,  and 
God  have  given  me  ability  the  while  to  reason  against  that  man  that  should  be  the 


LIFB^OF  MILTON.  xliii 


author  of  so  foul  a  deed;  or  should  she,  by  blessing  from  above  on  the  industry  and 
jourage  of  faithful  men,  change  this  her  distracted  estate  into  better  days,  without  the 
least  furtherance  or  contribution  of  those  few  talents,  which  God  at  that  present  had 
lent  me ;  I  foresee  what  stories  I  should  hear  within  myself,  all  my  life  after,  of  dis- 
courage and  reproach.  Timorous  and  ungrateful,  the  church  of  God  is  now  again  at 
the  foot  of  her  insulting  enemies,  and  thou  bewailest; — what  matters  it  for  thee,  or  thy 
bewailing?  When  time  was,  thou  couldst  not  find  a  syllable  of  all  that  thou  hast  read 
or  studied,  to  utter  in  her  behalf:  yet  ease  and  leisure  was  given  thee  for  thy  retired 
thoughts,  out  of  the  sweat  of  other  men.  Thou  hast  the  diligence,  the  parts,  the  lan- 
guage of  a  man,  if  a  vain  subject  were  to  be  adorned  or  beautified ;  but  when  the  cause 
of  God  and  his  church  was  to  be  pkaded,  for  which  purpose  that  tongue  was  given  thee 
which  thou  hast,  God  listened  if  he  could  hear  thy  voice  among  his  zealous  servants, 
but  thou  wert  dumb  as  a  beast :  from  henceforward  be  that  which  thine  own  bnitish 
silence  hath  made  thee ! 

"  Or  else  I  should  have  heard  on  the  other  ear, — Slothful,  and  ever  to  be  set  light  by, 
the  church  hath  now  overcome  her  late  distresses  after  the  unwearied  labours  of  many 
her  true  servants  that  stood  up  in  her  defence;  thou  also  wouldst  take  upon  thee  to 
share  amongst  them  of  their  joy  :  but  wherefore  thou  ?  Where  canst  thou  show  any 
word  or  deed  of  thine,  which  might  have  hastened  her  peace  ?  Whatever  thou  dost 
now  talk,  or  write,  or  look,  is  the  alms  of  other  men's  active  prudence  and  zeal.  Dare 
not  now  to  say  or  do  anything  better  than  thy  former  sloth  and  infamy ;  or,  if  thou 
darest,  thou  dost  impudently  to  make  a  thrifty  purchase  of  boldness  to  thyself,  out  of 
the  painful  merits  of  other  men.  What  before  was  thy  sin,  is  now  thy  duty,  to  be 
abject  and  worthless. 

"  These,  and  such-like  lessons  as  these,  I  know  would  have  been  my  matins  duly, 
and  my  even-song :  but  now  by  this  little  diligence  mark  what  a  privilege  I  have 
gained  with  good  men  and  saints,  to  claim  my  right  of  lamenting  the  tribulations  of 
the  church,  if  she  should  sufi'er,  when  others,  that  have  ventured  nothing  for  her  sake, 
have  not  the  honour  to  be  admitted  mourners :  but,  if  she  lift  up  her  drooping  head 
and  prosper,  among  those  that  have  something  more  than  wished  her  welfare,  I  have 
my  charter  and  freehold  of  rejoicing  to  me  and  my  King. 

"  Concerning,  therefore,  this  wayward  subject  against  prelates,  the  touching  where- 
fore is  so  distasteful  and  disquietous  to  a  number  of  men ;  as  by  what  hath  been  said 
I  may  deserve  of  charitable  readers  to  be  credited,  that  neither  envy  nor  gall  hath 
entered  me  upon  this  controversy,  but  the  enforcement  of  conscience  only,  and  a  pre- 
ventive fear  lest  this  duty  should  be  against  me,  when  I  would  store  up  to  myself  the 
good  provision  of  peaceful  hours ;  so,  lest  it  should  be  still  imputed  to  me,  as  I  have 
found  it  hath  been,  that  some  self-pleasing  humours  of  vain-glory  hath  incited  mo  to 
contest  with  men  of  high  estimation,  now  while  green  years  are  upon  my  head;  from 
this  needless  surmisal  I  shall  hope  to  dissuade  the  intelligent  and  equal  auditor,  if  I 
can  but  say  successfully  that  which  in  this  exigent  behoves  me ;  although  I  would  be 
heard  only,  if  it  might  be,  by  the  elegant  and  learned  reader,  to  whom  principally  foi 
&  while  I  shall  beg  leave  I  may  address  myself. 

"  To  him  it  will  be  no  new  thing,  though  I  tell  him  that  if  I  hunted  after  praise,  by 
ihe  estimation  of  wit  and  learning,  I  should  not  write  thus  out  of  mine  own  season 
when  I  have  neither  yet  completed  to  my  mind  the  full  circle  of  my  private  studies, 
although  I  complain  not  of  any  insufficiency  to  the  matter  in  hand ;  or  were  I  ready  to 
my  wishes,  it  were  a  folly  to  commit  anything  elaborately  composed  to  the  careless 
and  interrupted  listening  of  these  tumultuous  times. 

"Next,  if  I  were  wise  only  to  my  own  ends,  I  would  certainly  take  such  a  subject 
as  of  itself  might  catch  applause  (whereas  this  hath  all  the  disadvantages  on  the  con- 
trary), and  such  a  subject  as  the  publishing  whereof  might  be  delayed  at  pleasure,  and 
time  enough  to  pencil  it  over  with  all  the  curious  touches  of  art,  even  to  the  perfection 
of  a  faultless  picture ;  whereas  in  this  argument  the  not  deferring  is  of  great  raoment  to 
the  good  speeding,  that,  if  solidity  have  leisure  to  do  her  office,  art  cannot  have  much. 
"Lastly,  I  should  not  choose  this  manner  of  writing,  wherein  knowing  myself  infe- 
rior to  myself,  led  by  the  genial  power  of  nature  to  another  task,  I  have  the  use,  as  1 
may  account,  but  of  my  left  hand  :  and  though  I  shal    be  foolish  in  saying  more  to 


xliv  LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


this  purpose,  yet,  since  it  will  be  such  a  folly  as  wisest  men  go  about  to  commit,  having 
only  confessed  and  so  committed,  I  may  trust  with  more  reason,  because  with  more 
folly,  to  have  courteous  pardon :  for,  although  a  poet  soaring  in  the  high  reason  of  hia 
fancies,  with  his  garland  and  singing  robes  about  him,  might,  without  apology,  speak 
Inore  of  himself  than  I  mean  to  do ;  yet  for  me  sitting  here  below  in  the  cool  element 
of  prose,  a  mortal  thing  among  many  readers  of  no  empyreal  conceit,  to  venture  and 
indulge  unusual  things  of  myself,  I  shall  petition  to  the  gentler  sort,  it  may  not  be 
envy  to  me. 

"I  musi  say,  therefore,  that  after  I  had  for  my  first  years,  by  the  ceaseless  diligence 
and  care  of  my  father  (whom  God  recompense),  been  exercised  to  the  tongues,  and 
iome  sciences,  as  my  age  would  suffer,  by  sundry  masters  and  teachers  at  home  and  at 
the  school,  it  was  found,  that  whether  aught  was  imposed  me  by  them  that  had  the 
overlooking,  or  betaken  to  of  my  own  choice  in  English,  or  other  tongue,  prosing  or 
versing,  but  chiefly  this  latter,  the  style,  by  certain  vitai  signs  it  had,  was  likely  to  live. 

"But  much  latelier  in  the  private  academies  of  Italy,  whither  I  was  favoured  to 
resort,  perceiving  that  some  trifles  which  I  had  in  memory,  composed  at  under  twenty 
or  thereabout  (for  the  manner  is,  that  every  one  must  give  some  proof  of  his  wit  and 
reading  there),  met  with  acceptance  above  what  was  looked  for;  and  other  things, 
which  I  had  shifted  in  scarcity  of  hooks  and  conveniences  to  pack  up  amongst  them, 
were  received  with  written  encomiums,  which  the  Italian  is  not  forward  to  bestow  on 
men  of  this  side  the  Alps;  I  began  thus  far  to  assent  both  to  them  and  divers  of  my 
friends  here  at  home,  and.  not  less  to  an  inward  prompting,  which  now  grew  daily 
upon  me,  that  with  labour  and  intense  study  (which  I  take  to  be  my  portion  in  this 
life),  joined  with  the  strong  propensity  of  nature,  I  might  perhaps  leave  something  so 
written  to  aftertimes,  as  they  should  not  willingly  let  it  die. 

"  These  thoughts  at  once  possessed  me ;  and  these  other,  that  if  I  were  certain  to 
write  as  men  buy  leases,  for  three  lives  and  downward,  there  ought  no  regard  he  sooner 
had,  than  to  Qod's  glory,  by  the  honour  and  instruction  of  my  country. 

"  For  which  cause,  and  not  only  for  that  I  knew  it  would  be  hard  to  arrive  at  th€ 
second  rank  among  the  Latins,  I  applied  myself  to  that  resolution  which  Ariosto 
followed  against  the  persuasions  of  Bembo,  to  fix  all  the  industry  and  art  I  could  unite 
to  the  adorning  of  my  native  tongue;  not  to  make  verbal  curiosities  the  end  (that  were 
a  toilsome  vanity),  but  to  be  an  interpreter  and  relater  of  the  best  and  sagest  things, 
among  mine  own  citizens  throughout  this  island  in  the  mother  dialect :  that  what  the 
greatest  and  choicest  wits  of  Athens,  Rome,  or  modern  Italy,  and  those  Hebrews  of  old, 
did  for  their  country,  I,  in  my  proportion,  with  this  over  and  above,  of  being  a  Chris- 
tian, might  do  for  mine;  not  caring  to  be  once  named  abroad,  though  perhaps  I  could 
attain  to  that;  but  content  with  these  British  islands  as  my  world;  whose  fortune  hath 
hitherto  been,  that,  if  the  Athenians,  as  some  say,  made  their  small  deeds  great  and 
renowned  by  their  eloquent  writers,  England  hath  had  her  noble  achievements  made 
small  by  the  unskilful  handling  of  monks  and  mechanics. 

"  Time  serves  not  now,  and  perhaps  I  might  seem  too  profuse  to  give  any  certain 
account  of  what  the  mind  at  home,  in  the  spacious  circuits  of  her  musing,  hath  liberty 
to  propose  to  herself,  though  of  highest  hope  and  hardest  attempting;  whether  thai 
epic  form  whereof  the  two  poems  of  Homer,  and  those  other  two  of  Virgil  and  Tasso, 
are  a  diffuse,  and  the  book  of  Job  a  brief  model; — or  whether  the  rules  of  Aristotle 
herein  are  strictly  to  be  kept,  or  nature  to  be  followed,  which  in  them  that  show  art 
and  nse  judgment,  is  no  transgression,  but  an  enriching  of  art:  or,  lastly,  what  king, 
or  knight,  before  the  Conquest,  might  be  chosen  in  whom  to  lay  the  pattern  of  a 
Christian  hero. 

"And,  as  Tasso  gave  to  a  prince  of  Italy  his  choice,  whether  he  would  command 
him  to  write  of  Godfrey's  expedition  against  the  infidels,  or  Belisarius  against  the 
Goths,  or  Charlemagne  against  the  Lombards ;  if  to  the  instinct  of  nature  and  em- 
boldening of  art  aught  may  be  trusted,  and  there  be  nothing  adverse  in  our  climate 
or  the  fate  of  this  age,  it  haply  would  be  no  rashness,  from  an  equal  diligence  and 
inclination,  to  present  the  like  offer  in  our  own  ancient  stories  ;  or  whether  those  dra- 
matic compositions,  wherein  Sophocles  and  Euripides  reign,  shall  be  found  more 
doctrinal  and  exemplary  to  a  nation. 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


xlv 


"The  Scripture  also  affords  us  a  divine  pastoral  drama  in  the  'Song  of  Solomon,' 
consisting  of  two  persons,  and  a  double  chorus,  as  Origen  rightly  judges :  and  the 
•Apocalypse'  of  St  John  is  the  majestic  image  of  a  high  and  stately  tragedy,  shutting 
ap  and  intermingling  her  solemn  scenes  and  acts  with  a  sevenfold  chorus  of  hallelujahs 
and  harping  symphonies;  and  this,  my  opinion,  the  grave  authority  of  Paraeus,  com 
menting  that  book,  is  sufficient  to  confirm. 

"  Or,  if  occasion  shall  lead  to  imitate  those  magnific  odes  and  hymns,  wherein 
Pindarus  and  Callimachus  are,  in  most  things,  worthy,  some  others  in  their  frame 
judicious,  in  their  matter  most  and  end  faulty. 

"  But  those  frequent  songs  throughout  the  law  and  prophets,  beyond  aU  these,  not  in 
their  divine  arguments  alone,  but  in  the  very  critical  art  of  composition,  may  be  easih^ 
made  appear  over  all  kinds  of  lyric  poesy  to  be  incomparable. 

"These  abilities,  wheresoever  they  be  found,  are  the  inspired  gift  of  God,  rarely 
bestowed,  but  yet  to  some,  though  most  abused,  in  every  nation ;  and  are  of  power, 
beside  the  office  of  a  pulpit,  to  imbreed  and  cherish  in  a  great  people  the  seeds  of  virtue 
and  public  civility;  to  allay  the  perturbations  of  the  mind,  and  set  the  affections  in 
right  tune;  to  celebrate  in  glorious  and  lofty  hymns  the  throne  and  equipage  of  God's 
almightiness,  and  what  he  works,  and  what  he  suffers  to  be  wrought  with  high  provi- 
dence in  his  church;  to  sing  victorious  agonies  of  martyrs  and  saints,  the  deeds  and 
triumphs  of  just  and  pious  nations,  doing  valiantly  through  faith  against  the  enemies 
of  Christ;  to  deplore  the  general  relapses  of  kingdoms  and  states  from  justice  and 
God's  true  worship. 

"Lastly,  whatsoever  in  religion  is  holy  and  sublime;  in  virtue  amiable  or  grave, 
whatsoever  hath  passion  or  admiration  in  all  the  changes  of  that  which  is  called  fortune 
from  without,  or  the  wily  subtleties  and  refluxes  of  man's  thoughts  from  within ;  al! 
these  things  with  a  solid  and  treatable  smoothness  to  paint  out  and  describe :  tracking 
over  the  whole  book  of  sanctity  and  virtue,  through  all  the  instances  of  example,  with 
such  delight  to  those  especially  of  soft  and  delicious  temper,  who  will  not  so  much  as 
look  .upon  truth  herself,  unless  they  see  her  elegantly  dressed;  that,  whereas  the  paths 
of  honesty  and  good  life  appear  now  rugged  and  difficult,  though  they  be  indeed  easy 
and  pleasant,  they  will  then  appear  to  all  men  both  easy  and  pleasant,  though  they 
were  rugged  and  difficult  indeed. 

"  And  what  a  benefit  this  would  he  to  our  youth  and  gentry,  may  be  soon  guessed  by 
what  we  know  of  the  corruption  and  bane,  which  they  suck  in  daily  from  the  writings 
and  interludes  of  libidinous  and  ignorant  poetasters,  who  Saving  scarce  eVer  heard  of 
that  which  is  the  main  consistence  of  a  true  poem,  the  choice  of  such  persons  as  they 
ought  to  introduce,  and  what  is  moral  and  decent  to  each  one ;  do  for  the  most  part  lay 
up  vicious  principles  in  sweet  pills  to  be  swallowed  down,  and  make  the  taste  of  vir- 
tuous documents  harsh  and  sour. 

"  But,  because  the  spirit  of  man  cannot  demean  itself  lively  in  this  body  without 
some  recreating  intermission  of  labour  and  serious  things,  it  were  happy  for  the  common- 
wealth, if  our  magistrates,  as  in  those  famous  governments  of  old,  would  take  into  their 
case,  not  only  the  deciding  of  our  contentious  law  cases  and  brawls,  but  the  managing 
of  our  public  sports  and  festival  pastimes ;  that  they  might  be,  not  such  as  were  author- 
ised a  while  since,  the  provocations  of  drunkenness  and  lust,  but  such  as  may  inure 
and  harden  our  bodies  by  martial  exercises  to  all  warlike  skill  and  performance;  and 
may  civilise,  adorn,  and  make  discreet  our  minds  by  the  learned  and  afiable  meeting 
of  frequent  academies,  and  the  procurement  of  wise  and  artful  recitations,  sweetened 
with  eloquent  and  graceful  inticements  to  the  love  and  practice  of  justice,  temperance, 
and  fortitude,  instructing  and. bettering  the  nation  at  all  opportunities,  that  the  call  of 
wisdom  and  virtue  may  be  heard  everywhere,  as  Solomon  saith,  '  she  crieth  without ; 
she  uttereth  her  voice  in  the  streets,  on  the  top  of  high  places,  in  the  chief  concourse, 
and  in  the  openings  of  the  gates.' 

"Whether  this  may  not  be,  not  only  in  pulpits,  but  after  another  persuasive  method 
at  set  and  solemn  panegyrics,  in  theatres,  porches,  or  what  other  place  or  way  may  win 
most  upon  the  people,  to  receive  at  once  both  recreation  and  instruction,  let  them  in 
authority  consult 

"The  thing  which  I  had  to  say,  and  those  intentions  which  have  lived  within  my 


xlvi  LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


ever  since  I  could  conceive  myself  anything  worth  to  my  country,  I  return  to  crave 
excuse  that  urgent  reason  hath  plucked  from  me,  by  an  abortive  and  foredated  dis- 
covery; and  the  accomplishment  of  these  lies  not  but  in  a  power  above  man's  to 
promise;  but  that  none  hath  by  more  studious  ways  endeavoured,  and  with  more 
unwearied  spirit  that  none  shall,  that  I  dare  almost  aver  of  myself,  as  far  as  life  and 
free  leisure  will  extend ;  and  that  the  land  had  once  enfranoliised  herself  from  this 
impertinent  yoke  of  prelates,  under  whose  inquisitorious  and  tyrannical  duncery,  no 
free  and  splendid  wit  can  flourish. 

"  Neither  do  I  think  it  shame  to  covenant  with  my  knowing  reader,  that  for  some 
few  years  yet  I  may  go  on  trust  with  him  toward  the  payment  of  what  I  am  now 
indebted ;  as  being  a  work  not  to  be  raised  from  the  heat  of  youth,  or  the  vapours  of 
wine,  like  that  which  flows  at  waste  from  the  pen  of  some  vulgar  amourist,  or  the 
trencher  fury  of  a  rhyming  parasite;  nor  to  be  obtained  from  the  invocation  of  dame 
Memory  and  her  syren  daughters ;  but  by  devout  prayer  to  that  eternal  Spirit,  who 
can  enrich  with  all  utterance  and  knowledge,  and  sends  out  his  Seraphim  with  the 
hallowed  fire  of  his  altar  to  touch  and  purify  the  lips  cf  whom  he  pleases. 

"  To  this  must  be  added  industrious  and  select  reading,  steadj*  observation,  insight 
into  all  seemly  and  generous  arts  and  afiairs;  till  which  in  some  measure  be  compassed, 
at  my  own  peril  and  cost,  I  refuse  not  to  sustain  this  expectation  from  as  many  as  arc 
not  loth  to  hazard  so  much  credulity  upon  the  best  pledges  that  I  can  give  them. 

"  Although  it  nothing  content  me  to  have  disclosed  thus  much  beforehand,  but  that  I 
trust  hereby  to  make  it  manifest  with  what  small  willingness  I  endure  to  interrupt  the 
pursuit  of  no  less  hopes  than  these,  and  leave  a  calm  and  pleasing  solitariness,  fed  with 
cheerful  and  confident  thoughts,  to  embark  in  a  troubled  sea  of  noises  and  hoarse  dis- 
putes, put  from  beholding  the  bright  countenance  of  truth  in  the  quiet  and  still  air  of 
delightful  studies,  to  come  into  the  dim  reflection  of  hollow  antiquities  sold  by  the 
seeming  bulk,  and  there  be  fain  to  club  quotations  with  men  whose  learning  and  belief 
lies  in  marginal  stuflings,  who,  when  they  have,  like  good  sumpters,  laid  ye  down  their 
horse-loads  of  citations  and  fathers  at  your  door,  with  a  rhapsody  of  who  and  who 
were  bishops  here  or  there,  ye  may  take  off'  their  pack-saddles,  their  day's  work  is 
done,  and  episcopacy,  as  they  think,  stoutly  vindicated.  Let  any  gentle  apprehension, 
that  can  distinguish  learned  pains  from  unlearned  drudgery,  imagine  what  pleasure  or 
profoundness  can  be  in  this,  or  what  honour  to  deal  against  such  adversaries. 

"  But  were  it  the  meanest  under-service,  if  God  by  his  secretary  conscience  enjoin  it, 
it  were  sad  for  me  if  I  should  draw  back ;  for  me  especially  now  when  all  men  ofiei 
their  aid  to  help,  ease,  and  lighten  the  difficult  labours  of  the  church,  to  whose  service, 
by  the  intentions  of  my  parents  and  friends,  I  was  destined  of  a  child,  and  in  my  own 
resolutions ;  till  coming  to  some  maturity  of  years,  and  perceiving  what  tyranny  had 
invaded  the  church,  that  he  who  would  take  orders  must  subscribe  slave,  and  take  an 
oath  withal,  which,  unless  he  took  with  a  conscience  that  would  retch,  he  must  either 
straight  perjure  himself  or  split  his  faith ;  I  thought  it  better  to  prefer  a  blameless  silence 
before  the  learned  office  of  speaking,  bought  and  begun  with  servitude  and  forswearing. 

"  However  thus  church-outed  by  the  prelates,  hence  may  appear  the  right  I  have  to 
meddle  in  these  matters,  as  before  the  necessity  and  constraint  appeared." 


CHAPTER  X. 

OP   MILTOyS    MARRIiGE. 

Milton  was  now  thirty-four  years  old,  when  he  seems  to  have  taken  upon  himself 
suddenly  the  resolution  to  marry :  his  choice  fell  on  Mary,  daughter  of  Richard  Powell, 
Esq.,  of  Forest  Hill,  near  Shotover,  in  Oxfordshire,  an  active  royalist,  who  lived  gayly 
and  expensively.  The  match  was  ill-suited,  and  did  not  turn  out  happily.  He  was 
caught  by  the  lady's  beauty,  but  found  neither  her  mind  nor  her  disposition  accordant : 
she  was  soon  tired  of  his  studious  habits  and  quiet  unvisited  house,  after  the  company 
to  which  she  had  been  accustomed  at  her  father's  mansion.  In  a  few  weeks  she 
requested  permission  to  revisi;  her  father,  where  she  stayed,  in  defiance  of  his  remon- 
strance,  the  whole  summer :  she  Fould  not  even  answer  his  letters.    This  so  provoked  him. 


LIFE  OF  MILTON.  xlvii 


that  he  resolved  to  divorce  her ;  and  to  justify  his  resolution,  published,  in  1644,  his  "  Doo- 
krine  and  Discipline  of  Divorce,  restored  to  the  good  of  both  sexes."  "  He  declares,"  says 
Fletcher, "  his  object  to  be  to  prove,  first,  that  other  reasons  of  divorce  besides  adultery, 
were,  by  the  law  of  Moses,  and  are  yet  to  be,  allowed  by  the  Christian  magistrate,  as  a 
piece  of  justice,  and  that  the  words  of  Christ  are  not  hereby  contraried :  next,  that  to  pro- 
hibit absolutely  any  divorco  whatever,  except  those  which  Moses  excepted,  is  against  the 
reason  of  law  The  grand  position  is  this  : — that  indisposition,  unfitness,  or  contrariety 
of  mind,  ai  sing  from  a  cause  in  nature,  unchangeable,  hindering,  and  ever  likely  to 
hinder,  the  main  benefits  of  conjugal  society,  which  are  solace  and  peace,  is  a  greater 
reason  of  divorce  than  adultery,  provided  there  be  a  mutual  consent  for  separation." 

lie  next  published  the  "  Tetrachordon,  or  Exposition  of  the  four  chief  places  in 
Scripture  which  treat  of  Nullities  in  Marriage."  Thirdly,  "  The  Judgment  of  the 
famous  Martin  Bucer,  touching  Divorce."  Fourthly,  "  Colasterion,"  a  reply  to  a  name 
less  answer  to  his  first  work. 

These  tracts  raised  a  great  clamour  against  the  author.  It  seems  to  me  probable, 
that  the  lady  married  Milton  against  her  will,  at  the  instigation  of  her  parents.  Todd 
has  discovered  documents,  which  shew  that  an  acquaintance  had  subsisted  between 
Powell  and  Milton's  father,  a  native  of  Oxfordshire,  and  !lhat  Powell  had  borrowed 
money  of  him,  which  was  not  paid  at  the  former's  death.  Powell  was  a  distressed  and 
ruined  man,  expensive  and  reckless  :  it  is  probable,  therefore,  that  he  may  have  sacri- 
ficed his  daughter,  who  soon  was  willing  to  escape  from  one  not  suited  to  her  habits  of  life. 

This  conjecture  is  in  concurrence  with  some  ingenious  surmises  of  Mitford,  founded 
on  certain  passages  which  he  has  extracted  from  Milton's  tracts.  Mrs.  Milton  seems  to 
have  been  a  dull,  unintellectual,  insensate  woman,  though  possessed  of  outward 
personal  beauty. 

She  was  alarmed  at  last,  when  she  found  Milton  in  earnest  to  take  another  wife,  and 
contrived  an  interview,  at  which  she  begged  his  pardon,  and  was  restored  to  her  home, 
where  she  died  in  a  few  years :  but  I  doubt,  from  certain  passages  in  Milton's  poetry, 
if  he  did  not  think  that  he  had  yielded  to  her  tears  with  too  much  softness. 

THe  whole  of  the  documents  relative  to  Milton's  claim  on  Powell's  property,  which 
are  set  forth  at  length  by  Todd,  who  recovered  them  from  the  public  archives,  are  very 
curious.  It  appears  that  it  was  as  early  as  1627,  when  Milton  was  a  student  at  Cam- 
bridge, that  his  father  advanced  500Z.  to  Powell  on  mortgage,  to  his  son's  use.  I  take 
this  to  have  been  a  settlement  made  as  a  provision  for  the  poet. 

When  Powell  died,  loaded  with  debt,  in  Jan.  1646-7,  Milton  took  possession  of  the 
mortgaged  property,  and  the  widow  with  eight  children,  was  left  penniless :  she  claimed 
her  thirds  for  dower,  but  could  not  obtain  them. 

Upon  Mrs.  Powell's  petition,  19th  April,  1651,  the  following  notes  are  made  : — 

"  By  the  law  Mrs.  Powell  might  recover  her  thirds,  without  doubt :  but  she  is  bo 
extremely  poor,  she  hath  not  wherewithal  to  prosecute ;  and  besides,  Mr.  Milton  is  a 
harsh  and  choleric  man,  and  married  Mr.  Powell's  daughter,  who  would  be  undone  if 
any  such  course  were  taken  against  him  by  Mrs.  Powell ;  he  having  turned  away  his 
wife  heratofore  for  a  long  space,  upon  some  other  occasion." 

The  date  of  the  death  of  this  first  wife  of  Milton  is  said  to  have  been  1653.  Hia 
father  died  in  1647,  in  the  poet's  house,  who  had  also  received  under  his  hospitable 
roof  the  ruined  family  of  Powell,  till  their  father  died;  but  he  seems  to  have  been  upon 
no  terms  with  the  widow. 

> 

CHAPTER  XL 

HIS   TAHIOTJS    LITERARY   OCCUPATIONS. 

In  1645  the  collection  of  Milton's  early  poems  was  published  by  Humphrey  Mosely, 
he  fashionable  publisher  of  poetry  of  that  age. 

In  1641  came  out  "Animadversions  upon  the  Remonstrants'  Defence  against 
Smeotymnuus." 

Next  year,  "An  Apology  for  Smectymnuus,"  in  reply  to  Bishop  Hall's  or  his  son's 
'  Modest  Confutation  against  a  scandalous  and  seditious  Libel."  This  is  Milton's  last 
work  on  the  puritan  side  of  the  controversy. 


xlviii  LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


In  1644  he  published  his  "  Tractate  of  Education :  to  Master  Samuel  Hartlib." 

The  month  of  November  of  this  year  produced  the  "  Areopagitica :  a  Speech  for  the 
liberty  of  Unlicensed  Printing.  To  the  Parliament  of  England."  Mitford  pronounces 
this  to  be  the  finest  production  in  prose  from  Milton's  pen.  "  For  vigour  and  eloquence 
of  style,  unconquerable  force  of  argument,  majesty  and  richness  of  language,  it  is  not 
to  be  surpassed," 

In  1648-9  he  published  "  The  Tenure  of  Kings  and  Magistrates :  proving  that  it  is 
lawful,  and  hath  been  held  so  through  all  ages,  for  any,  who  have  the  power,  to  call  to 
account  a  tyrant  or  wicked  king,  and  after  due  conviction,  to  depose  and  put  him  to 
death,  if  the  ordinary  magistrate  have  neglected  or  denied  to  do  it ;  and  that  they,  who 
of  late  so  much  blame  deposing,  are  the  men  that  did  it  themselves." 

This  tract  was  a  defence  of  the  execution  of  King  Charles,  against  the  objections  of 
the  Presbyterians. 

The  very  title  of  this  treatise  is  surely  in  the  highest  .degree  objectionable,  and  does 
not  in  these  days  require  any  refutation.  To  say  the  truth,  this  is  a  part  of  Milton's 
character  which  puzzles  me — and  no  other.  This  bloodthirstiness  does  not  agree  with 
his  sanctity,  and  other  mental  and  moral  qualities.  I  will  not  say  that  kings  may  not 
be  deposed :  but  Charles  i.  ought  not  to  have  been  deposed,  much  less  put  to  death 
In  the  poet,  however,  posterity  has  forgotten  the  regicide. 

In  1648-9  came  out  his  "Observations  on  the  Articles  of  Peace  between  James  Earl 
of  Ormond  for  King  Charles  the  First  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  Irish  Rebels  and 
Papijts  on  the  other  hand :  and  on  a  letter  sent  by  Ormond  to  Colonel  Jones,  Governor 
of  Dublin  :  and  a  Representation  of  the  Scots  Presbytery  at  Belfast  in  Ireland,"  Ac. 

"  Such,"  says  Milton,  "  were  the  fruits  of  my  private  studies,  which  I  gratuitously 
presented  to  the  church  and  to  the  state,  and  for  which  I  was  recompensed  by  nothing 
but  impunity,  though  the  actions  themselves  procured  me  peace  of  conscience  and  the 
approbation  of  the  good :  while  I  exercised  that  freedom  of  discussion,  which  I  loved. 
Others,  without  labour  or  desert,  got  the  possession  of  honours  and  emoluments ;  but 
no  one  ever  knew  me,  either  soliciting  anything  myself,  or  through  the  medium  of  my 
friends;  ever  beheld  me  in  a  supplicating  posture  at  the  doors  of  the  senate  or  the 
levees  of  the  great.  I  usually  kept  myself  secluded  at  home,  where  my  own  property, 
part  of  which  had  been  withheld  during  the  civil  commotions,  and  partof  which  had  been 
absorbed  in  the  oppressive  contributions  which  I  had  to  sustain,  afforded  me  a  scanty 
subsistence.  When  I  was  released  from  these  engagements,  and  thought  that  I  was 
about  to  enjoy  an  interval  of  uninterrupted  ease,  I  turned  my  thoughts  to  a  history  of 
my  country,  from  the  earliest  times  to  the  present  period." 

In  1649,  Milton  says,  "I  had  already  finished  four  books  of  the  history,  when  after 
the  subversion  of  the  monarchy,  and  the  estfiblishment  of  a  republic,  I  was  surprised 
by  an  invitation  from  the  council  of  state,  who  desired  my  services  in  the  office  of 
foreign  afiairs.  A  book  appeared  soon  after,  which  was  ascribed  to  the  king,  and  con- 
tained the  most  insidious  charges  against  the  Parliament.  I  was  ordered  to  answer  it, 
and  opposed  the  Iconoclast  to  the  Icon." 

The  title  is  "  EIKONGKAASTHS  :  in  answer  to  a  book  entitled  EIKaN 
BASlAiKH,  the  portraiture  of  his  majesty  in  his  solitudes  and  suflferings." 

A  question  has  been  raised,  and  fiercely  battled  of  late,  as  to  the  genuineness  of  the 
"Icon  Basilike."'  The  circumstantial  evidence  seems  strong  that  it  was  composed  by 
Bishop  Gauden.* 

Besides  that  every  reader  must  be  curious  about  this  exordium,  it  would  be  doing 
great  injustice  to  Milton's  prose  works  to  omit  the  following  extract  from  the  preface 
to  thii  extraordinary  production  : 

"To  descant  on  the  misfortunes  of  a  person  fallen  from  so  high  a  dignity,  who  hath 
also  paid  his  final  debt  both  to  nature  and  his  faults,  is  neither  of  itself  a  thing  com- 
mendable, nor  the  intention  of  this  discourse.  Neither  was  it  fond  ambition,  nor  the 
vanity  to  get  a  name,  present  or  with  posterity,  by  writing  against  a  king.  I  never 
was  80  thirsty  after  fame,  nor  so  destitute  of  other  hopes  and  means,  better  and  more 
certain  to  attain  it:  for  kings  have  gained  glorious  titles  from  their  favourers  by 
writing  against  private  men,  as  Henry  VIII.  did  against  Luther;  but  no  man  ever 
•  See  Todd's  Letter  to  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  1825. 


LIFE  OF  MILTON.  xlix 


gained  much  honour  by  writing  against  a  king,  as  not  usually  meeting  with  that  force 
of  argument  in  such  courtly  antagonists,  which  to  convince  might  add  to  his  reputa- 
tion. Kings  most  commonly,  though  strong  in  legions,  are  but  weak  in  arguments ;  as 
they  who  ever  have  accustomed  from  the  cradle  to  use  their  will  only  as  their  rigiil 
band,  their  reason  always  as  their  left.  Whence  unexpectedly  constrained  to  that  kind 
of  combat,  they  prove  but  weak  and  puny  adversaries;  nevertheless,  for  their  sakes, 
who  through  custom,  simplicity,  or  want  of  better  teaching,  have  no  more  seriously 
considered  kings,  than  in  the  gaudy  name  of  majesty,  and  admire  them  and  their 
doings  as  if  they  breathed  not  the  same  breath  with  other  mortal  men,  I  shall  make  no 
scruple  to  take  up  (for  it  seems  to  be  the  challenge  both  of  him  and  all  his  party)  to 
take  up  this  gauntlet,  though  a  king's,  in  the  behalf  of  liberty  and  the  commonwealth. 
"First,  then,  that  some  men  (whether  this  were  by  him  intended,  or  by  his  friends) 
have  by  policy  accomplished  after  death  that  revenge  upon  their  enemies,  which  in  life 
they  were  not  able,  hath  been  oft  related:. and  among  other  examples  we  find,  that  the 
last  will  of  Caesar  being  read  to  the  people,  and  what  bounteous  legacies  he  hath 
bequeathed  them,  wrought  more  on  that  vulgar  audience  to  the  avenging  of  his  death, 
than  all  the  art  he  could  ever  use  to  win  their  favour  in  his  lifetime.  And  how  much 
their  intent,  who  published  these  overlate  apologies  and  meditations  of  the  dead  king^ 
drives  to  th§  same  end  of  stirring  up  the  people  to  bring  him  that  honour,  that  affec- 
tion, and  by  consequence  that  revenge,  to  his  dead  corpse,  which  he  himself  living 
could  never  gain  to  his  person,  it  appears  both  by  the  conceited  portraiture  before  his 
book,  drawn  out  to  the  full  measure  of  a  masking  scene,  and  set  there  to  catch  fools 
and  silly  gazers ;  and  by  those  Latin  words  after  the  end,  '  Vota  dabunt  qua3  bella 
negarunt;'  intimating,  that  what  he  could  not  compass  by  war,  he  should  achieve  by 
his  medita,tions :  for  in  words  which  admit  of  various  sense,  the  liberty  is  ours,  to 
ohoose  that  interpretation,  which  may  best  mind  us  of  what  our  restless  enemies 
endeavour  and  what  we  are  timely  to  prevent.  And  here  may  be  well  observed  the 
loose  and  negligent  curiosity  of  those,  who  took  upon  them  to  adorn  the  setting  out  of 
this  book;  for  though  the  picture  set  in  front  would  martyr  him  and  saint  him  to  befool 
the  people,  yet  the  Latin  motto  in  the  end,  which  they  understand  not,  leaves  him,  as 
it  were,  a  political  contriver  to  bring  about  that  interest,  by  fair  and  plausible  words, 
which  the  force  of  arms  denied  him.  But  quaint  emblems  and  devices,  begged  from 
the  whole  pageantry  of  some  twelfth  night's  entertainment  dt  Whitehall,  will  do  but  ill 
to  make  a  saint  or  martyr :  and  if  the  people  resolve  to  take  him  sainted  at  the  rate  of 
such  a  canonising,  I  shall  suspect  their  calendar  more  than  the  Gregorian.  In  one 
thing  I  must  commend  his  openness,  who  gave  the  title  to  this  book,  Ei'kui'  BatriXix^, 
that  is  to  say  the  King's  Image ;  and  by  the  shrine  he  dresses  out  for  him,  certainly 
would  have  the  people  come  and  worship  him.  For  which  reason  this  answer  also  is 
entitled  Iconoclastes,  the  famous  surname  of  many  Greek  emperors,  who  in  their  zeal 
to  the  command  of  God,  after  long  tradition  of  idolatry  in  the  church,  took  courage, 
and  broke  all  superstitious  images  to  pieces.  But  the  people,  exorbitant  and  excessive 
in  all  their  motions,  are  prone  ofttimes  not  to  a  religious  only,  but  to  a  civil  kind  of  idola^ 
try,  in  idolising  their  King? :  though  never  more  mistaken  in  the  object  of  their 
worship;  heretofore  being  wont  to  repute  for  saints  those  faithful  and  courageous 
barons,  who  lost  their  lives  in  the  field,  making  glorious  war  against  tyrants  for  the 
common  liberty;  as  Simon  de  Montford,  Earl  of  Leicester,  against  Henry  III.;  Thomao 
Plantagenet,  Earl  of  Lancaster,  against  Edward  II.  But  now  with  a  besotted  and 
degenerate  baseness  of  spirit,  except  some  few  who  yet  retain  in  them  the  old  English 
fortitude  and  love  of  freedom,  and  have  testified  it  by  their  matchless  deeds,  the  rest, 
imbastardised  from  the  ancient  nobleness  of  their  ancestors,  are  ready  to  fall  flat  and 
give  adoration  to  the  image  and  memory  of  this  man,  who  hath  oflfered  at  more  cunning 
fetches  to  undermine  our  liberties,  and  put  tyranny  into  an  art,  than  any  British  king 
before  him:  which  low  dejection  and  debasement  of  mind  in  the  people,  I  must  con- 
fess, I  cannot  willingly  ascribe  to  the  natural  disposition  of  an  Englishman,  but  rather 
to  two  other  causes ;  first,  to  the  prelates  and  their  fellow-teachers,  though  of  another 
name  and  sect,*  whose  pulpit-stufi",  both  first  and  last,  hath  been  the  doctrine  and  per- 
petual infusion  of  servility  and  wretchedness  to  all  their  hearers,  and  whose  lives  the 

•  The  Presbytcriaiu. 
7 


1  LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


type  of  worldliness  and  hypocrisy,  without  the  least  true  pattern  of  virtue,  righteous- 
hees,  or  self-denial  in  their  whole  practice.  I  attribute  it  next  to  the  factious  inclination 
of  most  men  divided  from  the  public  by  several  ends  and  humours  of  their  own.  At 
first  no  man  less  beloved,  no  man  more  generally  condemned,  than  was  the  King; 
from  the  time  that  it  became  his  custom  to  break  parliaments  at  home,  and  either 
wilfully  or  weakly  to  betray  protestants  abroad  to  the  beginning  of  these  combustiona. 
All  men  inveighed  against  him ;  all  men,  except  court-vassals,  opposed  him  and  hii 
tyrannical  proceedings;  the  cry  was  universal;  and  this  full  parliament  was  at  flist 
ananimous  in  their  dislike  and  protestation  against  his  evil  government:  but  whec 
they  who  sought  themselves  and  not  the  public,  began  to  doubt,  that  all  of  them  could 
not  by  one  and  the  same  way  attain  to  their  ambitious  purposes,  then  was  the  King,  or 
his  name  at  least,  as  a  fit  property  first  made  use  of,  his  doings  made  the  best  of,  and 
by  degrees  justified;  which  begot  him  such  a  party,  as,  after  many  wiles  and  strug- 
glings  with  his  inward  fears,  emboldened  him  at  length  to  set  up  his  standard  against 
the  parliament :  when  as  before  that  time,  all  his  adherents,  consisting  most  of  dissolute 
swordsmen  and  suburb-roysters,  hardly  amounted  to  the  making  up  of  one  ragged 
regiment  strong  enough  to  assault  the  unarmed  house  of  commons.  After  which 
attempt,  seconded  by  a  tedious  and  bloody  war  on  his  subjects,  wherein  he  hath  so  far 
exceeded  those  his  arbitrary  violences  in  time  of  peace,  they  who  before  hated  him  for 
his  high  misgovernment,  nay,  fought  against  him  with  displayed  banners  in  the  field, 
now  applaud  him  and  extol  him  for  the  wisest  and  most  religious  Prince  that  lived. 
By  so  strange  a  method  amongst  the  mad  multitude  is  a  sudden  reputation  won,  of 
wisdom  by  wilfulness  and  subtile  shifts,  of  goodness  by  multiplying  evil,  of  piety  by 
endeavouring  to  root  out  true  religion. 

"  But  it  is  evident  that  the  chief  of  his  adherents  never  loved  him,  never  honoured 
either  him  or  his  cause,  but  as  they  took  him  to  set  a  face  upon  their  own  malignant 
designs ;  nor  bemoan  his  loss  at  all,  but  the  loss  of  their  own  aspiring  hopes  :  like  those 
captive  women,  whom  the  poet  notes  in  his  Iliad,  to  have  bewailed  the  death  of  Patro- 
3lu8  in  outward  show,  but  indeed  their  own  condition  : — 

TIdrpoK\ov  Trp6(paatv  aipHiv  i'  airHv  Kfiit'  iK&arri." 
I  do  not  by  this  insertion  mean  that  my  consent  should  be  implied  to  Milton's  prin- 
ciples and  argument?  in  this  extraordinary  production,  but  to  exhibit  it  as  a  proof  of  a 
gigantic  mind.  The  style  is  hard  and  Latinized;  but  after  a  few  pages,  when  the  ear 
is  familiarized  to  it,  it  strikes  by  its  extraordinary  force,  precision,  and  originality ;  by 
the  copiousness  of  its  learning,  and  the  unexpected  subtlety  of  its  arguments. 

Milton  now  entered  into  the  famous  controversy  with  Salmasius.  By  the  order  of 
the  state  he  wrote  "Defensio  pro  Populo  Anglicano  contra  Claudii  Anonymi,  alias 
Salmasii  Defensionem  Regiam,"  1651,  afterwards  translated  into  English  by  Washing, 
ton.  Salmasius  (Claude  de  Saumaise)  had  the  reputation  of  one  of  the  greatest  scholars 
of  the  age.  In  some  respects  this  dispute  was  disgraced  by  the  grossest  personalities 
on  both  sides:  many  think  that  Milton  destroyed  Salmasius's  title  to  elassicality : 
Mitford's  opinion  is  otherwise ;  and  he  has  discussed  the  question  with  much  erudition, 
research,  and  taste. 

This  book  raised  the  reputation  of  Milton  upon  the  Continent.  He  says,*  "  I  am 
about  to  discourse  of  matters,  neither  inconsiderable  nor  common ;  but  how  a  most 
potent  king,  after  he  had  trampled  upon  the  laws  of  the  nation,  and  given  a  shock  to 
its  religion,  and  begun  to  rule  at  his  own  will  and  pleasure,  was  at  last  subdued  in  the 
field  by  his  own  subjects,  who  had  undergone  a  long  slavery  under  him ;  how  after- 
wards he  was  cast  into  prison;  and  when  he  gave  no  ground,  either  by  words  or 
actions,  to  hope  better  things  of  him,  he  was  finally  by  the  supreme  council  of  the  king- 
dom condemned  to  die,  and  beheaded  before  the  very  gates  of  the  royal  palace.  I  shall 
likewise  relate  (which  will  much  conduce  to  the  easing  men's  minds  of  a  great  super- 
stition) by  what  right,  especially  according  to  our  law,  this  judgment  was  given,  and  all 
these  matters  transacted ;  and  shall  easily  defend  my  valiant  and  worthy  countrymen 
Jwbo  have  extremely  well  deserved  of  all  subjects  and  nations  in  the  world)  from  the 
most  wicked  calumnies  both  of  domestic  and  foreign  railere,  and  especially  from  the 

•  From  the  translation  by  Washington. 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


reproaches  of  this  most  vain  and  empty  sophister,  who  sets  up  for  a  captain  and  ring- 
leader to  all  the  rest.  For  what  king's  majesty  sitting  upon  an  exalted  throne,  ever 
ihone  so  brightly,  as  that  of  the  people  of  England  then  did,  when  shaking  off  that  old 
superstition,  which  had  prevailed  a  long  time,  they  gave  judgment  upon  the  king  him- 
Bolf,  or  rather  upon  an  enemy  who  had  been  their  king,  caught  as  it  were  in  a  net  by 
his  own  laws  (who  alone  of  all  mortals  challenged  to  himself  impunity  by  a  divine 
right),  and  scrupled  not  to  inflict  the  same  punishment  upon  him,  being  guilty,  which 
he  would  have  inflicted  upon  any  other  ?  But  why  do  I  mention  these  things  as  per- 
formed by  the  people,  which  almost  open  their  voice  themselves,  and  testify  the  prfBonoe 
of  Qod  throughout?  who,  as  often  as  it  seems  good  to  his  infinite  wisdom,  used  to 
throw  down  proud  and  unruly  kings,  exalting  themselves  above  the  condition  of  human 
nature,  and  utterly  to  extirpate  them  and  all  their  family.  By  his  manifest  impulse 
being  set  on  work  to  recover  our  almost  lost  liberty,  following  him  as  our  guide,  and 
adoring  the  impresses  of  his  divine  power  manifested  upon  all  occasions,  we  went  on  in 
no  obscure,  but  an  illustrious  passage,  pointed  out  and  made  plain  to  us  by  God  himself. 
Which  things,  if  I  should  so  much  as  hope  by  any  diligence  or  ability  of  mine,  such 
as  it  is,  to  discourse  of  as  I  ought  to  do,  and  to  commit  them  so  to  writing,  as  that  per- 
haps all  nations  and  all  ages  may  read  them,  it  would  be  a  very  vain  thing  in  me :  for 
what  style  can  be  august  and  magnificent  enough,  what  man  has  parts  sufiicient  to 
undertake  so  great  a  task  ?  Since  we  find  by  experience,  that  in  so  many  ages  as  are 
gone  over  the  world,  there  has  been  but  here  and  there  a  man  found,  who  has  been 
able  worthily  to  recount  the  actions  of  great  heroes  and  potent  states ;  can  any  man 
have  so  good  an  opinion  of  his  own  talents,  as  to  think  himself  capable  to  reach  these 
glorious  and  wonderful  works  of  Almighty  God,  by  any  language,  by  any  style  of  his? 
Which  enterprise,  though  some  of  the  most  eminent  persons  in  our  commonwealth  have 
prevailed  upon  me  by  their  authority  to  undertake,  and  would  have  it  be  my  business 
to  vindicate  with  my  pen  against  envy  and  calumny  (which  are  proof  against  arms) 
those  glorious  performances  of  theirs  (whose  opinion  of  me  I  take  as  a  very  great 
honour,  that  they  should  pitch  upon  me  before  others  to  be  serviceable  in  this  kind  of 
those  most  valiant  deliverers  of  my  native  country  ,•  and  true  it  is,  that  from  my  very 
youth  I  have  been  bent  extremely  upon  such  sort  of  studies,  as  inclined  me,  if  not  to 
do  great  things  myself,  at  least  to  celebrate  those  that  did),  yet  as  having  no  confi- 
dence in  any  such  advantages,  I  have  recourse  to  the  divine  assistance ;  and  invoke 
the  great  and  holy  God,  the  giver  of  all  good  gifts,  that  I  m^^y  as  substantially,  and  as 
truly,  discourse  and  refute  the  sauciness  and  lies  of  this  foreign  declamator,  as  our 
noble  generals  piously  and  successfully  by  force  of  arms  broke  the  King's  pride  and  his 
unruly  domineering,  and  afterwards  put  an  end  to  both  by  inflicting  a  memorable 
punishment  upon  himself,  and  as  thoroughly  as  a  single  person  did  with  ease,  but  of 
late  confute  and  confound  the  king  himself,  rising  as  it  were  from  the  grave,  and 
recommending  himself  to  the  people  in  a  book  published  after  his  death,  with  new 
artifices  and  allurements  of  words  and  expressions.  Which  antagonist  of  mine,  though 
he  be  a  foreigner,  and  though  he  deny  it  a  thousand  times  over,  but  a  poor  grammarian : 
yet  not  contented  with  a  salary  due  to  him  in  that  capacity,  chose  to  turn  a  pragmatical 
coxcomb,  and  not  only  to  intrude  in  state  affairs,  but  into  the  aff"airs  of  a  foreign  state ; 
though  he  brings  along  with  him  neither  modesty,  nor  understanding,  nor  any  other 
qualification  requisite  in  so  great  an  arbitrator,  but  sauciness,  and  a  little  grammar 
only.  Indeed,  if  he  had  published  here,  and  in  English,  the  same  things  as  he  has 
now  wrote  in  Latin,  such  as  it  is,  I  think  no  man  would  have  thought  it  worth  while  to 
return  an  answer  to  them,  but  would  partly  despise  them  as  common,  and  exploded  over 
and  over  already ;  and  partly  abhor  them  as  sordid  and  tyrannical  maxims,  not  to  be 
endured  even  by  the  most  abject  of  slaves :  nay,  men  that  have  sided  with  the  King, 
would  have  had  these  thoughts  of  his  book.  But  since  he  has  swoln  it  to  a  consider- 
able bulk,  and  dispersed  it  amongst  foreigners,  who  are  altogether  ignorant  of  our 
affairs  and  constitution,  it  is  fit  that  they  who  mistake  them  should  be  better  informed ; 
and  that  he  who  is  so  very  forward  to  speak  ill  of  others,  should  be  treated  in 
his  own  kind.  If  it  be  asked,  why  we  did  not  then  attack  him  sooner,  why  we  suf- 
fered him  to  triumph  so  long,  and  pr.de  himself  in  our  silence?  for  others  I  am  not 
to  answer ;  for  myself  I  can  boldly  say  that  I  had  neither  words  nor  arguments  long  to 


lii  LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


seek  for  the  defence  of  so  good  a  cause,  if  I  had  enjoyed  such  a  measure  of  health  as 
would  have  endured  the  fatigue  of  writing  :  and  being  but  weak  in  body,  I  am  forced 
to  write  by  piecemeal,  and  break  off  almost  every  hour,  though  the  subject  be  such  as 
requires  an  unintermitted  study  and  intenseness  of  mind.  But  though  this  bodily 
indisposition  may  be  a  hindrance  to  me  in  setting  forth  the  just  praises  of  my  most 
worthy  countrymen,  who  have  been  the  saviours  of  their  native  country,  and  whose 
exploits,  worthy  of  immortality,  are  already  famous  all  the  world  over;  yet  I  hcpe  it 
will  be  no  difficult  matter  for  me  to  defend  them  from  the  insolence  of  this  silly  littla 
scholar,  and  from  that  saucy  tongue  of  his  at  least  Nature  and  laws  would  be  in  an 
ill  case,  if  slavery  should  find  what  to  say  for  itself,  and  liberty  be  mute ;  and  if 
tyrants  should  find  men  to  plead  for  them,  and  they  that  can  master  and  vanquish 
tyrants  should  not  be  able  to  find  advocates :  and  it  were  a  deplorable  thing  indeed,  if 
the  reason  mankind  is  endued  withal,  and  which  is  the  gift  of  God,  should  not  furnish 
more  arguments  for  men's  preservation,  for  their  deliverance,  and,  as  much  as  the 
nature  of  the  thing  will  bear,  for  making  them  equal  to  one  another,  than  for  their 
oppression  and  for  their  utter  ruin  under  the  domineering  power  of  one  single  person. 
Let  me  therefore  enter  upon  this  noble  cause  with  a  cheerfulness,  grounded  upon  this 
assurance,  that  my  adversary's  cause  is  maintained  by  nothing  but  fraud,  fallacy,  igno- 
rance, and  barbarity ;  whereas  mine  has  light,  truth,  reason,  the  practice  and  the  learn- 
ing of  the  best  ages  of  the  world,  of  its  side." 

In  1654  Milton  published  his  "  Defensio  secunda  contra  Infamem  Libellum  Anony- 
mum,  cui  titulus,  Regi  Sanguinis  Clamor  ad  Coelum  adversus  Parricidas  Anglicanos."  • 

This  commences  with  another  magnificent  passage  regarding  himself: — 

"Jam  videor  mihi,  ingressus  iter,  transmarinos  tractus  et  porrectas  late  regiones, 
sublimis  perlustrare ;  vultus  innumeros  atque  ignotos,  animi  sensus  mecum  conjunctis- 
Bimos :  hinc  Germanorum  virile  et  infestum  servituti  robur,  inde  Francorum  vividi  dig- 
nique  nomine  liberales  impetus,  hinc  Hispanorum  consulta  virtus,  Italorum  inde  sedata 
suiqae  compos  magnanimitas  ob  oculos  versatur.  Quicquid  uspiam  liberorum  pectorum, 
quicquid  ingenui,  quicquid  magnanimi  aut  prudens  latet  aut  se  palam  profitetur,  alii 
tacite  favere,  alii  aperte  sufi"ragari,  accurrere  alii  et  plausu  accipere,  alii  tandem  vero 
victi,  dedititios  se  tradere.  Videor  jam  mihi,  tantis  circumseptus  copiis,  ab  Herculeis 
nsque  columnis  ad  extremes  Liberi  patris  terminos,  libertatem  diu  pulsam  atque  exulem, 
longo  intervallo  domum  ubique  gentium  reducere  :  et,  quod  Triptolemus  olim  fertur,  sed 
longe  nobiliorem  Cereali  ilia  frngem  ex  civitate  mea  gentibus  importare ;  restitutum 
nempe  civilem  liberumque  vitae  cultum,  per  urbes,  per  regna,  perque  nationes  dissemi- 
nare,  Ac. 

"I  seem  to  survey,  as  from  a  towering  height,  the  far-extended  tracts  of  sea  and 
land,  and  innumerable  crowds  of  spectators,  betraying  in  their  looks  the  liveliest 
interest,  and  sensations  the  most  congenial  with  my  own  :  here  I  behold  the  stout  and 
manly  prowess  of  the  German,  disdaining  servitude ;  there  the  generous  and  lively 
impetuosity  of  the  French;  on  this  side  the  calm  and  stately  valour  of  the  Spaniard; 
on  that  the  composed  and  varied  magnanimity  of  the  Italian.  Of  all  the  lovers  of 
liberty  and  virtue,  the  magnanimous  and  the  wise,  in  whatever  quarter  they  may  be 
found,  some  secretly  favour,  others  openly  approve ;  some  greet  me  with  congratulations 
and  applause ;  others,  who  had  long  been  proof  against  conviction,  at  last  yield  them- 
selves captive  to  the  force  of  truth.  Surrounded  by  congregated  multitudes,  I  now 
imagine,  that,  from  the  columns  of  Hercules  to  the  Indian  ocean,  I  behold  the  nationt 
of  the  earth  recovering  that  liberty  which  they  so  long  had  lost;  and  that  the  people 
of  this  island  are  transporting  to  other  countries  a  plant  of  more  beneficial  qualities, 
and  more  noble  growth,  than  that  which  Triptolemus  is  reported  to  have  carried  from 
region  to  region ;  that  they  are  disseminating  the  blessings  of  civilization  and  freedom 
among  cities,  kingdoms,  and  nations.  Nor  shall  I  approach  unknown,  twr  perhaps 
unloved,  if  it  be  told  that  I  am  the  same  person,  who  engaged  in  single  combat  that 
fierce  advocate  of  despotism,  till  then  reputed  invincible  in  the  opinion  of  many,  and 
in  his  own  conceit,  who  insolently  challenged  us  and  our  armies  to  the  combat;  bu 

*  The  author  of  this  book  was  Peter  de  Moulin,  afterwards  Prebendary  of  Canterbury.  See 
an  "Account  of  Alexander  Morus,"  among  the  Literati  of  Geneva,  where  he  published  many 
books     See  Seuebier's  '•  Histoire  Littfiraire." 


LIFE  OP  MILTON.  liii 


whom,  while  I  repelled  his  virulence,  I  silenced  with  his  own  weapons ;  and  over  whom, 
if  I  may  trust  to  t're  opinion  of  impartial  judges,  I  gained  a  complete  and  glorious 
victory." 

In  1654  Milton  published  his  "Treatise  of  Civil  Power  in  Ecclesiastical  CauseSj 
showing  that  it  is  not  lawful  for  any  Power  on  earth  to  compel  in  matters  of  religion. 

The  same  year  he  published  "  Considerations  touching  the  likeliest  means  to  remove 
Hirelings  out  of  the  Church ;  wherein  is  also  discoursed  of  Tithes,  Church-fees,  and 
Church-revenues ;  and  whether  any  Maintenance  of  Ministers  can  be  settled  by  law." 

He  wrote  also  "  A  Letter  to  a  Friend  concerning  the  Ruptures  of  the  Common. 
wealth;"  and,  "The  Present  Means  and  brief  Delineation  of  a  Free  Commonwealth, 
easy  to  be  put  in  practice,  and  without  delay ;  in  a  Letter  to  General  Monk." 

In  1660  he  published  "The  ready  and  easy  way  to  establish  a  free  Commonwealth, 
and  the  excellence  thereof  compared  with  the  inconveniences  and  dangers  of  re-admit- 
ting Kingship  in  the  realm." 

In  the  same  year  he  published  "  Brief  Notes  upon  a  late  Sermon,  titled  the  Fear  of 
God,  preached  and  since  published  by  Matthew  Griffith,  D.  D.,  and  Chaplain  to  the  late 
King,  wherein  many  notorious  wrestlings  of  Scripture,  and  other  falsities,  are  observed." 

I  cannot  help  lamenting  that  Milton  spent  so  many  years  in  these  bitter  political  and 
sectarian  squabbles :  "  coarser  minds"  would  have  done  for  that  work.  He  was 
always  powerful — sometimes  splendid ;  but  here  his  passions  were  human,  and  too 
often  mingled  with  earthly  dross.  That  magnificent  and  stupendous  imagination  must 
have  often  slept :  his  faculties  duly  employed  might  have  produced  other  epic  poems 
equal  to  "Paradise  Lost:"  he  might  even  have  gained  something  more  of  facility  and 
softness:  other  gardens  of  Eden  might  have  been  described,  and  human  passions  of 
half-etherial  sublimity  might  have  been  embodied :  his  youthful  purpose  of  some 
romantic  tale  of  chivalry  might  also  have  been  executed. 

Perhaps  he  would  never  have  attained  to  the  rich  profusion  of  Spenser;  but  be 
would  have  been  far  more  nervous,  gigantic,  and  heaven-exalted  in  his  characters  and 
descriptions:  he  would  have  painted  castles  and  battles  and  enchantments  with  a 
darker,  more  awful,  and  more  prophet-like  power :  he  would  have  given,  by  a  few 
mighty  strokes,  what  Spenser  somewhat  weakens  by  the  expanded  multiplicity  of  Lia 
touches.  With  the  collected  sternness  of  Dante,  and  the  gloomy  touches  of  his  inspired 
vein,  he  would  have  filled  the  imagination  with  something  of  superhuman  exaltation 
of  visionary  grandeur.  , 

What  themes  for  a  creative  mind  did  the  superstitions,  manners,  and  traditionary 
tales  of  chivalry  offer !  Milton's  memory  was  stored  with  this  branch  of  literature,  and 
delighted  in  it;  and  his  faculty  of  sublime  fiction  could  have  added  to  it  any  ornaments 
he  chose :  but  mighty  as  was  his  imagery,  the  spiritual  part  of  his  power  was  still 
mightier :  magnificence  of  thought  and  sentiment  is  his  prime  characteristic.  It  is  his 
force  of  reflection  and  comment,  which  overcomes  and  electrifies  us ;  the  vast  extetl 
of  his  views;  his  comprehension,  and  stupendous  grasp:  and,  while  he  speaks  as  a 
poet,  he  speaks  also  as  a  sage,  and  a  philosopher. 

How  would  he  have  described  the  Crusades,  above  all  other  poets !  what  endless 
diversity  of  scenery,  heroism,  customs,  incidents,  moral  and  intellectual  character; 
observation,  learning,  opinion,  reasoning,  principles,  would  he  have  supplied !  This 
would  have  been  far  superior  to  the  story  of  "King  Arthur,"  in  which,  perhaps,  there 
is  some  mixture  of  childishness,  unbecoming  the  lofty  bard's  austere  grandeur. 

While  Milton's  mind  was  immersed  for  twenty  years  in  all  those  mean  contests  cf 
human  ambition  or  bigotry,  in  which  intrigue,  artifice,  and  selfish  passions  pervert  and 
darken  the  heart  and  the  head,-  he  must  have  stifled  those  radiant  visions  of  spiritual 
purity,  which  were  his  natural  food  and  delight.  A  suppressed  fire  often  turns  to 
poison;  and  perhaps  it  gave  some  embitterment  to  the  poet's  feelings:  but  the  fire 
now  and  then  blazed  unexpectedly  in  a  glorious  flame  amid  endless  pages  of  subtle  or 
heavy  prose. 

Perhaps  he  would  not  have  lost  his  eye-sight,  if  he  had  pored  less  over  these  contro- 
versial mysteries,  dry  as  the  dust  of  the  barren  desert.  The  dreams  of  imagination 
give  r  jst  to  the  eyes,  and  are  brightest  when  the  outward  view  is  closed. 

The  vexatious  humour?  with  which  the  poet  had  to  contend  must  have  added  to  the 


liv  LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


irritable  temperament  of  his  frame.  He  was  naturally  "  a  choleric  man,"  according  to 
the  report  of  Mrs.  Powell,  the  mother  of  his  first  wife ;  and  he  had  a  scoru  of  mean 
InftellectB  and  unlearned  persons.  Loftiness  was  a  prime  ingredient  in  his  disposition, 
as  well  as  in  his  mental  faculties :  detraction  and  contumely  enraged  him :  his  opinions 
wore  strong  and  fixed — he  would  bend  to  no  man.  As  he  never  deviated  from  the 
paths  of  drty  he  had  chalked  out,  so  opposition  embittered  his  temper,  or  excKed  his 
scorn  :  he  was  not  one,  therefore,  who  could  buffet  in  troubled  waters  without  a  great 
wsar  of  his  frame.  He  himself  says,  that  he  lost  his  sight  "overplied  in  libert/j 
defence."  This  was,  no  doubt,  true: — the  sour  humours  of  the  body  might,  by  a 
natural  effect,  disease  the  eyes :  they  were  tender  even  in  his  youth. 

The  cause  of  liberty,  pursued  from  the  purest  motives,  if  it  could  be  separated  from 
the  constant  participation  of  the  great  body  who  were  actuated  by  a  love  of  licentious- 
ness, and  an  envious  desire  to  overturn  and  plunder  the  great  and  the  rich,  would 
become  such  a  mind  as  Milton's ;  but  the  large  mass  of  the  active  movers  of  that 
celebrated  contest  was  of  a  temper,  and  passion,  and  principle  utterly  unfitted  to  the 
bard's  holy  spirit.  He  was  blinded  by  his  zeal  in  a  cause  in  which  his  heart  and  hia 
convictions  were  embarked,  and  he  reaped  the  fruit  of  the  food  he  sought  in  bitterness 
aiid  sorrow:  he  found  thorns  and  brambles  and  weeds  without  end,  wherever  he 
applied  his  sickle. 

Opinions  differ  concerning  the  character  of  the  sovereign,  against  whom  he  lifted 
his  voice  and  his  hand.  That  unhappy  monarch  was  so  placed  by  birth  and  circum- 
stances, that  perhaps  the  wisest  man  and  the  greatest  hero  could  not  have  escaped  safe, 
much  less  victorious.  He  had  some  weaknesses,  of  which  a  leading  one  was  ductility : 
he  was  a  man  of  elegant  taste,  numerous  accomplishments,  varied  learning,  with  a 
sensitive,  generous  heart,  and  undoubted  piety :  he  entertained  some  notions  of  kingly 
power,  which  in  these  days  would  be  generally  condemned ;  but  in  the  times  in  which 
he  imbibed  and  persevered  in  them,  it  would  have  been  truly  extraordinary  if  he  had 
thought  otherwise.  The  most  plausible  charge  laid  against  his  character  is  insincerity : 
this  arose  from  want  of  firmness.  He  was  sometimes  led  into  momentary  concessions 
contriry  to  his  conviction. 

The  trust  he  put  in  Buckingham  cannot  be  entirely  excused,  because  that  minister 
was  deficient  in  almost  every  quality  necessary  to  a  statesman:  his  want  of  high 
talents,  his  profligacy,  his  profusion,  his  deficiency  in  all  the  grand  principles  of  a 
fcound  government,  his  corruption,  his  reckless  indiscretions,  offered  a  mark  for  the 
revolutionary  passions  of  the  age,  which  they  could  not  miss.  '  But  the  system  of 
favouritism  was  then  the  general  fault  of  monarchs;  and  Charles  had  a  warm  and 
friendly  heart,  which  could  not  easily  give  up  an  attachment.  On  the  contrary,  the 
unfortunate  prince  has  been  blamed  for  sacrificing  Strafford :  for  that  afflicting  charge 
nothing  less  than  extreme  duresse  can  be  an  excuse. 

When  once  the  sword  of  civil  contest  is  drawn,  neither  party  thinks  itself  safe  till  it 
has  destroyed  the  other;  this  is  the  excuse  the  parliamentarians  plead  for  putting 
Charles  to  death.  I  shall  never  cease  to  consider  it  a  bloodthirsty  and  unpardonable 
act.  All  my  veneration  for  Milton,  and  all  the  power  of  argument  of  his  mighty  mind, 
will  not  alter  that  opinion. 

The  opposition  to  the  rule  of  kings  had  been  secretly  brooding  and  fomenting 
through  Europe  for  near  a  century,  but  had  been  kept  down  in  England  by  the 
magnanimous  and  prudent  spirit  of  Queen  Elizabeth  :  but  the  Puritans  had  been  con- 
stantly at  work  against  her  throne,  while  the  Jesuits  beset  it  on  other  principles,  and 
with  other  views.  At  Milton's  birth,  the  imbecility  of  King  James  had  encouraged 
that  spirit  in  the  former  growing  sect,  which  struck  at  the  root  of  all  ancient  institu- 
tions. Milton  probably  drank  in  these  schisms  with  his  earliest  breath ;  but  for  a  time 
his  classical  and  romantic  studies,  the  glories  of  his  poetical  imagination,  his  neigh- 
bourhood to  the  feudal  hospitalities  of  Harefield,  the  smiles  of  Spenser's  patroness,  the 
noble  and  splendid  pageantry  of  Ludlow  Castle,  and  his  travels  among  the  seats  of  the 
ancient  arts,  the  heroic  fablings  of  Tasso,  and  the  glowing  recollections  of  the  Marquis 
Manso  in  the  Elysian  scenery  of  the  sunny  bay  of  Naples,  suspended,  and  nearly 
expelled  them. 

But  when  the  discordant  trumpet  of  open  civil  strife  was  once  soundnd,  and  by  an 


LIFE  OP  MILTON. 


Iv 


unlmppy  spell  excited  all  the  early  predilections  -which  had  been  instilled  into  his 
childhood,  the  Muse,  for  whom  nature  had  best  fitted  him,  was  for  a  long  time  forgot- 
ten; and  all  the  crabbed  lore  of  puritanical  gloom  overshadowed  the  native  fire  of  a 
heavenly  imagination. 

In  whatever  turn  his  mind  took,  he  had  power  and  force  to  go  beyond  other  men. 
When  his  gigantic  strength  entered  the  field  of  battle,  like  Samson,  he  would  lay  all 
prostrate  before  him ;  and  like  him,  rather  than  submit  and  give  triumph  to  his  foes, 
would  have  grasped  the  columns,  and  brought  the  tumbling  roof  of  the  theatre*  on  the 
beads  of  all;  willing  to  fall  himself  in  the  common  ruin,  rather  than  let  the  proud  and 
the  mighty  prevail  over  him.  Here  lay  his  ambition ;  here  he  had  something  of  the 
spirit  of  his  Fallen  Angels.  To  him  all  monarchs  of  the  ordinary  vigour  of  human 
intellect  appeared  but  as  children  of  the  dust :  in  the  conscious  vastness  of  his  intel- 
lectual supremacy,  he  met  them,  when  they  put  on  the  armour  of  assault,  with  scorn 
and  defiance. 


CHAPTER  XIL 
Hilton's  controversial  writings. 

On  March  15,  1648-9,  the  council  of  state  appointed  Milton  secretary  for  the  foreign 
tongues.  In  1652  the  poet's  eyesight  was  entirely  lost;  but  he  was  still  continued  in 
his  office,  and  allowed  an  assistant,  Mr.  Philip  Meadowes.  About  this  time  his  first 
wife  died,  leaving  him  three  daughters.  He  did  not  re-marry  till  1656.  This  second  wife 
was  daughter  of  Captain  Woodcock,  of  Hackney :  she  died  in  childbed  the  next  year, 
and  was  buried  at  St  Margaret's,  Westminster,  10th  February^  1657. 

On  April  17, 1655,  it  was  ordered  that  "the  former  salary  of  Mr.  John  Milton  of 
two  hundred  eighty-eight  pounds,  Ac,  formerly  charged  on  the  council's  contingencies, 
be  reduced  to  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  per  annum,  and  paid  to  him  during  his 
life  out  of  his  Highnesse's  Exchequer." 

Bifehop  Sumner  says,  it  is  presumed  that  from  this  time  Milton  ceased  to  be  employed 
in  public  affairs ;  but  Todd  gives  proofs  that  he  continued  to  be  employed  long  after- 
wards, first  with  the  aid  of  Philip  Meadowes,  and  afterwards,  in  1657,  of  Andrew  Mar- 
vell,  the  poet,  whose  noble  panegyrical  verses  are  prefixed  to  the  Paradise  Lost.f 

As  late  as  the  25th  of  October,  1659,  there  is  a  warrant  of  state  for  the  payment  to 
John  Milton  and  Andrew  Marvell  of  £86  12s.  each,  at  the  «ate  for  each  of  £200  per 
annum. 

A  little  before  the  king's  coming  over,  Milton  was  sequestered  from  his  Latin  secre- 
taryship, and  the  salary. 

In  1658  he  amused  himself  by  editing  from  a  MS.  "  the  Cabinet-Council  of  Ralegh." 

Whatever  merit  Milton  might  have  in  the  able  and  learned  discharge  of  his  political 
services,  it  is  deeply  to  be  lamented  that  his  brilliant  and  sublime  faculties  were  so 
employed.  He  had  a  mind  too  creative  to  be  wasted  in  writing  down  official  despatches, 
or  turning  them  into  classical  Latin :  humble  talents  would  have  done  better  for  such 
laborious  and  technical  tasks.  How  the  slumbering  fire  of  his  rich  and  ever-varying 
fictions  must  have  consumed  his  heart  and  his  brain  ! — How  he  must  have  fretted  at  the 
biise  iniriguoa  of  courts  and  councils,  and  the  turpitude  of  human  ambition ! — While 
immured  within  dark  and  close  official  walls,  how  he  must  have  sighed  and  pined  to  be 
courting  his  splendid  visions,  of  a  higher  and  more  congenial  world,  on  the  banks  oi 
some  haunted  stream! — The  woods  and  forests,  the  mountains,  8«as  and  lakes,  ought  to 
have  been  his  dwelling-places. — The  whispers  of  the  spring,  or  the  roaring  of  the 
winter-winds,  ought  to  have  soothed  or  e.tcited  his  spirits  — In  those  regions  aerial 
beings  visit  the  earth;  there  the  soul  sees  what  the  concourse  of  mankind  puts  to 
flight ;  there  the  mean  passions,  that  corrupt  the  human  bosom,  have  no  abode. 

*  The  building  was  a  spacious  theatre, 
Half-round— on  two  main  pillars  vaulted  high. 

Agon.  i.  1607.  seq. 
t  A  curious  letter  of  Milton's  to  Lord  President  Bradshaw,  as  early  as  1653,  recommending 
Marvell  as  an  assistant,  is  given  by  Todd,  then  lately  discovered  in  the  State  Paper  Office. 


Ivi  LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


To  make  a  man  of  business  requires  nothing  but  petty  and  watchful  observation, 
cold  reserve,  and  selfish  craft :  to  catch  the  moment  when  caution  in  others  is  asleep ; 
to  raise  hopes,  yet  promise  nothing ;  to  seem  to  give  full  information,  yet  to  be  so 
vague,  that  everything  is  open  to  escape.  How  can  the  poet  practise  such  arts  as  these? 
He  is  lost  in  himself;  he  is  wrapped  up  in  his  own  creations. 

Milton  has  left  interspersed  in  his  controversial  writings  fragments  of  autobiography 
which  have  every  sort  of  value.  They  are  full  of  facts; — are  vigorous,  wise,  eloquent^ 
(ind  sublime. 

They  are  also  proofs  of  that  enthusiasm  of  character,  which  led  the  poet  to  those 
Ideal  views  of  liberty  that  are  inconsistent  with  human  frailty. 

Of  such  passages  the  first,  and  perhaps  most  interesting,  is  the  writer's  description 
i)f  his  own  perse  n: — 

"  I  do  not  believe,"  says  the  poet,  "  that  I  was  ever  once  noted  for  deformity,  by  any 
one  who  ever  saw  me ;  but  the  praise  of  beauty  I  am  not  anxious  to  obtain.  My  stature 
certainly  is  not  tall;  but  it  rather  approaches  the  middle  than  the  diminutive.  Yet 
what  if  it  were  diminutive,  when  so  many  men,  illustrious  both  in  peace  and  war,  have 
been  the  same  ?  And  how  can  that  be  called  diminutive,  which  is  great  enough  for 
every  virtuous  achievement?  Nor,  though  very  thin,  was  I  ever  deficient  in  courage 
or  in  strength ;  and  I  was  wont  constantly  to  exercise  myself  in  the  use  of  the  sword,  as 
long  as  it  comported  with  my  habits  and  my  years.  Armed  with  this  weapon,  as  I 
usually  was,  I  should  have  thought  myself  quite  a  match  for  any  one,  though  much 
stronger  than  myself;  and  I  felt  perfectly  secure  against  the  assault  of  any  open 
enemy.  At  this  moment  I  have  the  same  courage,  the  same  strength,  though  not 
the  same  eyes ;  yet  so  little  do  they  betray  any  external  appearance  of  injury,  that  they 
are  as  unclouded  and  bright  as  the  eyes  of  those  who  most  distinctly  cee.  In  this 
instance  alone  I  am  a  dissembler  against  my  will.  My  face,  which  is  said  to  indicate 
a  total  privation  of  blood,  is  of  a  complexion  entirely  opposite  to  the  pale  and  the 
cadaverous ;  so  that,  though  I  am  more  than  forty  years  old,  there  is  scarcely  any  ono 
to  whom  I  do  not  appear  ten  years  younger  than  I  am ;  and  the  smoothness  of  ray  skin 
is  not,  in  the  least,  affected  by  the  wrinkles  of  age." 

His  adversary  had  maliciously  and  daringly  accused  him  of  looseness  of  life  and 
conversation.  To  this  Milton  indignantly  thus  replies : — "But  because  as  well  by  this 
upbraiding  to  me  the  bordelloes,  as  by  other  suspicious  glancings  in  his  book,  he  would 
seem  privily  to  point  me  out  to  his  readers,  as  one  whose  custom  of  life  were  not  honest 
but  licentious;  I  shall  entreat  to  be  borne  with,  though  I  digress;  and  in  a  way  not 
often  trod,  acquaint  ye  with  the  sum  of  my  thoughts  in  this  matter,  through  the  course 
of  my  years  and  studies ;  although  I  am  not  ignorant  how  hazardous  it  will  be  to  do 
this  under  the  nose  of  the  envious,  as  it  were  in  skirmish  to  change  the  compact  order, 
and  instead  of  outward  actions  to  bring  inmost  thoughts  into  front.  And  I  must  tell 
ye,  readers,  that  by  this  sort  of  men  I  have  been  already  bitten  at;  yet  shall  they  not 
for  me  know  how  slightly  they  are  esteemed,  unless  they  have  so  much  learning  as  to 
read  what  in  Greek  dmipoKoXia  is,  which,  together  with  envy,  is  the  common  disease  of 
those  who  censure  books  that  are  not  for  their  reading.  With  me  it  fares  now,  as 
with  him  whose  outward  garment  hath  been  injured  and  ill-bedighted;  for  having  no 
other  shift,  what  help  but  to  turn  the  inside  outwards,  especially  if  the  lining  be  of  the 
same,  or,  as  it  is  sometimes,  much  better  ?  So  if  my  name  and  outward  demeanour 
be  not  evident  enough  to  defend  me,  I  must  make  trial  if  the  discovery  of  my  inmost 
thoughts  can :  wherein  of  two  purposes  both  honest,  and  both  sincere,  the  one  perhaps 
I  shall  not  miss :  although  I  fail  to  gain  belief  with  others,  of  being  such  as  my  per- 
petual thoughts  shall  bore  disclose  me,  I  may  yet  not  fail  of  success  in  persuading  some 
to  be  such. really  themselves,  as  they  cannot  believe  me  to  be  more  than  what  I  feign. 
I  had  my  time,  readers,  as  others  have,  who  have  good  learning  bestowed  upon  them, 
to  be  sent  to  those  places,  where  the  opinion  was,  it  might  be  soonest  attained ;  and  as 
the  manner  is,  was  not  unstudied  in  those  authors  which  are  most  commended;  whereof 
some  were  grave  orators  and  historians,  whose  matter  methought  I  loved  indeed,  but  as 
my  age  then  was,  so  I  understood  them ;  others  were  the  smooth  elegiac  poets,  whereof 
the  schools  are  not  scarce,  whom  both  for  the  pleasing  sound  of  their  numerous  writing, 
which  in  imitation  I  found  most  easy,  and  most  agreeable  to  nature's  part  in  me,  and 


LIFE  OF  MILTON.  Ivii 

for  their  matter,  which  what  it  is,  there  be  few  who  know  not,  I  was  so  allured  to  read, 
fliat  no  recreation  came  to  me  better  welcome :  for  that  it  was  then  those  years  with 
me  which  are  excused,  though  they  be  least  severe,  I  may  be  saved  the  labour  to 
remember  ye.  Whence  having  observed  them  to  account  it  the  chief  glory  of  theii 
wit,  in  that  they  were  ablest  to  judge,  to  praise,  and  by  that  could  esteem  themselves 
worthiest  to  love  those  high  perfections,  which  under  one  or  other  name  they  took  to 
celebrate;  I  thought  with  myself  by  every  instinct  and  presage  of  nature,  which  is  not 
wont  to  be  false,  that  what  emboldened  them  to  this  task,  might  with  such  diligence  as 
they  used  embolden  me;  and  that  what  judgment,  wit,  or  elegance  was  my  share, 
would  herein  best  appear,  and  best  value  itself,  by  how  much  more  wisely,  and  with 
more  loYe  of  virtue  I  should  choose  (let  rude  ears  be  absent)  the  object  of  not  unlike 
praises :  for  albeit  these  thoughts  to  some  will  seem  virtuous  and  commendable,  to 
others  only  pardonable,  to  a  third  sort  perhaps  idle;  yet  the  mentioning  of  them  now 
will  end  in  serious.  Nor  blame  it,  readers,  in  those  years  to  propose  to  themselves 
Buch  a  reward,  as  the  noblest  dispositions  above  other  things  in  this  life  have  some- 
times preferred:  whereof  not  to  be  sensible  when  good  and  fair  in  one  person  meet, 
argues  both  a  gross  and  shallow  judgment,  and  withal  and  ungentle,  and  swainish 
breast :  for  by  the  firm  settling  of  these  persuasions,  I  became,  to  my  best  memory, 
so  much  a  proficient,  that  if  I  found  those  authors  any  where  speaking  unworthy  things 
of  themselves,  or  unchaste  of  those  names  which  before  they  had  extolled ;  this  effect 
it  wrought  with  me,  from  that  time  forward  their  art  I  still  applauded,  but  the  men  I 
deplored:  and  above  them  all,  preferred  the  two  famous  renowners  of  Beatrice  and 
Laura,  who  never  write  but  honour  of  them  to  whom  they  devote  their  verse,  displaying 
sublime  and  pure  thoughts  without  transgression.  And  long  it  was  not  after  when  I 
was  oonfirmed  in  this  opinion,  that  he  who  would  not  be  frustrate  of  his  hope  to  write 
well  hereafter  in  laudable  things,  ought  himself  to  be  a  true  poem;  that  is,  a  composi- 
tion and  pattern  of  the  best  and  honourablest  things;  not  presuming  to  sing  high 
praises  of  heroic  men  or  famous  cities,  unless  he  have  in  himself  the  experience  and 
the  practice  of  all  that  which  is  praiseworthy.  These  reasonings,  together  with  a  cer- 
tain Aiceness  of  nature,  an  honest  haughtiness,  and  self-esteem  either  of  what  I  was,  or 
what  I  might  be  (which  let  envy  call  pride),  and  lastly  that  modesty,  whereof  though 
not  in  the  title  page,  yet  hero  I  may  be  excused  to  make  some  beseeming  profession) 
all  these  uniting  the  supply  of  their  natural  aid  together,  kept  me  still  above  those  low 
descents  of  mind,  beneath  which  he  must  deject  and  plunge  himself,  that  can  agree  to 
salable  and  unlawful  prostitutions.  Next  (for  hear  me  out»now,  readers),  that  I  may 
tell  ye  whither  my  younger  feet  wandered ;  I  betook  me  among  those  lofty  fables  and 
romances,  which  recount  in  solemn  cantos  the  deeds  of  knighthood  founded  by  our 
victorious  kings,  and  from  hence  had  in  renown  over  all  Christendom.  There  I  read  it 
in  the  oath  of  every  knight,  that  he  should  defend  to  the  expense  of  his  best  blood,  or 
of  his  life,  if  it  so  befel  him,  the  honour  and  chastity  of  virgin  or  matron ;  from  whence 
even  then  I  learned  what  a  noble  virtue  chastity  sure  must  be,  to  the  defence  of  which 
so  many  worthies,  by  such  a  dear  adventure  of  themselves,  had  sworn  ;  and  if  I  found 
in  the  story  afterward,  any  of  tham,  by  word  or  deed,  breaking  that  oath,  I  judged  it 
the  same  fault  of  the  poet,  as  that  which  is  attributed  to  Homer,  to  have  written  inde- 
cent things  of  the  gods-:  only  this  my  mind  gave  me,  that  every  free  and  gentle  spirit, 
without  that  oath,  ought  to  be  born  a  knight,  nor  needed  to  expect  the  gilt  spur,  or  the 
laying  of  a  sword  upon  his  shoulder,  to  stir  him  up,  both  by  his  counsel  and  his  arms, 
to  secure  and  protect  the  weakness  of  any  attempted  chastity.  So  that  even  these 
books,  which  to  many  others  have  been  the  fuel  of  wantonness  and  loose  living,  i 
cannot  think  how,  unless  by  divine  indulgence,  proved  to  me  so  many  incitements, 
as  you  have  heard,  to  the  love  and  stedfast  observation  of  that  virtue  which  abhors 
the  society  of  bordelloes.  Thus,  from  the  laureat  fraternity  of  poets,  riper  years  and 
the  ceaseless  round  of  study  and  reading  led  me  to  the  shady  spaces  of  philosophy ;  but 
chiefly  to  the  divine  volumes  of  Plato,  and  his  equal  Xenophon :  where,  if  I  should  tell 
ye  what  I  learnt  of  chastity  and  love,  I  mean  that  which  is  truly  so,  whose  charming 
cup  is  only  virtue,  which  she  bears  in  her  hand  to  those  who  are  worthy ;  (the  rest  are 
cheated  with  a  ttick  intoxicating  potion,  which  a  certain  sorceress,  the  abuser  of  love's 
name,  carries  about;)  and  how  the  first  and  chiefest  office  of  love  begins  and  ends  in 
8 


Iviii  LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


Bie  Boul,  producing  those  happy  twins  of  her  divine  generation,  knowledge  and  virtue — 
mth  such  abstracted  sublimities  as  these ;  it  might  be  worth  your  listening,  readers : 
as  I  may  one  day  hope  to  hare  ye  in  a  still  time,  when  there  shall  be  no  chiding ;  not 
in  these  noises." 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

MUTON'S    character   of    CROMWELL. 

This  character  is  of  the  utmost  importance,  because  it  will  show  us  what  the  great 
republican  thought  of  the  Protector's  services,  and  what  he  expected  from  him. 

"  Oliver  Cromwell  was  sprung  from  a  line  of  illustrious  ancestors,  who  were  distin. 
guished  fjr  the  civil  functions  which  they  sustained  under  the  monarchy,  and  still 
more  for  the  part  which  they  took  in  restoring  and  establishing  true  religion  in  this 
country.  In  the  vigour  and  maturity  of  his  life,  which  he  passed  in  retirement,  he  was 
corspicuous  for  nothing  more  than  for  the  strictness  of  his  religious  habits  and  the 
innocence  of  his  manners ;  and  he  had  tacitly  cherished  in  his  breast  that  flame  of 
piety  which  was  afterwards  to  stand  him  in  so  much  stead  on  the  greatest  occasions, 
and  in  the  most  critical  exigencies.  In  the  last  parliament  which  was  called  by  the 
king,  he  was  elected  to  represent  his  native  town ;  when  he  soon  became  distinguished 
by  the  justness  of  his  opinions,  and  the  vigour  and  decision  of  his  counsels.  When  the 
Bword  was  drawn,  he  offered  his  services,  and  was  appointed  to  a  troop  of  horse,  whose 
numbers  were  soon  increased  by  the  pious  and  the  good,  who  flocked  from  all  quarters 
to  his  standard ;  and  in  a  short  time  he  almost  surpassed  the  greatest  generals  in  the 
magnitude  and  rapidity  of  his  achievements.  Nor  is  this  surprising;  for  he  was  a 
soldier  disciplined  to  perfection  in  the  knowledge  of  himself:  he  had  either  extin- 
guished, or  by  habit  hacl  learned  to  subdue,  the  whole  host  of  vain  hopes,  fears,  and 
passions,  which  infest  the  soul.  He  first  acquired  the  government  of  himself,  and  over 
himself  acquired  the  most  signal  victories ;  so  that  on  the  first  day  he  took  the  field 
against  the  external  enemy,  he  was  a  veteran  in  arms,  consummately  practised  in  the 
toils  and  exigencies  of  war.  It  is  not  possible  for  me,  in  the  narrow  limits  in  which  I 
circumscribe  myself  on  this  occasion,  to  enumerate  the  many  towns  which  he  has 
taken,  the  many  battles  which  he  has  won.  The  whole  surface  of  the  British  empire 
has  been  the  scene  of  his  exploits,  and  the  theatre  of  his  triumphs;  which  alone  would 
furnish  ample  materials  for  a  history,  and  want  a  copiousness  of  narration  not  inferior 
to  the  magnitude  and  diversity  of  the  transactions.  This  alone  seems  to  be  a  sufficient 
proof  of  his  extraordinary  and  almost  supernatural  virtue,  that  by  the  vigour  of  his 
genius,  or  the  excellence  of  his  discipline,  adapted  not  more  to  the  necessities  of  war 
than  to  the  precepts  of  Christianity,  the  good  and  the  brave  were  from  all  quarters 
attracted  to  his  camp,  not  only  as  to  the  best  school  of  military  talents,  but  of  piety 
and  virtue;  and  that  during  the  whole  war,  and  the  occasional  intervals  of  peace,  amid 
so  many  vicissitudes  of  faction  and  of  events,  he  retained  and  still  retains  the  obedience 
of  his  troops,  not  by  largesses  or  indulgence,  but  by  his  sole  authority,  and  the  regu- 
larity of  his  pay.  In  this  instance  his  fame  may  rival  that  of  Cyrus,  of  Epaminondas, 
or  any  of  the  great  generals  of  antiquity.  Hence  he  collected  an  army  as  numerous 
and  as  well  equipped  as  anyone  ever  did  in  so  short  a  time;  which  was  uniformly 
obedient  to  his  orders,  and  dear  to  the  aflfections  of  the  citizens;  which  was  formidable 
to  the  enemy  in  the  field,  but  never  cruel  to  those  who  laid  down  their  arms;  which 
committed  no  lawless  ravages  on  the  persons  or  the  property  of  the  inhabitants;  who, 
when  they  compared  their  conduct  with  the  turbulence,  the  intemperance,  the  impiety, 
and  the  debauchery  of  the  royalists,  were  wont  to  salute  them  as  friends,  and  to  con- 
sider them  as  guests.  They  were  a  stay  to  the  good,  a  terror  to  the  evil,  and  the 
warmest  advocates  for  every  exertion  of  piety  and  virtue.  Nor  would  it  be  right  to 
pass  over  the  name  of  Fairfax,  who  united  the  utmost  fortitude  with  the  utmost  courage ; 
and  the  spotless  innocence  of  whose  life  seemed  to  point  him  out  as  the  peculiai 
favourite  of  Heaven.  Justly  indeed  may  you  be  excited  to  receive  this  wreath  of 
praise ;  though  you  have  retired  as  much  as  possible  from  the  world,  and  seek  those 
shades  of  privacy  which  were  the  delight  of  Scipio.    Nor  was  it  only  the  enemy  whom 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


lix 


you  Bubdued ;  but  you  have  triumphed  over  that  flame  of  ambition  and  that  lust  of 
glory,  which  are  wont  to  make  the  best  and  the  greatest  of  men  their  slaves.  The  purity 
of  your  virtues  and  the  splendour  of  your  actions  consecrate  those  sweets  of  ease  which 
you  enjoy,  and  which  constitute  the  wished-for  haven  of  the  toils  of  man.  Such  was 
the  case  which,  when  the  heroes  of  antiquity  possessed,  after  a  life  of  exertion  and 
glory  not  greater  than  yours,  the  poets,  in  despair  of  finding  ideas  or  expressions  better 
suited  to  the  subject,  feigned  that  they  were  received  into  heaven,  and  invited  to  recline 
ftt  the  tables  of  the  gods.  But  whether  it  were  your  health,  which  I  principally  believe, 
Dr  any  other  motive  which  caused  you  to  retire,  of  this  I  am  convinced;  that  nothing 
couM  have  induced  you  to  relinquish  the  service  of  your  country  if  you  had  not  known 
that  in  your  successor  liberty  would  meet  with  a  protector,  and  England  with  a  stay  to 
its  safety,  and  a  pillar  to  its  glory :  for,  while  you,  0  Cromwell,  are  left  among  us,  he 
hardly  shows  a  proper  confidence  in  the  Supreme,  who  distrusts  the  security  of  Eng- 
Jand ;  when  he  sees  that  you  are  in  so  special  a  manner  the  favoured  object  of  the 
divine  regard.  But  there  was  another  department  of  the  war,  which  was  destined  for 
your  exclusive  exertions. 

"Without  entering  into  any  length  of  detail,  I  will,  if  possible,  describe  some  of  the 
most  memorable  actions  with  as  much  brevity  as  you  performed  them  with  celerity. 
After  the  loss  of  all  Ireland,  with  the  exception  of  one  city,  you  in  one  battle  imme- 
diately discomfited  the  forces  of  the  rebels ;  and  were  busily  employed  in  settling  the 
country,  when  you  were  suddenly  recalled  to  the  war  in  Scotland.  Hence  you  pro- 
ceeded with  unwearied  diligence  against  the  Scots,  who  were  on  the  point  of  making 
an  irruption  into  England  with  the  king  in  their  train ;  and  in  about  the  space  of  one 
year,  you  entirely  subdued,  and  added  to  the  English  dominion,  that  kingdom,  which 
all  our  monarchs,  during  a  period  of  eight  hundred  years,  had  in  vain  struggled  to 
subject.  In  one  battle  you  almost  annihilated  the  remainder  of  their  forces,  who,  in  a 
fit  of  desperation,  had  made  a  sudden  incursion  into  England,  then  almost  destitute  of 
garrisons,  and  got  as  far  as  Worcester;  where  you  came  up  with  them  by  forced 
marches,  and  captured  almost  the  whole  of  their  nobility.  A  profound  peace  ensued; 
when  we  found,  though  indeed  not  then  for  the  first  time,  that  you  were  as  wise  in  the 
cabinet  as  valuable  in  the  field.  It  was  your  constant  endeavour  in  the  senate  either  to 
induce  them  to  adhere  to  those  treaties  which  they  had  entered  into  with  the  enemy,  or 
speedily  to  adjust  others  which  promised  to  be  beneficial  to  the  country.  But  when 
you  saw  that  the  business  was  artfully  procrastinated,  that  every  one  was  more  intent 
on  his  own  seWsh  interest  than  on  the  public  good,  that  the  people  complained  of  the 
disappointments  which  they  had  experienced,  and  the  fallacious  promises  by  which 
they  had  been  gulled,  that  they  were  the  dupes  of  a  few  overbearing  individuals,  you 
put  an  end  to  their  domination.  A  new  parliament  is  summoned;  and  the  right  of 
election  given  to  those  to  whom  it  was  expedient:  they  meet;  but  do  nothing ;  and 
after  having  wearied  themselves  by  their  mutual  dissensions,  and  fully  exposed  their 
incapacity  to  the  observation  of  the  country,  they  consent  to  a  voluntary  dissolution. 
In  this  state  of  desolation,  to  which  we  were  reduced,  you,  0  Cromwell!  alone  remained 
to  conduct  the  government,  and  to  save  the  country.  We  all  willingly  yield  the  palm 
of  sovereignty  to  your  unrivalled  ability  and  virtue,  except  the  few  among  us,  who 
either  ambitious  of  honours  which  they  have  not  the  capacity  to  sustain,  or  who  envy 
those  which  are  conferred  on  one  more  worthy  than  themselves,  or  else  who  do  nol 
know  that  nothing  in  the  world  is  more  pleasing  to  God,  more  agreeable  to  reason, 
more  politically  just  or  more  generally  useful,  than  that  the  supreme  power  should  bo 
vested  in  the  best  and  the  wisest  of  men.  Such,  0  Cromwell,  all  acknowledge  you  to 
be;  such  aro  the  services  which  you  have  rendered,  as  the  leader  of  our  councils,  the 
general  of  our  armies,  and  the  father  of  your  country;  for  this  is  the  tender  appellation 
fay  which  all  the  good  among  us  salute  you  from  the  very  soul.  Other  names  yoa 
neither  have  nor  could  endure;  and  you  deservedly  reject  that  pomp  of  title  which 
attracts  the  gaze  and  admiration  of  the  multitude :  for  what  is  a  title  but  a  certain  defi- 
nite mode  of  dignity  ?  but  actions  such  as  yours,  surpass,  not  only  the  bounds  of  oui 
admiration,  but  our  titles ;  and  like  the  points  of  pyramids,  which  are  lost  in  the  clcuds, 
they  soar  above  the  possibilities  of  titular  commendation.  But  since,  though  it  be  not 
fit,  it  aiay  be  expedient,  that  the  highest  pitch  of  virtue  should  he  circumscribed  within 


Ix  LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


the  bounds  of  some  human  appellation,  you  endured  to  receive,  for  the  public  good,  a 
title  most  like  to  that  of  the  father  of  your  country ;  not  to  exalt,  but  rather  to  bring 
you  nearer  to  the  level  of  ordinary  men ;  the  title  of  King  was  unworthy  the  tians- 
cendent  majesty  of  your  character;  for  if  you  had  been  captivated  by  a  name,  ovor 
which,  as  a  private  man,  you  had  so  completely  triumphed  and  crumbled  into  dust, 
you  would  have  been  doing  the  same  thing  as  if,  after  having  subdued  some  idolatrous 
nation  by  the  help  of  the  true  God,  you  should  afterwards  fall  down  and  worship  the 
gods  which  you  had  vanquished.  Do  you  then,  sir,  continue  your  course  with  the  samo 
anrivalled  magnanimity ;  it  sits  well  upon  you ; — to  you  our  country  owes  its  liberties ; 
nor  can  you  sustain  a  character  at  once  more  momentous  and  more  august  than  that  of 
the  author,  the  guardian,  and  the  preserver  of  our  liberties;  and  hence  you  have  not 
only  eclipsed  the  achievements  of  all  our  Kings,  but  even  those  which  have  been 
fabled  of  our  heroes.  Often  reflect  what  a  dear  pledge  the  beloved  land  of  your 
nativity  has  entrusted  to  your  care;  and  that  liberty  which  she  once  expected  only 
from  the  chosen  flower  of  her  talents  and  her  virtues,  she  now  expects  from  you  only, 
and  by  you  only  hopes  to  obtain.  Revere  the  fond  expectations  which  we  cherish,  the 
solicitudes  of  your  anxious  country ;  revere  the  looks  and  the  wounds  of  your  brave 
companions  in  arms,  who,  under  your  banners,  have  so  strenuously  fought  for  liberty ; 
revere  the  shades  of  those  who  perished  in  the  contest;  revere  also  the  opinions  and 
the  hopes  which  foreign  states  entertain  concerning  us,  who  promise  to  themselves  so 
many  advantages  from  that  liberty,  which  we  have  so  bravely  acquired,  from  the  esta- 
blishment of  that  new  government,  which  has  begun  to  shed  its  splendour  on  the 
world,  which,  if  it  be  suffered  to  vanish  like  a  dream,  would  involve  us  in  the  deepest 
abyss  of  shame;  and  lastly,  revere  yourself;  and,  after  having  endured  so  many  suffer- 
ings and  encountered  so  many  perils  for  the  sake  of  liberty,  do  not  suffer  it,  now 
it  is  obtained,  either  to  be  violated  by  yourself,  or  in  any  one  instance  impaired  by 
others. 

"You  cannot  be  truly  free  unless  we  are  free  too;  for  such  is  the  nature  of  things, 
that  he,  who  entrenches  on  the  liberty  of  others,  is  the  first  to  lose  his  own,  and  become 
a  slave.  But,  if  you,  who  have  hitherto  been  the  patron  and  tutelary  genius  of  liberty; 
if  you,  who  are  exceeded  by  no  one  in  justice,  in  piety,  and  goodness,  should  hereafter 
invade  that  liberty  which  you  have  defended,  your  conduct  must  be  fatally  operative, 
not  only  against  the  cause  of  liberty,  but  the  general  interests  of  piety  and  virtue. 
Your  integrity  and  virtue  will  appear  to  h/ive  evaporated,  your  faith  in  religion  to 
have  been  small;  your  character  with  posterity  will  dwindle  into  insignificance,  by 
which  a  most  destructive  blow  will  be  levelled  against  the  happiness  of  mankind.  The 
work  which  you  have  undertaken  is  of  incalculable  moment,  which  will  thoroughly 
sift  and  expose  every  principle  and  sensation  of  your  heart,  which  will  fully  display 
the  vigour  and  genius  of  your  character,  which  will  evince  whether  you  really  possess 
those  great  qualities  of  piety,  fidelity,  justice,  and  self-denial,  which  made  us  believe 
that  you  were  elevated  by  the  special  direction  of  the  Deity  to  the  highest  pinnacle  of 
power.  At  once  wisely  and  discreetly  to  hold  the  sceptre  over  three  powerful  nations, 
to  persuade  people  to  relinquish  inveterate  and  corrupt  for  new  and  more  beneficial 
maxims  and  institutions,  to  penetrate  into  the  remotest  parts  of  the  country,  to  have 
the  mind  present  and  operative  in  every  quarter,  to  watch  against  surprise,  to  provide 
against  danger,  to  reject  the  blandishments  of  pleasure  and  the  pomp  of  power; — these 
are  exertions  compared  with  which  the  labour  of  war  is  a  mere  pastime ;  which  will 
require  every  energy  and  employ  every  faculty  that  you  possess ;  which  demand  a  man 
supported  from  above,  and  almost  instructed  by  immediate  inspiration." 

I  add  to  this  some  important  queries,  applicable  to  all  times,  addressed  by  the  great 
politician  to  the  people  themselves.  They  will  be  read  at  this  time  with  the  deepest 
interest : — 

"  For  who  would  vindicate  your  right  of  unrestrained  suffrage,  or  of  choosing  what 
representatives  you  liked  best,  merely  that  you  might  elect  the  creatures  of  your  own 
faction,  whoever  they  might  be,  or  him,  however  small  might  be  his  worth,  who  would 
give  you  the  most  lavish  feasts,  and  enable  you  to  drink  to  the  greatest  excess  ?  Thus 
Qoi  wisdom  and  authority,  but  turbulence  and  gluttony,  would  soon  exalt  the  vilest 
miscreants  from  our  taverns  and  our  brothels,  from  our  towns  and  villages,  to  the  rank 


LIFE  OF  MILTON.  Ixi 


and  dignity  of  senators  For,  should  the  management  of  the  republic  be  entrusted  tc 
persons  to  whom  no  one  would  willingly  entrust  the  management  of  his  private  con- 
cerns ?  and  the  treasury  of  the  state  be  left  to  the  care  of  those  who  had  lavished  theii 
own  fortunes  in  an  infamous  prodigality  ?  Should  they  have  the  charge  of  the  public 
purse,  which  they  would  soon  convert  into  a  private,  by  their  unprincipled  peculations? 
Are  they  fit  to  be  the  legislators  of  a  whole  people  who  themselves  know  not  what  law, 
what  reason  what  right  and  wrong,  what  crooked  and  straight,  what  licit  and  illicit 
means  ?  who  think  that  all  power  consists  in  outrage,  all  dignity  in  the  parade  of  inso- 
lence? who  neglect  every  other  consideration  for  the  corrupt  gratification  of  theii 
friendships,  or  the  prosecution  of  their  resentments?  who  disperse  their  own  relations 
and  creatures  through  the  provinces,  for  the  sake  of  levying  taxes  and  confiscating 
goods ;  men,  for  the  greater  part,  the  most  profligate  and  vile,  who  buy  up  for  them 
selves  what  they  pretend  to  expose  to  sale,  who  thence  collect  an  exorbitant  mass  ol 
wealth,  which  they  fraudulently  divert  from  the  public  service ;  who  thus  spread  their 
pillage  through  the  country,  and  in  a  moment  emerge  from  penury  and  rags,  to  a  state 
of  splendour  and  of  wealth  ?  Who  could  endure  such  thievish  servant,s,  such  vicege 
rents  of  their  lords?  Who  could  believe  tJiat  the  masters  and  patrons  of  a  banditti 
could  be  the  proper  guardians  of  liberty?  or  who  would  suppose  that  he  should  ever  be 
made  one  hair  more  free  by  such  a  set  of  public  functionaries  (though  they  might 
amount  to  five  hundred  elected  in  this  manner  from  the  counties  and  boroughs),  when 
among  them  who  are  the  very  guardians  of  liberty,  and  to  whose  custody  it  is  com- 
mitted, there  must  be  so  many,  who  know  not  either  how  to  use  or  to  enjoy  liberty,  who 
either  understand  the  principles  or  merit  the  possession  ?" 

I  now  resume  my  remarks  upon  the  poet's  genius  and  acquirements. 
Milton's  knowledge  of  human  nature  was  confined  to  general  traits :  he  had  not 
detected  the  minute  foldings  and  smaller  particularities,  nor  opened  those  secret 
movements,  of  the  passions  which  familiarize  us  with  private  life.  All  was  drawn 
with  the  enlarged  eye  of  his  own  magnificent  mind.  In  this  respect  he  was  utterly  dis- 
similar to  Shakspeare :  ho  had  none  of  the  dramatist's  playfulness  and  flexibility, 
Milton  was  always  Milton,  as  Byron  was  always  Byron :  neither  of  them  could  transport 
himself  into  other  characters.  He  spoke  of  others  as  an  observer ;  not  as  identified 
with  them.  It  appears  to  me,  that  this  individuality  will  be  found  to  go  through  all 
Milton's  writings,  and  all  the  conduct  of  his  life:  he  lived  among  a  world  of  inferior 
beings,  to  whom  his  stern  sublimity  could  not  conform.  This  showed  itself  in  the  very 
outset  of  hi;  career, — at  college, — where  he  rebelled  against  academical  discipline; 
and  to  this  in  a  great  degree  may  be  attributed  the  vehement  and  relentless  part  he 
took  against  royalty,  and  also  his  separation  from  the  sect  with  whom  he  commenced 
his  warfare  against  the  throne. 

Villemain,  in  his  life  of  the  poet  in  the  "  Biographie  Universelle,"  notices  this  inflexi- 
bility, and  the  unfitness  for  practical  commerce  with  the  world  which  it  caused. 

Yet  hence  arose  many  of  the  grand  thoughts  and  gigantic  images  that  adorned  and 
exalted  his  poetry :  thus  he  never  fell  beneath  his  lofty  sphere.  Such  is  the  view  I 
take  of  him  in  his  private  character :  my  business  is  not  to  repeat  what  I  find  in  other 
books,  but  to  examine  for  myself.  I  do  not  undertake  to  bring  together  all  which  has 
been  said  already  j  on  the  contrary,  much  which  has  been  said  before  seems  to  me  to 
be  on  that  account  not  necessary  to  be  said  again  :  I  do  not  desire  to  supersede  other 
biographers,  but  rather  wish  to  be  admitted  among  them.  I  have  the  hope  of  saying 
something  which  is  not  to  be  found  elsewhere,  and  such  as  will  ffain  the  aa^ent  of 
others  at  least  for  its  probability ;  for  I  scorn  to  seek  for  novelty  at  the  expense  c  f 
truth. 

All  the  facts  of  Milton's  life  have  been  laboriously  searched  for,  and  brought  forward 
already :  opinions  upon  them  are  not  yet  exhausted :  unfortunately  too  many  biogra- 
phers copy  each  other  in  this  portion  of  their  task :  they  are  either  incapable  of  thinking 
for  themselves,  or  they  do  not  venture  it :  they  scarcely  even  vary  the  expressions. 
The  eflfect  of  this  is  nausea  to  the  purchaser  of  such  books  :  the  "decies  repetita"  is 
always  repulsive.  Perhaps  it  will  be  answered,  that  what  had  been  before  observed 
was  just,  and  therefore  required  no  alteration :  if  so,  the  public  did  not  want  tho 
renewal  of  that  of  which  it  was  in  possession. 


Ixii  LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


Johnson  is  a  critic  who  has  always  been  a  favourite  with  English  leadors:  his 
piquancy  and  severity  please ;  but  these,  when  applied  to  Milton,  are  by  persons  of 
Imagination  or  taste  read  with  distaste  from  their  perverse  and  wilful  malignity.  They 
often  show  the  vigour  of  the  critic's  intellect,  and  the  ingenuity  of  his  pointed  language/ 
but  they  are  false  or  exaggerated  in  decision,  and  irreverent  and  harsh  in  language4 
The  splendour  of  Milton's  genius  ought  to  have  kept  aloof  such  pedantic  petulance. 
If  such  faults  could  have  been  justly  imputed  to  him,  still  the  author  of  "  Paradise 
Lost"  should  have  been  approached  with  awe,  and  commented  on  with  the  most  deco- 
rous and  profound  respect.  What  right  had  Johnson  to  attack  and  blacken  the  poef  3 
moral  character  by  imputing  motives  of  passion  and  ill-humour  to  him,  which  he  has 
himself  in  the  most  positive  and  solemn  manner  denied  ?  He  saw  the  abuses  of  the 
existing  government,  he  deluded  himself  with  the  hope  that  by  a  grand  change  his 
own  ideal  views  of  perfection  might  be  accomplished.  If  we  believe  him, — and  he  must 
have  a  most  ungenerous  and  corrupt  mind  who  can  doubt, — his  heart  was  the  seat 
of  all  earthly  integrity,  and  exalted  by  the  most  purified  and  spiritual  aspirations. 
Of  aU  mean  passions,  envy  could  least  enter  a  bosom  which  had  so  lofty  and  calm  a 
eonfidance  in  the  superiority  of  its  own  intellectual  gifts:  no  man  envies  what  he 
scorns  and  estimates  at  nothing. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Milton's  BLnroiraiss,  and  occupations  after  the  bestohation. 

Milton's  enemies  had  had  the  baseness  to  charge  his  blindness  as  a  judgmentupon 
him ;  he  repels  this  charge  with  a  just  indignation,  at  the  opening  of  his  "  Second 
Defence  for  the  People  of  England." 

"  I  wish,"  commences  this  magnificent  passage,  "  that  I  could  with  equal  facility 
efute  what  this  barbarous  opponent  has  said  of  my  blindness ;  but  I  cannot  do  it, 
and  I  must  submit  to  the  affliction.  It  is  not  so  wretched  to  be  blind,  as  it  is  not  to 
be  capable  of  enduring  blindness.  But  why  should  I  not  endure  a  misfortune,  which 
it  behooves  every  one  to  be  prepared  to  endure  if  it  should  happen ;  which  may,  in 
the  common  course  of  things,  happen  to  any  man,  and  which  has  been  known  to  have 
happened  to  the  most  distinguished  and  virtuous  persons  in  history?  What  is 
reported  of  the  Augur  Tiresias  is  well  known;  of  whom  ApoUonius  sung  thus  in  his 
'  Argonautics :' — 

To  men  he  dared  the  will  divine  disclose, 

Nor  fear'd  what  Jove  might  in  his  wrath  impose 

The  gods  assign'd  him  age  without  decay, 

But  snatch'd  the  blessing  of  his  sight  away. 

But  God  himself  is  truth ;  in  propagating  which,  as  men  display  a  greater  integrity 
and  zeal,  they  approach  nearer  to  the  similitude  of  God,  and  possess  a  greater  portion 
of  his  love.  We  cannot  suppose  the  Deity  envious  of  truth,  or  unwilling  that  it  should 
be  freely  communicated  to  mankind:  the  loss  of  sight,  therefore,  which  this  inspired 
sage,  who  was  so  eager  in  promoting  knowledge  among  men,  sustained,  cannot  be  coe- 
gidered  as  a  judicial  punishment :  and  did  not  our  Saviour  himself  declare  that  that 
poor  man  whom  he  had  restored  to  sight  had  not  been  bom  blind,  either  on  account 
of  his  own  sins,  or  those  of  his  progenitors? 

"And  with  respect  to  myself,  though  I  have  accurately  examined  my  conduct,  and 
scrutinized  my  soul,  I  call  thee,  0  God,  the  searcher  of  hearts,  to  witness,  that  I  am  not 
conscious,  either  in  the  more  early  or  in  the  later  periods  of  my  life,  of  having  commit- 
ted any  enormity  which  might  deservedly  have  marked  me  out  as  a  fit  object  for  such 
a  calamitous  visitation :  but  since  my  enemies  boast  that  this  affliction  is  only  a  retri- 
bution for  the  transgressions  of  my  pen,  I  again  invoke  the  Almighty  to  witness  that  I 
never  at  any  time  wrote  anything  which  I  did  not  think  agreeable  to  truth,  to  justice, 
and  to  piety.  This  was  my  persuasion  then,  and  I  feel  the  same  persuasion  now. 
Thus,  therefore,  when  I  was  publicly  solicited  to  write  a  reply  to  the  defence  of  the 
royal  cause,  when  I  had  to  contend  with  the  pressure  of  sickness,  and  with  the  appre- 
hension of  Boon  losing  (he  sight  of  my  remaining  eye,  and  when  my  medical  attendonta 


LIFE  OP  MILTON. 


Ixiii 


clearly  announced,  that  if  I  did  engage  in  this  work  it  would  be  irreparablj  lost,  their 
premonitions  caused  no  hesitation  and  inspired  no  dismay :  I  would  not  have  listened 
to  the  voice  even  of  Esculapius  himself  from  the  shrine  of  Epidaurus,  in  preference  to 
the  suggestions  of  the  heavenly  monitor  within  my  breast :  my  resolution  was  unshaken^ 
though  the  alternative  was  either  the  loss  of  my  sight  or  the  desertion  of  my  duty; 
and  I  called  to  mind  those  two  destinies  which  the  oracle  of  Delphi  announced  to  the 
son  of  Thetis. 

"  I  considered  that  many  had  purchased  a  less  good  by  a  greater  evil,  the  meed 
of  glory  by  the  loss  of  life;  but  that  I  might  procure  great  good  by  little  suffering; 
that,  though  I  am  blind,  I  might  still  discharge  the  most  honourable  duties,  the 
performance  of  which,  as  it  is  something  more  durable  than  glory,  ought  to  be  an  object 
of  superior  admiration  and  esteem ;  I  resolved,  therefore,  to  make  the  short  interval 
of  sight  which  was  left  me  to  enjoy  as  beneficial  as  possible  to  the  public  interest. 

"But,  if  the  choice  were  necessary,  I  would,  sir,  prefer  my  blindness  to  yours;  yours 
is  a  cloud  spread  over  the  mind,  which  darkens  both  the  light  of  reason  and  of  con- 
science ;  mine  keeps  from  my  view  only  the  coloured  surfaces  of  things,  while  it  leaves  mo 
at  liberty  to  contemplate  the  beauty  and  stability  of  virtue  and  of  truth.  How  many 
things  are  there  besides  which  I  would  not  willingly  see ;  how  many  which  I  must  see 
against  my  will;  and  how  few  which  I  feel  any  anxiety  to  see!  There  is,  as  the 
Apostle  has  remarked,  a  way  to  strength  through  weakness.  Let  me  then  be  the  most 
feeble  creature  alive,  as  long  as  that  feebleness  serves  to  invigorate  the  energies  of  my 
rational  and  immortal  spirit ;  as  long  as  in  that  obscurity  in  which  I  am  enveloped,  the 
light  of  the  divine  presence  more  clearly  shines !  And,  indeed,  in  my  blindness,  I 
enjoy  in  no  inconsiderable  degree  the  favour  of  the  Deity ;  who  regards  me  with  more 
tenderness  and  compassion  in  proportion  as  i  am  able  to  behold  nothing  but  himself. 
Alas!  for  him  who  insults  me,  who  maligns  and  merits  public  execration!  For  the 
Divine  law  not  only  shields  me  from  injury,  but  almost  renders  me  too  sacred  to 
attack ;  not  indeed  so  much  from  the  privation  of  my  sight,  as  from  the  overshadowing 
of  those  heavenly  wings,  which  seem  to  have  occasioned  this  obscurity.  To  this  I 
ascribe  the  more  tender  assiduities  of  my  friends,  their  soothing  attentions,  their  kind 
visits,  their  reverential  observances." 

Every  on.e  is  familiar  with  the  poet's  twenty-second  sonnet  on  this  subject 
Cyriac,  this  three-years-day  these  eyes,  though  clear,— 
Bereft  of  light,  their  seeing  have  forgot—— 
What  supports  me,  dost  thou  ask?  > 

The  conscience,  friend,  to  have  lost  them  overpliod 
In  liberty's  defence,  my  noble  task. 

One  is  a  little  surprised  that  he  could  so  long  endure  this  laborious  and  tedious  office 
of  secretary,  especially  after  his  sight  began  to  fail  him.  His  nephew,  Edward  Phillips, 
for  some  time  assisted  him. 

In  1652  he  entirely  lost  his  sight. 

Todd  has  recovered  a  curious  letter  of  Milton  from  the  State-Paper  Office,  recom- 
mending his  friend  Andrew  Marvell,  the  poet,  for  some  employment: — "A  gentleman, 
whose  name  is  Mr.  Marvell, — a  man,  both  by  repor*  and  the  converse  I  have  had  with 
him,  of  singular  desert  for  the  state  to  make  use  of;  who  also  offers  himself,  if  there 
be  any  employment  for  him.  His  father  was  the  minister  of  Hull,  and  he  hath  8pent 
four  years  abroad  in  Holland,  France,  Italy,  and  Spain,  to  very  good  purpose,  as  1 
believe,  and  the  gaining  of  these  four  languages ; — besides  he  is  a  scholar,  and  well 
read  in  the  Latin  and  Greek  authors;  and  no  doubt,  of  an  approved  conversation;  foi 
he  comes  now  lately  out  of  the  house  of  the  Lord  Fairfax,  who  was  general,  where  he  was 
intrusted  to  give  some  instructions  in  the  languages  to  the  lady,  his  daughter." 

This  letter  of  Milton  was  written  in  1653  :  but  Marvell  was  not  joined  to  Milton  in 
the  office  of  Latin  secretary,  till  1657.  Marvell's  commendatory  poem  on  the  "  Paradise 
liost,"  is  well  known  : — 

When  I  beheld  the  poet  blind,  yet  bold, 
In  slender  book  his  vast  design  unfold  ;  Sec. 

Milton's  salary  as  Latin  secretary  was  £288  IBs.  6d.  a  year.  In  1659,  he  was  only  paid 
at  the  rate  of  £200  a  year,  having  then  retired. 


y 


Ixiv  LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


In  this  retirement,  about  two  years  before  the  Restoration,  he  began  the  "Paradise 
Lost."  Though  retired,  he  was  visited  by  all  foreigners  of  distinction,  and  some  per- 
sons of  rank  at  home ;  but  he  was  known  and  admired  more  for  his  political  services 
than  for  his  poetry. 

He  had,  as  has  been  mentioned,  done  little  in  poetry,  for  the  last  twenty  years, 
except  his  few  sonnets :  of  these,  Johnson  speaks  with  a  tasteless  and  unworthy  con. 
tempt :  that  they  are  rich  in  thought,  sentiment,  and  naked  sublimity  of  language,  is 
now  undisputed. 

It  appears  that  Milton  yet  relaxed  nothing  of  hia  mental  activity.  After  the  death 
of  Cromwell  he  must  have  seen  the  incumbent  danger  of  that  republican  form  of 
government,  which  he  had  spent  so  much  zeal  and  such  gigantic  talents  to  establish, 
Not  only  his  head  but  his  heart  was  involved  in  this  establishment.  He  had  worked 
himself  to  a  fury  against  kings,  and  what  he  supposed  to  be  the  tyranny  inseparable 
from  their  power.  His  ambition  does  not  appear  to  have  been  in  the  least  degree 
selfish ; — he  had  no  views  of  personal  aggrandizement :  he  did  not  look  to  riches  or 
political  honours:  he  had  no  familiarity  with  those  who  were  called  the  great:  even 
with  Cromwell,  his  idol,  he  seems  to  have  had  no  individual  intimacy.  Lawrence,  "of 
virtuous  father  virtuous  son,"  and  Cyriac  Skinner,  were  his  chief  friends.  Of  the 
former  he  says, — 

Where  shall  we  Bometimes  meet,  and  by  the  fire 
Help  waste  a  sullen  day,  what  may  be  won 

.From  the  hard  seascni  gaining  ? 

He,  who  of  those  delighls  can  judge,  and  spare, 
To  interpose  them  oft,  is  not  unwise. 

Even  the  genius  of  Milton  could  not  have  made  the  progress  he  did  either  in  pro- 
duction or  in  learning,  if  he  had  admitted  the  frequent  distractions  of  society.  The 
history  of  his  day  is  given  by  the  biographers; — but  it  will  not  account  for  the  immen- 
sity of  his  reading.  The  processes  of  such  a  mind  it  is  too  hazardous  to  attempt  to 
analyze.  His  vast  memory  tempted  him  sometimes  to  encumber  himself  with  abstruse 
and  useless  literature.  One  is  a  little  astonished  that  a  creative  brain,  which  is  con- 
stantly working  its  materials  into  new  shapes,  and  combinations,  can  reflect  things 
precisely  in  the  form  and  colours  in  which  it  receives  them. — Even  the  "  Paradise 
Lost"  is  occasionally  patched  with  allusions  of  this  kind. — There  is,  however,  an  unac- 
countable charm  in  the  manner  in  which  the  poet  occasionally  mentions  remote  names 
of  persons  and  places.  A  single  word  calls  up  a  whole  train  of  ideas : — but  then  this  is 
a  mere  reference  to  an  instructed  and  rich  memory. 

Milton's  whole  life  ought  to  have  been  employed  in  creation,  not  reproduction. — But 
this  opinion  will  not  perhaps  be  commonly  assented  to,  or  even  understood.  The  poet 
was  a  powerful  reasoner  in  his  political  and  theological  discussions,  but  not  always 
free  from  obscurity  or  sophistry.  His  heated  mind  saw  certain  questions  in  an 
exaggerated  or  partial  view. 

The  time  was  now  arriving,  when  it  was  necessary  to  throw  away  and  forget  politics 
In  spite  of  all  his  efforts,  the  monarchy  was  at  length  restored.  He  had  now  reason  to 
dread  the  fate  of  the  other  regicides :  it  was  necessary  for  a  time  to  conceal  himself. 
Vane  and  others  were  taken,  condemned,  and  put  to  death.  The  part  which  Milton 
had  taken  in  justifying  the  decapitation  of  the  late  king,  by  arguments  and  in  language 
insulting  and  contemptuous,  might  reasonably  have  been  expected  to  have  marked 
him  out  to  the  Court  for  a  signal  object  of  vengeance.  He  was  finally  spared:  by 
what  influences  this  was  effected,  is  now  little  known :  this  act  of  mercy  reflects  great 
honour  on  the  government. 

Though  there  are  many  reasons  to  suppose  that  Milton's  poetical  fame  was  yet  but 
little  acknowledged,  this  extraordinary  regard  shown  to  him  by  sparing  his  life  raises 
a  contrary  inference. — He  had  no  claims  for  forbearance  from  the  King  on  account  of 
his  political  talents : — these  were  powers  which  it  must  have  been  desirable  to  crush. 
The  greater  part  of  those  who  had  the  monarch's  ear  were  profligate  men,  who,  even  if 
they  had  been  well  acquainted  with  the  poetry  which  the  bard  had  hitherto  put  forth, 
would  not  have  enjoyed  it :  even  Lord  Clarendon  seems  to  have  had  no  taste  for  this 
sort  of  genius :  he  commends  Cowley  as  having  taken  a  flight  beyond  other  votaries 


LIFE  OF  MILTON.  ixv 


of  the  Muses;  and  the  historian's  warm loyalism,  in  theory  as  well  as  personal  attach- 
ment, would  have  felt  abhorrence  beyond  other  men  for  the  immortal  bard's  political 
writings.  We  are  constrained  to  leave  the  cause  of  this  mercy  in  the  dark,  and  give 
the  glory  to  those  who  exerted  it 

Now  came  in  a  flood  of  poetasters  from  the  French  school ;  dissolute,  base-minded, 
and  demoralizing, — with  little  genius,  but  some  wit, — epigrammatists,  satirists,  and 
buffoons, — ridiculing  all  that  was  grave,  praising  nothing  but  what  was  worldly  and 
•inprineipled . 

It  is  true  that  Dryden  was  now  beginning  to  work  himself  into  fame,  but  on  'the 
French  model ;  which,  however,  he  improved  by  the  force  of  thought  and  language,  and 
harmony  of  vigorous  versification.  I  need  not  observe  how  unlike  was  the  genius  of 
Milton  and  of  Dryden  :  Johnson  has  admirably  analyzed  the  latter,  to  which  his  own 
taste  inclined.  He  who  is  partial  to  Dryden,  will  never,  I  think,  much  relish  Milton  ; 
though  it  will  be  objected  that  the  case  was  otherwise  with  Gray,  who  is  said  to  have 
united  hi»  admiration  of  both.  There  is  a  want  of  grandeur,  of  sentiment,  of  creation, 
of  visionarineas  in  Dryden.  His  style  is  clear,  powerful,  and  buoyant;  but  his  thoughts 
are  often  common,  and  his  imagery  is  unpicturesque  and  vague :  he  was  more  intel- 
lectual than  imaginative :  his  mind  was  turned  to  the  world,  and  the  observances  of 
actual  and  daily  life :  he  was  often  happy  in  acuteness  of  discrimination  upon  the 
manners  and  characters  of  the  time :  witness  his  portrait  of  Achitophel  (Lord  Shaftes- 
bury).    Here  the  extreme  subtlety  of  his  understanding  displayed  itself  in  full  force. 

This  was  exactly  what  suited  the  reigning  taste  at  this  epoch.  Let  us  contemplate 
Milton  while  such  things  were  the  rage.  He  had  now  withdrawn  himself  from  the 
angry  and  harsh  contests  in  which  he  had  been  so  many  years  engaged,  and  was  con- 
templating battles  a  thousand-fold  more  exalted,  of  rebel  angels  with  almighty  power. 
Never,  in  his  more  worldly  employments,  seeing  things  but  in  their  grandest  phases, 
with  what  calm  scorn  must  he  now  have  looked  down  upon  the  petty  witticisms  of  what 
the  Court  and  nation  now  considered  the  brilliant  emanations  of  poetic  genius !  Dave- 
nant  was  his  friend,  and  Milton  may  have  found  some  fine  things  in  Gondibert;  but 
there  ate  no  traces  that  the  two  poets  had  at  this  period  any  familiarity  or  intercourse, 
I  do  not  recollect  that  Milton  and  Cowley  were  acquainted;  nor  do  Milton's  early 
poems  seem  to  have  come  under  Cowley's  notice :  if  they  had,  he  would  assuredly  have 
quoted  them  in  his  "  Prose  Essays."* 

The  conduct  of  those  who  were  now  re-admitted  to  power,  was  too  well  calculated  to 
confirm  the  poet's  hatred  of  monarchy :  but  in  silent  solitude  Sind  darkness  he  worked 
complacently  on.  Conscious  of  his  own  superiority  of  genius,  he  did  not  regard  the 
loud  applauses  of  the  mob  in  favour  of  others.  He  did  not  wonder  that  the  dissolute 
in  life  should  have  no  taste  for  the  pure  spiritualities  of  true  poetry :  he  relied  upon 
the  rewards  of  posterity  with  a  just  and  sure  faith.  While  others  were  groping  upon 
earth  in  sensual  pleasures,  he  lived  by  his  imagination  in  heaven :  his  outward  blind- 
ness did  but  strengthen  his  inward  light.  Perhaps  but  for  this  blindness  his  creative 
faculties  had  not  been  sufiBciently  concentrated  to  produce  his  great  poem.  Something 
of  this  opinion  he  seems  himself  to  have  entertained;  thus  drawing  comfort  from  his 
misfortune.  He  was  now  shut  out  from  worldly  distractions ;  and  the  day  was  as  the 
covering  calm  of  night  to  him.  The  humility  of  his  fortune,  the  singularity  of  his 
habits,  all  aided  contemplation.  The  Muse  can  never  live,  except  feebly  and  languidly, 
amid  material  luxuries :  she  delights  in  the  majesty  of  thought,  the  scorn  of  all  sublu- 
nary pleasures. 

The  poet,  in  his  long  intercourse  with  the  busy  world,  had,  like  others,  shown  the 
human  passions  of  anger,  bitterness,  contempt,  and  invective ; — he  now  threw  them  all  off, 
they  nowhere  appear  in  the  sublime  poetry  he  now  produced,  unless  perhaps  by  slight 
allusion  in  a  few  passages  of  "Samson  Agonistes,"  where  the  memory  of  the  past 
revives  a  few  stings. 

In  1 665  Milton  married  his  third  wife,  Elizabeth  Minshull,  daughter  of  Sir  Edward 

In  fact,  when  they  appeared  m  1645,  he  was  ir  the  King's  service,  and  personally  attenued 
HiB  Majesty ;  and  he  died  in  1667.  before  the  second  edition  of  the  poems,  and  the  very  year  in 
which  the  "  Paradise  Lost"  was  published. 


9 


Ixvi  LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


Minsliull,  knight  of  an  ancient  Cheshire  family.  She  survived  him  above  fifty  years, 
and,  retiring  to  Nantwich  in  Cheshire,  died  there  in  1727. 

Ellwood,  the  quaker,  now  undertook  to  read  to  him,  for  the  sake  of  the  advantage 
of  his  conversation  and  instruction.*  When  the  plague  raged  in  London,  1663,  Ell- 
wood received  Milton  and  his  family  into  his  house  at  Chalfont,  St.  Giles,  in  Bucking- 
hamshire. Here  Ellwood  says  it  was  that  the  poet  communicated  to, him  the  manu- 
script of  "Paradise  Lost." 

Bishop  Newton  remarks,  that  considering  the  difficulties  "under which  the  author 
lay,  his  uneasiness  at  the  public  affairs  and  his  own,  his  age  and  infirmities,  his  not 
being  now  in  circumstances  to  maintain  an  amanuensis,  but  obliged  to  make  use  of  any 
hand  that  came  next  to  write  his  verses  as  he  made  them,  it  is  really  wonderful  that 
he  should  have  the  spirit  to  undertake  such  a  work,  and  much  more  that  he  should 
ever  bring  it  to  perfection. 

At  this  time  he  addressed  a  beautiful  Latin  letter  to  his  friend  Peter  Heimbach,  a 
German,  of  which  the  following  is  Hayley's  translation : — 

"  If,  among  so  many  funerals  of  my  countrymen,  in  a  year  so  full  of  pestilence  and 
sorrow,  you  were  induced,  as  you  say,  by  a  rumour  to  believe  that  I  also  was  snatched 
away,  it  is  not  surprising ;  and  if  such  a  rumour  prevailed  among  those  of  your  nation, 
as  it  seems  to  have  done,  because  they  were  solicitous  for  my  health,  it  is  not  unpleas- 
ing ;  for  I  must  esteem  it  as  a  proof  of  their  benevolence  towards  me.  But  by  the 
graciousness  of  God,  who  had  prepared  for  me  a  safe  retreat  in  the  country,  I  am  still 
alive  and  well ;  and,  I  trust,  not  utterly  an  unprofitable  servant,  whatever  duty  in  life 
there  yet  remains  for  me  to  fulfil.  That  you  remember  me  after  so  long  an  interval  in 
our  correspondence,  gratifies  me  exceedingly  ;  though,  by  the  politeness  of  your  ex- 
pression, you  seem  to  afford  me  room  to  suspect  that  you  have  rather  forgotten  me, 
since,  as  you  say,  you  admire  in  me  so  many  different  virtues  wedded  together.  From 
so  many  weddings  I  should  assuredly  dread  a  family  too  numerous,  were  it  not  cer- 
tain that  in  narrow  circumstances,  and  under  severity  of  fortune,  virtues  are  most 
excellently  reared  and  most  flourishing.  Yet  one  of  these  said  virtues  has  not  very 
handsomely  rewarded  me  for  entertaining  her ;  for  that  which  you  call  ray  political 
virtue,  and  which  I  should  rather  wish  you  to  call  my  devotion  to  my  country  (en- 
chanting me  with  her  captivating  name),  almost,  if  I  may  say  so,  expatriated  me. 
Other  virtues,  however,  join  their  voices  to  assure  me  that  wherever  we  prosper  in 
rectitude,  there  is  our  country.  In  ending  my  letter,  let  me  obtain  from  you  this  fa- 
vour ;  that  if  you  find  any  parts  of  it  incorrectly  written,  and  without  stops,  you  will 
impute  it  to  the  boy  who  writes  for  me,  who  is  utterly  ignorant  of  Latin,  and  to  whom 
I  am  forced  (wretchedly  enough)  to  repeat  every  single  letter  that  I  dictate.  I  still 
rejoice  tiiat  your  merit  as  an  accomplished  man,  whom  I  knew  as  a  youth  of  the  high- 
est expectation,  has  advanced  you  so  far  in  the  honorable  favour  of  your  prince.  For 
your  prosperity  in  every  oflier  point  you  have  both  my  wishes  and  my  hopes.  Farewell. 

•'London,  August 26,  J866." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MILTON's   COKTEMPORAHIES — "paradise   regained"    and   "  SAMSON  AGONISTES." 

On  27th  April,  1667,  Milton  sold  his  "Paradise  Lost"  to  Samuel  Simmons  for  an 
immediate  payment  of  five  pounds ;  another  five  pounds  to  be  paid  on  the  sale  of 
thirteen  hundred  copies  of  the  first  edition ;  a  third  five  pounds  on  the  sale  of  the 
same  number  of  the  second  edition ;  and  the  same  sum  after  an  equal  sale  of  the  third 
edition  ;  each  edition  not  to  exceed  fifteen  hundred  copies.  In  two  years  the  poet 
recovered  the  second  payment :  he  did  not  live  to  receive  the  other  payments :  there- 
fore 2800  copies  had  not  been  sold  in  seven  years. 

Johnson  and  others  contend  that  the  sale  of  thirteen  hundred  copies  in  two  years,  in 
these  times,  was  a  proof  that  the  poet's  merit  was  not  unfelt.  I  do  not  think  so.  John 
Dennis  observes  in  a  passage  of  his  "  Familiar  Letters,"  quoted  by  Mitford,  that  "never 
any  poet  left  a  greater  f  eputation  behind  him  than  Mr.  Cowley,  while  Milton  remained 

♦  See  EUwood's  "Autobiography,"  and  see  T.  Warton's  character  of  this  Iwok  in  Todd,  i.  187. 


LIFE  OF  MILTON.  Ixvii 


obscure,  and  known  but  to  few;  but  the  great  reputation  of  Cowley  did  not  continue 
balf  a  century,  and  Milton's  is  now  on  the  pinnacle  of  the  Temple  of  Fame." 

Mitford  enumerates  the  following  poets  as  contemporary  with  Milton : — "  Waller, 
Suckling,  Crashaw,  Denham,  Lovelace,  Brome,  Sherborne,  Fanshaw,  Davenant,  besides 
others  of  inferior  note."  He  might  have  added — Habington,  Stanley,  Carew,  Herbert, 
Withers.  But  none  of  these  were  of  any  mark,  or  power  of  invention,  unless  Cowley 
and  Davenant.  It  does  continue  to  appear  to  me  extraordinary,  that  so  many  false 
and  petty  beauties  should  start  up  successively  to  be  the  temporary  fashion  of  poetry, 
[nvention  is  not  improbability :  it  is  to  embody  and  bring  before  others  the  spirits  of 
the  past  and  the  absent  j  it  is  not  the  trick  of  flowery  or  sparkling  language :  but  the 
busy-bodies  of  a  nation, — they  who-give  the  tone  in  society,  having  no  natural  taste  or 
feeling, — require  artificial  stimulants.  The  court  of  Charles  II.  was  too  much  adul 
terated  to  endure  the  spiritual  grandeur  of  Milton  :  he  would  have  dispelled  all  the  de- 
lusions  of  the  wicked  magician  of  voluptuousness :  his  sternness,  his  haughty  wisdom, 
his  unbending  dogmas,  were  to  them  terrible  and  revolting. 

At  the  same  time,  though  the  exalted  bard  was  little  noticed  by  the  "  fashionable 
world,"  or  by  popular  authors,  we  cannot  suppose  that  he  found  no  readers.  That  class 
of  learned  men,  who  were  now  thrown  into  the  shade — the  republican  party, — must 
have  remembered  and  admired  Milton's  zeal  in  their  cause,  and  have  had  the  curiosity 
to  read  his  poem;  but  perhaps  in  silence  and  obscurity. 

Dryden,  too,  though  of  so  different  a  genius  and  taste,  as  well  as  politics,  was  fully 
sensible  of  the  poet's  merit  In  the  Preface  to  his  "  State  of  Innocence,"  soon  after 
Milton's  death,  he  says,  "  I  cannot,  without  injury  to  the  deceased  author  of  '  Paradise 
Lo«t,'  but  acknowledge  that  this  poem  has  received  its  entire  foundation,  part  of  the 
design,  and  many  of  the  ornaments  from  him.  What  I  have  borrowed  will  be  so  easily 
discerned  from  my  mean  productions,  that  I  shall  not  need  to  point  the  reader  to  the 
places ;  and  truly  I  should  be  sorry,  for  my  own  sake,  that  any  one  should  take  the 
pains  to  compare  them  together ;  the  original  being  undoubtedly  one  of  the  greatest, 
most  noble,  and  most  sublime  poems,  which  either  this  age  or  nation  has  produced." 

Other  notices  are  collected  by  Todd,  which  it  is  not  necessary  to  repeat. 

In  1688  appeared  a  folio  edition  of  the  "  Paradise  Lost,"  under  the  patronage  of 
Lord  Somers :  in  1695  appeared  a  third  folio  edition,  with  the  learned  commentary  of 
Patrick  Hume. 

In  1670  appeared  the  poet's  "  History  of  England,"  carried  down  to  the  Norman 
Conquest ;  which  was  mutilated  by  the  licenser,  by  atriking  out  passages  which  have 
since  been  recovered  and  replaced. 

In  1671  were  published  the  "Paradise  Regained"  and  "Samson  Agonistes."  It  is 
said  thftt  Milton  was  mortified  at  finding  that  the  former  was  considered  inferior  to  the 
"  Paradise  Lost"  It  is  inferior  because  it  has  less  invention ;  but  in  many  of  the 
sublime  merits  of  the  last,  not  at  all  inferior :  there  is  more  of  human  interest  in  it.  Nor 
is  the  "  Samson  Agonistes"  the  production  of  a  less  vigorous  and  majestic  genius. 

The  "  Paradise  Regained"  is  supposed  to  have  been  planned  or  begun  at  Chalfont 
EUwood  having  called  on  the  poet  after  his  return  to  London,  was  shown  by  him  this 
poem,  with  the  remark,  "  This  is  owing  to  you ;  for  you  put  it  into  my  head  by  the 
question  you  put  to  rhe  at  Chalfont"  He  is  said  to  have  written  it  in  a  state  of  unin- 
terrupted fervour,  according  to  the  spirit  which  he  names  as  inherent  in  him,  in  a  letter 
to  his  friend  Deodate,  September  2d,  1637 : — 

"  It  is  my  way  to  suffer  no  impediment,  no  love  of  ease,  no  avocation  whatever,  to 
chill  the  ardour,  to  break  the  continuity,  or  divert  the  completion  of  my  literary  pursuits." 

In  several  passages  of  the  "  Samson  Agonistes"  the  poet  is  supposed  to  allude  to  his 
own  feelings  and  fate,  especially  in  these  lines,  beginning  at  v.  75 : — 

I,  dark  in  lig^ht,  exposed 
To  daily  fraud,  contempt,  abuse,  and  wrong, 
Within  doors  or  without,  still  as  a  fool, 
In  power  of  others,  never  in  my  own ; 
Scarce  half  I  seem  to  live,  dead  more  than  half, 
O,  dark,  dark,  durk,  amid  the  blaze  of  noon, 
Irrecoverably  dark,  total  eclipse 
Without  all  hope  of  day  !  &c. 


Ixviii 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


Hayley  says,  ''  In  these  lines  the  poet  see^^s  to  paint  himself.  The  litigation  of  hisi 
will  produced  a  collection  of  evidence  relating  to  the  testator,  which  renders  the  disco< 
very  of  those  long-forgotten  papers  peculiarly  interesting :  they  show  very  forcibly,  and 
in  new  points  of  view,  his  domestic  infelicity  and  his  amiable  disposition.  The  tender 
and  sublime  poet,  whose  sensibility  and  sufferings  were  so  great,  appears  to  have  been 
almost  as  unfortunate  in  his  daughters  as  the  Lear  of  Shakspeare.  A  servant  declares 
in  evidence,  that  her  deceased  master,  a  little  before  his  last  marriage,  had  lamented  to 
her  the  ingratitude  and  cruelty  of  his  children :  he  complained  that  they  combined  to 
defraud  him  in  the  economy  of  his  house,  and  sold  several  of  his  books  in  the  basest 
manner.  His  feelings  on  such  an  outrage,  both  as  a  parent  and  a  scholar,  must  have 
been  sirgularly  painful;  perhaps  they  suggested  to  him  these  very  pathetic  lines." 

Dunster  adds,  that,  "as  it  appears,  from  the  latest  discoveries  relating  to  the  domestic 
life  of  Milton,  that  his  wife  was  particularly  attentive  to  him,  and  treated  his  infirmities 
With  much  tenderness,  this  passage  seems  to  restrict  the  time  when  this  drama  was 
written  to  a  period  previous  to  his  last  marriage,  or  at  least  nearly  to  that  immediate 
time  while  the  singular  ill-treatment  of  his  daughters  was  fresh  in  his  memory."  This 
also  coincides  with  what  Mr.  Hayley  observed  respecting  its  being  written  immediately 
after  the  execution  of  Sir  Henry  Vane,  which  took  place  June  14th,  1662.  Milton  was 
then  in  his  fifty-fourth  year,  in  which*  we  are  told  he  married  his  third  wife.  Thia 
would  make  the  "Samson  Agonistes"  at  least  three  years  prior  to  the  "Paradise 
Regained;"  of  which  we  know  he  had  not  thought  previous  to  the  sumjaer  of  1666. 
In  that  magnificent  passage  beginning  at  1.  667, — 

God  of  our  fathers !  what  is  man, 

That  thou  towards  him  with  hand  so  various, 

Or  might  I  say  contrarioua, 

Temper'st  thy  providence  through  his  short  couise, 

Not  evenly,  as  thou  ruiest 

The  angelic  orders,  and  inferior  creatures  mute, 

Irrational  and  brute  ? 

Nor  do  I  name  of  men  the  common  rout, 

That  wandering  loose  about, 

Grow  up  and  perish  as  the  summer  fly,' 

Heads  without  name,  no  more  remeraber'd ; 

But  such  as  thou  hast  solemnly  elected, 

With  gifts  and  graces  eminently  adorn'd. 

To  some  great  work  thy  glory, 

And  people's  safety,  which  in  part  they  effect. 

Yet  towards  these  thus  dignified,  thou  oft. 

Amidst  their  highth  of  noon, 

Changest  thy  countenance,  and  thy  hand,  with  no  regard 

Of  highest  favours  past. 

From  thee  on  them,  or  them  to  thee  of  service. 
Nor  only  dost  degrade  them,  or  remit 

To  life  obscured,  which  were  a  fair  dismission; 

But  throw'st  them  lower  than  thou  didst  exalt  them  higli 

Unseemly  falls  in  human  eye. 

Too  grievous  for  the  trespass  or  omission ; 

Oft  leavest  them  to  the  hostile  sword 

Of  heathen  and  profane,  their  carcasses 

To  dogs  and  fowls  a  prey,  or  else  captived  ; 

Or  to  the  unjust  tribunals,  under  change  of  times, 

And  condemnation  of  the  ingratefnl  multitude. 

If  these  they  'scape,  perhaps  in  poverty 

With  sickness  and  disease  thou  bow'st  them  down, 

Painful  diseases  and  deform'd, 

In  crude  old  age  ; 

Though  not  disordinate,  yet  causeless  suffering 

The  punishment  of  dissolute  days  :  in  fine. 

Just  or  unjust  alike  seem  miserable, 

For  oft  alike  both  come  to  evil  end  ; — 
Bishop  Newton  says,  that,  in  speaking  of  the  unjust  tribunals,  Milton  reflected  on  the 
trials  and  sufferings  of  his  party  after  the  Eestoration ;  and  that  when  he  talks  of  poverty, 
•  Not  till  1665 


LIFE  OF  MILTON.  Ixix 


this  was  his  own  case;  he  escaped  with  life,  but  lived  in  poyerty;  and  though  he  was 
always  very  sober  and  temperate,  yet  he  was  much  afflicted  with  the  gout,  and  other 
"painful  diseases  in  crude  old  age," — when  he  was  not  yet  a  very  old  man. 

"But,"  Newton  adds,  "Milton  was  the  most  heated  enthusiast  of  his  time :  speaking 
of  Charles  the  First's  murder,  in  his  '  Defence  of  the  People  of  England,'  he  says, 
'  Quanquam  ego  haeo  divino  potius  instinctu  gesta  esse  crediderim,  quoties  memoria 
repeto,' "  Ac. 

The  poet  goes  on : — 

Behold  him  in  this  state  calamitous,  and  turn 
His  labours,  for  thou  canst,  to  peaceful  end. 

"  These  concluding  verses,"  says  Hay  ley,  "  of  this  beautiful  chorus  appear  to  me  par» 
ticularly  affecting,  from  the  persuasion  that  Milton,  in  composing  them,  addressed  the 
last  two  immediately  to  Heaven,  as  a  prayer  for  himself.  If  the  conjecture  of  this 
application  be  just,  we  may  add,  that  never  was  the  prevalence  of  a  righteous  prayer 
more  happily  conspicuous ;  and  let  me  here  remark,  that  however  various  the  opinions 
of  men  may  be  concerning  the  merits  or  demerits  of  Milton's  political  character,  the 
integrity  of  his  heart  appears  to  have  secured  to  him  the  favour  of  Providence ;  since 
it  pleased  the  Giver  of  all  good  not  only  to  turn  his  labour  to  a  peaceful  end,  but  to 
Irradiate  his  declining  life  with  the  most  abundant  portion  of  those  pure  and  sublime 
mental  powers,  for  which  he  had  constantly  and  fervently  prayed,  as  the  choicest 
bounty  of  Heaven." 

Again,  Hayley  thinks  that  at  1.  759  Milton  alludes  to  his  own  connubial  infelicity,  and 
regret  for  his  forgiveness  at  the  repentance  of  his  first  wife,  suspicious  of  its  sincerity. 

But  it  is  not  only  to  the  unhappiness  of  his  marriage  that  Milton  alludes  in  this 
stern  poem :  he  also  renews  his  political  prejudices  at  1.  1418. 

Lords  are  lordlieet  in  their  wine, 
And  the  well  feasted  priest  then  soonest  fired 
With  zeal,  if  aught  religion  seem  concern'd ; 
No  less  the  people  on  their  holydays 
Impetuous,  insolent,  &c. 

Warton  observes  that  he  here  expresses  his  contempt  of  a  nobility  and  an  opulent 
clergy,  that  is,  lords  both  spiritual  and  temporal,  who  by  no  means  coincided  with  his 
levelling  and  narrow  principles  of  republicanism  and  Calvinism,  and  whom  he  tacitly 
compares  with  the  lords  and  priests  of  the  idol  Dagon. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  whole  of  this  poem  arose  out  of  the  state  of  Milton'a 
personal  feelings  at  the  Restoration.  It  is  the  blaze  of  a  mind  as  gigantic  as  Samson's 
form  and  strength.  His  imagination  is  everywhere  on  fire  both  with  intellectual  and 
material  visions.  A  vulgar  taste  in  poetry  would  call  the  nakedness  of  his  language 
prosaic :  but  in  the  enthusiasm  of  forceful  thought  the  petty  ornaments  of  language  are 
disregarded.  It  is  in  the  exaltation  of  the  soul,  in  belief  in  visionary  presence,  that 
high  poetry  consists. 

We  are  bound  to  contemplate  the  bard  in  these  lofty  moods : — to  think  how  his  spirit 
rose  above  his  unprosperous  and  painful  situation ; — and  with  what  sublime  images, 
Bentiments,  and  reflections,  he  soothed  himself! — How  he  glowed  when  he  imagined 
Samson  pulling  down  destruction  on  the  hands  of  his  foes ! — His  vigorous  and  enthu- 
siastic mind  roused  him  to  be  thus  ready  to  devote  himself  to  the  common  ruin. 

Though  now  retired,  neglected,  and  subject  to  many  stings  of  disappointment,  I 
doubt  not  he  was  altogether  happier  than  when  his  mere  memory,  observation,  and 
judgment  were  occupied  in  the  coarse  conflict  of  practical  affairs.  Imagination  is 
more  gratifying  than  memory,  and  idealism  than  reality.  It  is  diflBeult  to  conceive 
how  so  creative  a  mind  could  so  long  bend  itself  to  the  servile  oflice  of  secretaryship : 
to  find  correctness  of  expression  in  a  dead  language  for  diplomatic  communications  was 
but  a  pedantic  employment;  and  a  waste  of  powers  which  ought  only  to  have  been 
applied  to  the  highest  intellectual  exertions. 

It  is  clear,  however,  that  by  whatever  arguments  the  poet  might  reconcile  himself  to 
his  blindness,  there  were  moments  when  he  felt  most  bitterly  the  deprivation :  the 
passages  I  ha»-e  cited  from  "  Samson  Agonistes"  prove  this.    In  his  poverty  he  could 


Ixx  LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


not  emplDj  a  skilful  and  learned  amanuensis,  who  could  take  down  his  expressions  with 
facility :  the  aid  and  consolation  of  books,  except  at  the  mercy  of  others,  were  shuc  tc 
him.  He  grieved  for  the  loss  of  that  outward  view  of  the  face  of  nature  in  which  he 
had  delighted:  he  could  no  longer  roam  alone  at  his  own  will  amid  the  woods  and 
forests  and  green  fields :  he  sat  of  a  sunny  morning  in  his  house-porch,  enjoying  the 
fresh  air;  but  this  was  in  a  suburb  of  the  great  city,  in  a  confined  garden  :  the  freedom 
of  limb,  the  exhilaration  of  boundary  exercise,  the  breastitig  of  the  blowing  wind,  the 
change  of  the  fresh  breeze,  which  varies  with  each  contending  step,  were  not  his ! 

O,  dark,  dark,  dark,  amid  the  blaze  of  nooii ! 
AH  was  blank,  and  every  footstep  was  feeble  and  tottering,  and  at  the  mercy  of  another. 
We  perceive  that  after  a  life  of  such  high  virtue  as  he  was  conscious  that  he  had  led, 
there  were  bitter  hours  when  he  thought  this  fate  hard.  As  his  endowments  were 
sublime,  so  were  his  expectations  lofty  :  his  temper  was  naturally  scornful ;  and  as  he 
could  himself  do  mighty  things,  so  perhaps  he  demanded  more  of  others  than  they 
could  well  perform.  He  had  not  descended  to  a  minute  observance  of  all  the  flexibili- 
ties, ductilities,  and  windings  of  the  human  character :  he  did  not  forgive  or  consider 
its  littleness,  its  petty  passions,  and  mean  and  ignorant  thoughts. 

It  seems  to  me  to  be  a  biographer's  duty  thus  to  analyze  the  character  of  a  great 
man,  if  it  be  done  with  a  conscientious  desire  o^  explaining  the  truth.  Mere  facts, 
uncommented  on,  are  neither  interesting  nor  instructive ;  better  omit  the  comment  than 
dc  it  frivolously  or  afiectedly ;  still  less,  maliciously.  I  myself  have  no  doubt  that  the 
po9*  was  wrong  in  his  political  opinions;  but  I  have  still  less  doubt  that  he  was  strictly 
conscientious  in  them.  To  call  in  question  the  sincerity  of  his  protestations  and  aspira- 
tions,— his  magnificent  effusions  of  holy  hope  and  enthusiasm, — would  be  net  only 
stupid,  but  wicked. 


CHAPTER  XVL 
Milton's  death. 

There  are  certain  minor  points  which  it  is  very  asefdl  to  ascertain,  but  which,  when 
once  established,  do  not  require  to  be  repeated;  such  are  many  of  the  particulars 
verified  with  the  most  exemplary  labour  by  Todd.  If  anything  were  wanting,  Mitford 
has  gone  over  the  ground  again  with  acute  and  discriminate  taste  and  judgment:  a 
poet  himself,  of  deep  feeling,  and  eloquent  originality. 

I  will  however  just  mention,  that  the  poet  did  not  entirely  abandon  literary  pro- 
duction after  having  published  the  two  magnificent  poems  last  noticed.  In  1672  he 
put  forth  his  "  Artis  Logicaj  Pleuior  Inslitutio  ;"  and  in  1673  his  "Treatise  of  True 
Religion,  Heresy,"  &c. 

In  the  year  of  his  death  he  published  his  "  Familiar  Letters  in  Latin,"  with  some 
"  Academical  Exercises." 

In  the  preceding  year  he  reprinted  his  "Juvenile  Poems,"  with  additions,  among 
which  is  the  "  Tractate  on  Education,"  published  in  1644. 

His  health  now  gave  way  fast,  and  his  fits  of  the  gout  became  violent ;  but  snch 
was  the  firmness  of  his  mind,  that  Aubrey  says,  even  in  the  paroxysms  of  this  fell 
disease,  "  he  would  be  very  cheerful,  and  sing."  He  died  quietly  at  his  house  in 
Bnnhill-fields,  on  Sunday,  November  8th,  1674  ;  wanting  only  a  month  of  complet- 
ing his  sixty-sixth  year.  Thus  departed  the  greatest  epic  poet  of  England, — andin 
my  opinion,  of  any  country  or  age.  He  was  buried  near  his  father,  in  the  chancel  of 
St.  Giles,  Cripplegate. 

His  person  was  beautiful  in  youth,  but  his  face  too  delicate ;  he  was  of  middle 
height,  active,  and  a  good  swordsman  ;  temperate  in  his  food,  and  all  his  habits  of 
life,  except  in  study,  in  which  he  indulged  to  excess  even  from  his  childhood.  His 
evenings  were  usually  passed  in  music  and  conversation  :  his  chief  time  of  composi- 
tion appears  to  have  been  the  night ;  and  by  the  aid  of  a  most  retentive  memory  he 
dictated  in  the  morning  to  an  amanuensis  what  he  had  thus  composed. 

His  biographers  say  that  he  was  of  an  equal  and  placid  temper;  but  this  is  not  the 
character  given  by  Mrs.  Powell,  the  mother  of  his  first  wife  ;  who,  however  was  an 


LIFE  OF  MILTON.  Lxxi 


angry  and  prejudiced  witness.  Todd  has  printed  a  full  acccunt  of  his  nuncupative 
■will,  which  was  first  discovered  by  T.  Warton,  and  which,  be:ng  contested,  furnishes 
several  curious  particulars  of  his  domestic  habits.  He  had  an  humble  establishment 
consisting  of  two  maid-servants  and  a  man-servant :  he  dined  usually  in  his  kitchen.* 
He  never  was  a  man  of  worldly  ostentation,  and  always  despised  money :  he  seems  to 
have  been  stern  to  his  daughters,  and  exacted  too  much  from  them ;  they  accordingly 
did  not  steadily  love  him.  It  must  have  been  an  irksome  task  to  them  to  read  to  him 
in  languages  which  they  did  not  understand. 

As  to  the  poet's  religious  tenets,  a  treatise  has  been  lately  recovered  from  the  State- 
Paper  OflSce,  which  has  made  a  great  noise  among  the  theologists;  the  title  is,  "De 
Doctrina  Christiana,  ex  Sacris  duntaxat  Libris  petita,  Disquisitionum  Libri  duo  poat- 
humi."  King  George  IV.  put  it  into  the  hands  of  Dr.  Sumner  (afterwards  Bishop  of 
Winchester),  to  be  edited  and  translated.  It  is  said  that  the  poet,  being  dissatisfied 
with  the  Bodies  of  Divinity  then  published,  was  thus  induced  to  compile  one  for  him- 
Belf.  This  treatise  is  considered  to  prove  that  Milton  was  finally  an  Arian.  It  is 
calmly  and  moderately  written ;  not  with  the  animosity  of  a  controversialist,  but  it 
wants  the  author's  former  or  usual  recondite  learning  and  argumentative  force. 

Bishop  Burgess,  considering  that  this  work  disproves  the  poet's  orthodoxy,  has  dis. 
puted  its  genuineness  ;f  but  it  is  generally  admitted  that  its  authenticity  cannot  be 
doubted.J  This  extraordinary  treatise  contains  many  singular  opinions,  which  none 
but  theologists  will  take  the  trouble  to  discuss.^ 

Milton  left  three  daughters : — Anne,  who  was  deformed,  and  died  in  childbed ;  Mary, 
who  died  single ;  and  Deborah,  who  married  Abraham  Clarke,  a  weaver  in  Spitalfields, 
and  died,  aged  seventy-six,  in  August,  1727.  Her  daughter  married  Thomas  Foster, 
also  a  weaver  in  Spitalfields,  and  died  at  Islington,  May  9th,  1754,  in  her  sixty-sixth 
year.  II 

Sir  Christopher  Milton,  the  poet's  only  brother,  was  knighted  and  made  a  judge  by 
James  II.,  but  soon  retired  from  the  bench.  He  retired  to  Ipswich,  and  afterwards  to 
the  village  of  Rushmere,  about  two  miles  distant,  where  he  died ;  and  was  buried  in  the 
church  of  St.  Nicholas,  Ipswich,  March  22d,  1692.     He  left  children. f 

Milton  had  also  two  nephews  by  his  sister  Philips, — John  Philips  and  Edward 
Philips,  both  authors.** 


CHAPTER  XVIL  • 

GENERAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS    OBSEHTATIONS. 

I  NOW  come  to  general  observations  on  the  poet's  character  and  genius :  of  these  I 
have  already  intermixed  some  in  the  course  of  the  narrative :  If  I  recur  to  any  of  the 
same  opinions  and  reflections,  although  in  other  words,  I  must  crave  the  reader's 
indulgence. 

Of  this  "  greatest  of  great  men,"  the  private  traits  and  whole  life  were  congenial  to 
his  poetry.  Men  of  narrow  feelings  will  say  that  his  political  writings  contradict  this 
congeniality.  His  politics  were,  no  doubt,  violent  and  fierce ;  but  it  cannot  be  doubted 
that  they  were  conscientious.  He  lived  at  a  crisis  of  extraordinary  public  agitation, 
when  all  the  principles  of  government  were  moved  to  their  very  foundations,  and 
when  there  was  a  general  desire  to  commence  institutions  de  novo. 

In  his  early  poems  there  are  occasional  passages  which  show  his  taste  for  monarchi- 

•  This  was  long  afterwards,  in  Geneva,  the  custom  of  the  highest  and  most  opulent  Genevan 
families.    See  Picot,  "HIstoIre  de  Geneve."  t  8vo.  1826. 

t  See  discussions  on  Milton's  tenets  here  let  out,  in  "  Edinburgh  Review,"  No.  cvii.,  Septem- 
ber, 1831 ;  and  see  Mitford's  note,  "  Life,"  p.  ex. 

I  See  the  American  (Dr.  Channing's)  "  Remarks  on  the  Character  and  Writings  of  Milton." 

II  Sir  James  Mackintosh  found  the  last  descendant  of  Milton,  parish-clerk  at  Madras. 

U  See  pedigrees  of  knights  made  by  Charles  II.  and  James  H.,  collected  by  De  Neve,  inter  Mss. 
Brit.  Mus.  , 

**  See  their  "Lives"  by  Godwin.  See  also  "  Theatrum  Poetarum,"  Canterbuiy.  1800;  and 
again  Geneva,  1824. 


Ixxii  LIFE  OP  MILTON. 


cal  and  aristocratic  manners;  for  the  pomp  of  the  state  and  the  church;  for  the  glories 
of  chivalry  and  the  feudal  system;  for  the  halls  of  "knights  and  barons  6old/'  for  the 
usic  and  the  solemn  gloom  of  magnificent  cathedrals : — 

the  high  embowed  roof, 
With  antic  pillars  massy-proof; 
And  storied  windows,  richly  dight, 
Casting  a  dim  religious  light. 
There  let  the  pealing  organ  blow 
To  the  full-voiced  quire  below, 
In  service  high  and  anthems  clear,  &c. — II  Penseroso. 

Milton's  imagination  was  not  at  all  suited  to  the  cold  and  dry  hypocrisy  of  a  Puri- 
tan ;  but  his  gigantic  mind  gave  him  a  temper  that  spurned  at  all  authority.  This  was 
his  characteristic  through  life :  it  showed  itself  in  every  thought  and  every  action,  both 
public  and  private,  from  his  earliest  youth ;  except  that  he  did  not  appear  to  rebel 
against  parental  authority;  for  nothing  is  more  beautiful  than  his  mild  and  tendei 
expostulation  to  his  father,  in  that  exquisite  Latin  address  which  has  been  quoted. 

His  great  poems  require  such  a  stretch  of  mihd  in  the  reader,  as  to  be  almost  painfuL 
The  most  amazing  copiousness  of  learning  is  sublimated  into  all  his  conceptions  and 
descriptions.  His  learning  never  oppressed  his  imagination ;  and  his  imagination 
never  obliterated  or  dimmed  his  learning :  but  even  these  would  not  have  done,  with- 
out the  addition  of  a  great  heart  and  a  pure  and  lofty  mind. 

That  mind  was  given  up  to  study  and  meditation  from  his  boyhood  till  his  death ;  he 
had  no  taste  for  the  vulgar  pleasures  of  life;  he  was  all  spiritual.  But  he  loved  fame 
enthusiastically,  and  was  ready  to  engage  in  the  great  affairs  of  public  business :  and 
when  he  did  engage,  performed  his  part  with  industry,  skill,  and  courage.  Courage, 
Indeed,  mingled  in  a  prominent  degree>  among  his  many  other  mighty  and  splendid 
qualities. 

Who  is  equal  to  analyze  a  mind  so  rich,  so  powerful,  so  exquisite  ? 

I  do  not  think  that  tenderness  was  his  characteristic ;  and  he  was,  above  all  other 
men,  unyielding.  His  softer  sensibilities  were  rather  reflective  than  instantaneous;  his 
sentiments  came  from  his  imagination,  rather  than  his  imagination  from  his  sentiments. 

The  vast  fruits  of  his  mind  always  resulted  from  complex  ingredients ;  though  they 
were  so  amalgamated,  that  with  him  they  became  simple  in  their  effects.  It  is  impos- 
sible now  to  trace  the  processes  of  his  intellect.  We  cannot  tell  what  he  would  have 
been  withoot  study ;  but  we  know  that  he  must  have  hcan  great  under  any  circum- 
stances, though  his  greatness  might  have  been  of  a  different  kind. 

He  made  whatever  he  gathered  from  others  his  own ;  he  only  used  it  as  an  ingredient 
for  his  own  combinations. 

His  earliest  study  seems  to  have  been  the  holy  writings ;  they  first  fed  his  fancy  with 
the  imagery  of  Eastern  poetry;  and  nowhere  could  he  have  found  so  sublime  a  nutri- 
ment. But  what  is  any  nutriment  to  him  who  cannot  taste,  digest,  and  be  nourished  ? 
It  depends  not  upon  the  force  and  excellence  of  what  is  conveyed;  but  upon  the  power 
of  the  recipient :  it  is,  almost  all,  inborn  genius,  though  it  may  be  under  the  influence 
of  some  small  modification  from  discipline. 

However  great  and  wonderful  Milton  was,  there  were  some  points  in  which  both 
Spenser  and  Shakspeare  exceeded  him ;  because  in  those  points  nature  had  been  more 
favourable  to  them.  Probably  both  Spenser  and  Shakspeare  were  more  ductile  to  the 
world.  Milton  was  stern,  solitary,  unbending,  contemptuous,  proud,  yet  unostentatious. 
With  his  disposition  and  taste,  he  was  little  observant  of  the  minor  mmners  and  cha- 
racters of  society :  he  was  always  thoughtful,  inflexible,  and  abstracted.  Loftiness  of 
musing  was  the  sphere  in  which  he  lived :  his  books  were  his  companions ;  his  imagi- 
nation surrounded  him  with  another  and  a  spiritual  world. 

Providence  has  endowed  us  with  the  power  to  conceive  what  is  more  magnificent  and 
more  beautiful  than  that  which  the  material  world  exhibits.  We  know  not  why — ^it  in 
among  the  mysteries  of  the  Almighty. 

If  he  who  nurses  these  spiritualities  is  at  the  same  time  a  materialist  in  action,  then 
we  may  doubt  the  good  of  them :  but  assure  ily  Milton  was  not  guilty  of  this  inconsis- 
tency.   Read  all  his  earnest  and  eloquent  professions  of  innocence;  and  who  coo 


\ 


LIFE  OP  MILTON.  Ixxiii 


hesitate  to  give  credit  to  them?  His  controversial  opponents  have  attempted  to  throw 
dirt  upon  him,  but  have  not  succeeded.  He  provoked  the  most  bitter  hostility ;  yet  no 
Immorality  could  be  fastened  upon  him. 

Allowing  the  poet  to  have  been  harsh  and  choleric,  yet  the  sanctity  of  his  disposition 
end  character  appears  to  me  dem(  nstrative.  I  can  reconcile  this  with  his  severe  poli- 
tics, though  those  seem,  certainly,  not  very  merciful. 

Superficial  minds,  affecting  the  tone  of  wisdom,  hold  out  that  the  gifts  of  the  Muse 
are  incompatible  with  serious  business.  Milton,  the  greatest  of  poets,  affords  a  crush- 
ing answer  to  this.  In  the  flower  of  his  manhood,  and  through  middle  age,  he  was  a 
statist,  and  active  man  of  executive  affairs  in  a  crisis  of  unexampled  difficulty  and 
danger.  His  controversial  writings,  both  in  politics  and  divinity,  are  solid,  vigorous, 
original,  and  practical ;  and  yet  he  could  return  at  last  to  the  highest  flights  of  the 
Muse,  undamped  and  undimmed. 

The  lesson  of  his  life  is  one  of  the  most  instructive  that  biography  affords :  it  shows 
what  various  and  dissimilar  powers  may  be  united  in  the  same  person,  and  what  a  gran- 
deur of  moral  principles  may  actuate  the  human  heart ;  but  at  the  same  time  it  shows 
how  little  all  these  combined  talents  and  virtues  can  secure  the  due  respect  and  regard 
of  contemporaries.  It  is  absurd  to  deny  that  Milton  was  neglected  during  his  life,  and 
that  his  unworldly-mindedness  let  the  meanest  of  the  people  mount  over  his  head.  He 
lived  poor,  and  for  the  most  part  in  obscurity.  Even  high  employments  in  the  state 
seem  to  have  obtained  him  no  luxuries,  and  few  friends  or  acquaintance  :  no  brother 
poets  flocked  round  him ;  none  praised  him,  though  in  the  habit  of  flattering  each  other. 

The  poet,  indeed,  might  have  been  employed  more  consistently  with  his  sublime 
genius,  than  in  political  and  theological  controversy.  He  lost  nineteen  precious  years  of 
his  middle  life  in  those  irritating  occupations,  from  the  age  of  thirty-two  to  fifty-one : 
after  that  age  he  occupied  the  remaining  fourteen  years  of  his  life  principally  in  poetry. 
His  controversies  had  not  sullied  his  imagination,  nor  affected  the  sanctity  of  his 
thoughts,  language,  or  temper : — I  mean,  after  these  degrading  labours  ceased ;  for, 
while  busy  in  them,  they  must  have  necessarily  embittered  his  feelings  and  lowered  his 
mind.  It  is  melancholy  to  think  how  much  of  grand  invention,  which  he  might  in 
those  long  years  have  put  forth,  has  been  lost  to  the  world. 

I  do  not  say  that  the  writings  which  during  that  period  he  did  put  forth  have  been 
entirely  useless;  but  they  were  beneath  Milton's  best  powers,  and  might  probably 
have  been  executed  by  inferior  talents.  I  here  suppose  them  excellent  in  their  depart- 
ment and  unmixed  with  mischief;  but  this  is  more  than  can  be  conceded  positively 
to  them.  The  notions  of  republicanism  are  assuredly  carried  too  far ;  and  nothing 
can  be  more  dangerous  than  to  resist  all  authority,  and  call  in  question  all  ancient 
institutions. 

If  intellect  is  the  grand  glory  of  man,  Milton  stands  pre-eminent  above  all  other 
human  beings ;  above  Homer,  Virgil,  Dante,  Petrarch,  Tasso,  Spenser,  and  Sbakspeare  ! 
To  the  highest  grandeur  of  invention  upon  the  sublimest  subject  he  unites  the  greatest 
wisdom  and  learning,  and  the  most  perfect  art  Almost  all  other  poets  sink  into 
twinkling  stars  before  him.  What  has  issued  from  the  French  school  of  poetry  seems 
to  be  the  production  of  an  inferior  order  of  beings,  and  in  this  I  include  even  our  Dry- 
den  and  Pope ;  for  I  cannot  place  these  two  famous  men  among  the  greatest  poets : 
they  may  be  among  the  first  of  a  secondary  class. 

It  is  easy  to  select  fine  passages  from  minor  poetical  authors ;  but  a  great  poet  must 
bo  tried  by  his  entirety, — by  the  uniform  texture  of  his  web. 

Milton  has  a  language  of  his  own ;  I  may  say,  invented  by  himself.  It  is  somewhat 
hard,  but  it  is  all  sinew :  it  is  not  vernacular,  but  has  a  latinized  cast,  which  requires  a 
little  time  to  reconcile  a  reader  to  it.  It  is  best  fitted  to  convey  his  own  magnificent 
ideas:  its  v^ry  learnedness  impresses  us  ■nith  respect:  it  moves  with  a  gigantic  step t 
It  does  not  flow,  like  Shakspeare's  style ;  nor  dance,  like  Spenser's.  Now  and  then 
there  are  transpositions  somewhat  alien  to  the  character  of  the  English  language, 
which  is  not  well  calculated  for  transposition;  but  in  Milton  this  is  perhaps  a  merit 
because  his  lines  are  pregnant  with  deep  thought  and  sublime  imagery,  which  require 
us  to  dwell  upon  them,  and  contemplate  them  over  and  over.  He  ought  never  to  be 
had  rapidly  his  is  a  style  which  no  one  ought  to  imitate  till  he  is  endowed  with  a  soul 
10 


Ixxiv  LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


like  Milton's.  His  ingredients  of  learning  are  so  worked  into  Ms  original  thoughts, 
that  they  form  a  part  of  them ;  they  are  never  patches. 

One  would  wish  to  present  to  oneself  the  mental  and  moral  character  of  Milton  even 
from  his  childhood.  Probably  he  was  absorbed  in  himself,  and  by  no  means  ductile; 
lonely  in  his  pleasures,  uncompanionable,  and  seemingly  sullen ;  angry  when  inter- 
tupted  in  his  books :  satirical  or  contemptuous  at  frivolous  conversation ;  contradictory 
when  roused,  and  hardy  when  answered:  estimated  doubtfully  by  his  father;  some- 
times praised ;  sometimes  raising  high  expectations ;  sometimes  causing  fear,  and  even 
anger  and  remonstrance. 

Genius  will  never  be  dictated  to ;  and  few  observers  can  distinguish  this  repugnance 
from  an  obstinate  and  dull  indocility.  They,  on  the  contrary,  who  are  quick  to  appre- 
hend, but  who  have  no  ideas  of  their  own,  take  things  rapidly  and  without  resistance. 

One  should  like  to  imagine  the  difference  of  early  character,  habits,  sentiments, 
pursuits,  conduct,  and  temper,  between  Milton  and  Gray;  both  sons  of  men  following 
the  same  calling,  both  living  in  the  bustle  of  the  city,  and  both  addicted  to  literary 
occupations.  There  was  this  primary  difference,  that  Milton  had  a  good  father,  and 
Gray  a  bad  one. 

Milton  was  probably  more  stem ;  Gray  more  tender  and  morbid :  Milton  more  confi- 
dent  and  aspiring;  Gray  more  fearful  and  hopeless.  Each  loved  books  and  learning, 
and  each  had  an  exquisite  taste.  Milton  was  more  vigorous ;  Gray  more  nice.  Both 
were  imaginative  and  fond  of  romantic  fiction:  but  Milton  was  more  enterprising. 
Gray's  fastidiousness  impeded  him;  he  was 

A  pnny  insect,  shivering  at  the  breeze. 

Milton  was  dauntless,  defiant,  and,  when  insulted,  fierce;  perhaps  ferocious:  nothing 
shook  his  self-reliance.     Gray  was  driven  back  even  by  a  frown. 

The  "  Elegiac  Bard"  might  have  done  tenfold  more  than  he  did  if  he  had  been  more 
courageous,  but  could  never  have  done  what  Milton  has  done :  he  had  not  the  same 
invention,  nor  the  same  natural  sublimity.  Milton  was  far  the  happier  being,  though 
he  engaged  in  controversies  which  Gray's  peaceful  spirit  would  have  avoided. 
Milton  was  a  practical  statesman;  Gray  would  have  been  utterly  unfit  to  engage  in 
affairs  of  state. 

Gray's  spirits  were  partly  broken  by  the  unprincipled  and  brutal  conduct  of  his 
father  to  his  mother;  but  they  were  naturally  low:  his  inborn  sensitiveness  amounted 
to  disease.  He  seems  to  have  been  more  delicate  and  precise  in  his  classical  scholar- 
ship, and  more  exact  in  all  his  knowledge;  but  it  was  not  so  mingled  up  with  original 
thought,  and  therefore  not  so  valuable :  his  memory  was  often  mere  memory,  and 
therefore  was  exact  This  did  not  arise  from  inability,  but  from  timidity  and  indo- 
lence ;  he  lived  in  the  solemn  and  monotonous  cloisters  of  a  college ;  he  had  nothing 
of  the  ordinary  movements  of  life  to  excite  him:  all  the  faculties  of  his  mind,  therefore, 
except  his  memory,  were  often  stagnant.  The  memory  works  best  when  the  passions 
ore  least  moved. 

The  dim  misty  gray  hues  of  vacant  despondence  will  chill  the  lips  and  palsy  the 
voice.  Who  fears  the  ridicule  or  censure  of  men,  but  anticipates  not  the  cheer  of 
triumph,  will  want  the  sources  of  energy  and  enterprise.  The  blood  must  glow  in  the 
veins,  and  the  heart  must  dance,  to  enable  us  to  do  great  things. 

We  cannot  doubt  that  this  was  the  case  with  Milton  :  many  noble  passages  regarding 
himself  in  his  prose  works  prove  it :  he  nursed  glorious  and  holy  hopes  from  his  child- 
hood. Afterwards,  in  the  midst  of  the  foulest  calumnies,  he  was  undaunted  and  undis- 
mayed. Even  in  the  most  perilous  times,  when  the  ban  of  proscription  and  the  sword 
of  death  were  hanging  over  his  head,  he  conceived,  and  partly  composed  his  "  Paradise 
Lost."    He  had  a  spring  of  soul  which  nothing  could  relax. 

Magnanimity  grows  strong  by  opposition  and  diflSculty ;  and  when  a  diflSculty  is 
conquered,  the  energy  is  doubled :  no  one  knows  what  powers  are  in  him  till  he  is 
pressed:  when  they  come  out  from  pressure,  hope  and  confidence  come  with  them.  It 
Is  not  till  after  we  have  been  tried  that  we  trust  to  ourselves :  then  we  stand  unmoved 
by  the  blast,  and  laugh  at  the  storm.  All  genuine  power  grows  more  vigorous  after  it 
has  been  tried. 


LIFE  OF  MILTON.  Ixxv 


Thousands  go  down  to  the  grave,  unconscious  of  the  native  faculties,  which,  if  exer- 
3ised,  might  have  distinguished  them :  but  buried  faculties  are  an  encumbrance,  and 
breed  diseases ;  and  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  this  was  one  of  the  maladies  of  Gray. 
Milton  was  never  to  be  silonced:  the  fire  within  found  vent;  and  then  his  great  heart 
was  at  ease,  and  triumphed. 

There  was  not  the  same  force  and  depth  in  his  early  Latin  poems  as  in  his  early 
English :  this  perhaps  arose  from  the  constraint  of  writing  in  a  foreign  and  dead 
language.  He  was  compelled  to  look  to  models;  and  whatever  merits  the  ancient 
classic  poets  have,  they  have  not  the  sombre  tone  and  colouring,  and  the  picturesque 
imaginativeness,  which  began  in  the  Italian  school  with  Dante.  Of  that  school  Milton 
was  the  noblest  and  most  inborn  scholar :  in  some  of  his  earliest  English  verses  he 
caught  Dante's  magnificent  darkness,  his  mystical  images,  his  spiritual  visions. 

Milton  is  never  an  empty  dealer  in  words ;  it  is  always  the  thought,  the  sentiment, 
the  image,  which  impels  him  to  speak:  it  breathes — it  throws  forth  the  raciness  of  life. 
His  earliest  poems  travel  out  of  the  track  of  mere  observation,  and  explore  the  spiritual 
world.  He  ventures  among  miracles,  and  hears  aerial  voices,  and  rises  among  the 
choirs  of  angels.  In  any  but  the  most  sublime  genius  it  would  have  been  rash  hardi- 
hood to  have  entered  so  early  on  such  unearthly  subjects.  He  has  acquitted  himself 
with  the  vigour  of  the  most  matured  age. 

If  the  "  Hymn  on  the  Nativity"  was  a  college  exercise,  its  original  force  is  the  more 
extraordinary,  because  he  was  under  the  surveillance  of  t^jchnical  judges;  and  nothing 
but  a  master-genius  could  have  emboldened  him  to  take  his  own  peculiar  course.  How 
those  to  whom  it  was  addressed  must  have  stared  when  they  compared  it  with  the 
creeping,  feeble,  lame,  colloquial,  trite  compositions  which  surrounded  it !  They  must 
have  started,  half  annoyed,  half  doubting,  half  delighted  against  their  will,  half  shrink- 
ing at  what  they  suspected  to  be  rebellious  audacity;  half  recollecting  models;  then 
beginning  to  think  that  the  young  poet  had  found  out  a  new  language,  but  whispering 
to  themselves  that  heresies  from  admitted  models  ought  to  be  discouraged. 

The  example  was  not  followed ;  no  one  caught  the  tone :  probably  it  was  found  too 
difficult  to  assume.  No  one  had  the  genius,  or  the  force,  or  the  taste  to  achieve  it 
The  first  edition  of  the  "  Juvenile  Poems"  appeared  in  1645 ;  no  other  was  called  for, 
for  nearly  thirty  years. 

It  is  wilful  misrepresentation,  therefore,  to  say  that  these  poems  received  much 
notice  from  Milton's  contemporaries.  They  are  far  above  the  taste  of  his  age,  or 
perhaps  of  the  immediate  popular  taste  of  any  age.  » Common  readers  love  common 
passions,  and  the  images  which  are  familiar  to  them;  they  like  practical  observationi 
upon  actual  daily  life,  and  witticisms  upon  their  neighbours,  rivals,  and  superiors. 


CHAPTER  XVin. 

OBSBRYATIONS    ON   MILTON'S   POETRY   CONTIirUED. 

Milton  lived  in  a  time,  perhaps,  more  propitious  to  poetry  than  even  the  reign  of 
Queen  Elizabeth.  Superstition,  chivalry,  and  romance  had  begun  to  abate;  but  pbilo- 
sophy  and  reason  had  commenced  their  influence,  without  checking  imagination.  The 
times  were  stirring,  and  such  times  are  propitious  to  the  Muse.  The  public  mind  began 
to  let  itself  loose  from  old  chains. 

From  the  days  of  the  Restoration  there  has  been  no  poetical  freedom  of  mind ;  unless 
in  our  own  latter  days. 

The  counteraction  to  the  favourableness  I  have  spoken  of,  was  the  metaphysical  taste 
Introduced  by  King  James.  That  monarch  had  no  imagination,  but  a  ridiculous 
pedantry.  Talents  of  a  secondary  nature,  which  were,  the  slaves  of  example,  might 
bow  to  this ;  but  bad  models  would  not  repel  genius  while  it  could  choose  its  own. 

The  language  had  not  yet  arrived  at  fastidiousness :  the  picturesque  energies  of  feu- 
dal chivalry  were  not  forgotten,  nor  had  their  influence  over  the  imagination  entirely 
ceased :  they  were  enough  in  the  belief  of  the  people  to  be  capable  of  being  recftlled. 


Ixxvi  LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


The  drama  has  arrived  at  great  force  of  excellence,  though  mixed  with  many  irregu- 
larities. 

The  ranks  and  characters  of  societly  were  yet  distintly  marked.  There  was  luxury 
and  polish  without  effeminacy ;  learning  had  not  yet  exhausted  itself;  if  the  court 
was  corrupt,  it  was  not  yet  frivolous.  There  was  enthusiasm  of  loyalty,  and  enthu- 
siasm of  rebellion. 

The  age  of  Elizabeth  was  imaginative  and  romantic,  but  not  classical ;  the  age  of 
James  was  pedantic  ;  the  age  of  Charles  was  fitted  for  a  sober  heroism. 

Milton  had  the  encouragement  of  foreigners  for  his  early  Latin  poetry,  which  re- 
ceived their  high  praise  when  he  travelled  into  Italy.  Gray,  equally  eminent  by  sim- 
ilar compositions  about  the  same  age,  did  not  exhibit  to  them  his  talents  in  this 
department ;  if  he  had  received  the  same  approbation,  it  would  not  have  given  him 
the  same  confidence.  One  was  all  buoyancy,  the  other  all  depression ;  one  had  re- 
ceived his  father's  encouragement,  the  other  his  father's  blight ;  one  had  vowed  him- 
self to  glory,  the  other  was  too  timid  to  think  of  it. 

Of  modern  poets,  Gray's  epithets  are  perhaps  most  picturesque,  but  they  do  not 
unite  with  them  visionariness,  like  Milton's.  Examine  the  "Elegy  in  the  Church- 
yard ;"  they  are  all  pictures  of  material  realities.  All  the  descriptions  in  that  beau- 
tiful poem  are  merely  such  as  a  curious  and  tasteful  eye  could  derive  from  observation 
only ;  there  is  no  invention. 

In  all  the  descriptive  poems  of  Milton  there  is  rich  and  wonderful  invention.  The 
combinations  in  "  Lycidas"  are  strikingly  inventive  :  this  is  one  of  its  marked  fea- 
tures, and  gives  it  that  passion  which  shows  itself  in  the  excitement  of  the  mind. 
There  is  a  hurry  of  ideas  ;  a  conflict  of  lamentations  and  consolations. 

In  almost  all  the  contemporary  poetry  there  is  flatness,  lameness,  and  mean  col- 
loquiality  ;  a  high  tone  is  never  uniformly  sustained  :  strong  words  are  mixed  with 
weak,  and  one  half  of  a  line  falls  from  the  other :  in  some,  there  is  a  feeble,  thin, 
and  conversational  diffusion  ;  as  in  old  George  Wither.  It  is  sustainment  which  is 
Milton's  characteristic  excellence  :  single  good  lines  may  be  found  in  his  predeces- 
sors. His  strains  are  closely  wrought,  and  everywhere  with  the  golden  thread  ;  with 
grand  images,  and  noble  combinations  of  design. 

Milton  lived  for  the  Muse ;  he  vowed  himself  to  the  Muse.  He  professed  it ;  he  did 
not  pretend  to  speak  of  it  as  a  mere  idle  amusement,  as  if  he  was  half  ashamed  of  it : 
he  knew  its  worth,  its  dignity;  and  its  diflSculties.  No  one  wanting  enthusiasm  ever 
succeeded  in  this  vocation :  its  purposes  cannot  be  effected  by  doubtful  spirits  and 
faint  hopes.  Gray  affected  to  write  merely  as  an  occasional  amusement,  and  not  to 
make  a  business  of  it ;  this  affectation  was  beneath  a  great  mind. 

Spenser  is  allegorical  throughout ;  Milton  is  only  occasionally  allegorical.  Spenser 
is  the  poet  of  chivalry  ;  Milton  is  the  poet  of  the  Bible.  Milton  therefore  is  not  pro- 
perly romantic,  nor  a  poet  risen  out  of  the  feudal  ages.  He  addresses  himself  to  all 
nations,  all  ages,  all  manners, — all  mankind  :  he  has  indeed  many  casts  of  words,  and 
many  images  derived  from  the  compositions  which  originated  with  the  Troubadours ; 
and  he  would  not  have  been  what  he  is,  unless  Dante  and  the  Italian  school  had  pre- 
ceded him.  Milton  was  a  massy  "cloth  of  gold,"  while  others  were  a  slight  fabric 
of  slight  materials. 

Part  of  Dante's  grandeur  lies  in  a  mystical  brevity  peculiar  to  himself.  Milton 
sketches  out  his  figures  more  fully  and  clearer ;  yet  they  are  more  ditflcult  to  sketch, 
because  they  are  above  humanity  ;  whereas  Dante  most  alludes  to  human  characters, 
and  their  conduct  on  earth.  This  alone  proves  the  superiority  of  Milton  over  Dante  ; 
but  then  Dante  lived  in  a  darker  age,  when  the  revival  of  learning  was  in  its  infancy  : 
Milton  had  many  great  examples  of  poetical  fiction  before  him. 

Beautiful  and  rich  as  Spenser  is,  Milton  has  taken  little  of  his  cast ;  there  is  not  much 
similarity  in  their  language,  and  none  in  their  rhythm  :  their  fictions  are  of  different 
materials,  and  in  different  forms.  Milton  had  always  a  predilection  for  sacred  subjects : 
he  seems  to  have  turned  more  to  the  dramatists  for  expression  and  sentiment,  and  even 
imagery;  Shakspeare  especially,  Ben  Johnson,  and  Beaumont  and  Fletcher.  That 
Sylvester  was  such  a  favourite,  must  be  accounted  for  by  impressions  made  upon  his 
childhood. 

Milton  seems  always  to  have  kept  aloof  in  his  holiness ;  he  thus  did  not  suffer  his 


LIFE  OF  MILTON.  Ixxvii 


aiind  to  be  diluted  by  vulgar  thoughts.  The  effect  of  his  deep  meditations  and  studies 
was  never  broken  in  upon.  He  kept  up  his  dignity,  his  self-esteem,  and  the  pride  and 
ambition  of  his  calling.  By  mingling  much  with  the  world  we  catch  its  petty  passions, 
and  lower  ourselves  to  its  tone  and  temperament.  The  facts  which  have  been  handed 
down  to  us  of  his  life,  accord  well  with  the  character  of  his  writings :  he  was  fearless, 
and  this  added  to  his  strength  :  a  timid  hand  will  never  strike  out  noble  notes. 

If  it  could  be  proved  that  there  is  no  virtue  or  sound  sense  in  spirituality ;  that  we 
can  rely  on  nothing  but  the  material  objects  presented  to  our  view;  then  poetry  would 
be  an  empty,  uninstructive,  and  even  delusive  amusement:  but  I  presume  that  they 
who  attempt  to  set  up  such  a  philosophy  will  incur  the  disgrace  of  its  meanness  and 
its  falsehood.  All  the  charms  and  almost  all  the  virtues  of  our  being  are  spirituaL 
Nature  has  implanted  in  us  the  delight  of  looking  to  something  beyond  actual  exist- 
ences ;  and  in  gratifying  this  delight  lies  the  magic  of  poetry.  That  poetry  which 
does  not  attempt  and  perform  this,  scarcely  deserves  the  name.  Above  all  other?, 
unless  perhaps  Shakspeare,  Milton  has  performed  it.  What  exquisite  idealism  and 
inventiveness  there  is  in  "  Comus  !" 

But  let  no  one  mistake  the  fantastic  for  the  inventive :  this,  instead  of  being  a  proof 
of  genius,  is  a  proof  of  the  want  of  it;  yet  the  great  vulgar,  as  well  as  the  little  vulgar, 
mistake  one  for  the  other.  Charlatans  in  criticism  consider  that  the  mark  of  poetical 
invention  is  improbability,  or  impossibility :  on  this  principle  Homer  and  Virgil  were 
minor  poets.  To  bring  the  past  to  life  is  a  primary  purpose  of  poetry;  this,  is  true 
invention  ;  not  to  describe  forms  merely,  but  mind  and  spirit,  and  internal  movemenU 
The  power  is  in  proportion  to  the  dignity  and  grand  characters  of  the  actors  brought 
into  play :  thus  Milton  rises  not  only  to  the  height  of  humanity,  but  of  angels  good  and 
bad,  the  obedient  and  the  rebellious.  What  must  have  been  the  force  and  splendour 
of  an  imagination  which  could  duly  conceive  and  paint  such  beings !  The  excellence 
is  in  proportion  as  truth  and  probability  are  preserved  in  lofty  creations.  If  this  be 
the  test,  then  what  other  poet  can  contend  with  Milton  ?  Homer  and  Virgil  have  drawn 
heroes,  but  they  were  merely  men  ;  their  imaginations  have  not  risen  to  the  wars  of 
ethereal  beings,  and  battles  with  the  Almighty.  And  even  in  the  softer  scenes  of  mere 
human  passions  and  enjoyments,  how  superior  are  Adam  and  Eve  to  all  other  personi 
fications  in  poetry !  ♦ 

It  has  been  objected  that  the  subject  is  too  lofty  and  solemn  for  human  sympathy ; — 
a  tasteless  and  absurd  criticism.  Of  mere  earthly  scenery,  what  can  equal  the  garden 
of  Eden  ?  Or  are  we  to  have  no  interest  in  the  description  of  it  because  we  have  lost 
It?  On  topics  of  almost  inconceivable  grandeur,  the  poet  never  uses  exaggerated  lan- 
guage, but  is  sober,  congenial,  and  speaks  with  a  comprehensive  majesty,  as  if  he  was 
master  of  his  mighty  subject,  and  elevated  above  human  intellectuality.  Every  other 
bard  would  have  betrayed  weakness  by  inflated  language.  If  he  had  thought  about 
the  minor  artifices  or  ornaments  of  what  is  called  poetry,  he  must  have  soon  abandoned 
his  task  as  beyond  the  power  of  human  performance.  All  is  in  the  thought;  the 
plainer  the  language,  the  nobler  as  well  as  easier  the  execution.  That  frivolous  adorn- 
ment, that  outward  investment  of  flowers,  of  which  petty  artists  boast,  is  mere  trickery. 

Had  Milton  taken  a  subject  less  divine,  a  subject  from  uninspired  history,  I  doubt  if 
he  would  have  executed  it  with  equal  success.  His  own  perceptions  were  too  elevated 
to  enter  with  minuteness  into  inferior  characters :  he  knew  not  the  feebler  passions 
and  little  windings  of  the  human  heart :  he  could  not  draw  the  vast  variety  of  man's 
obliquities,  like  Shakspeare.  Whatever  we  are  accustomed  to  admire  in  the  best  of 
3ther  poets,  sinks  into  paleness  and  insignificance  before  the  splendour  and  sublimity 
of  Milton. 

But  minor  poets  often  fail,  not  only  from  want  of  native  force,  but  because  they 
propose  to  themselves  false  objects  of  excellence :  they  substitute  perverse  inventive- 
ness for  genuine  creation;  and  too  often  describe  and  copy,  when  they  ought  to  invent. 
The  poet  should  turn  spirituality  into  imagery ;  but  it  must  not  be  mere  body, — it  must 
have  life,  and  thought,  and  soul.  Milton  has  given  something  of  material  shape  to  the 
airy  beings  of  a  higher  sphere,  but  he  has  never  divested  them  of  the  bright  and 
indefinable  radiance  of  divinity. 

There  can  be  no  unity  in  the  description  of  inanimate  nature,  or  in  what  is  didactic ; 


Ixxviii  LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


consequently  there  can  be  no  perfect  invention  :  it  is  only  therefore  in  the  epic  or  the 
dramatic  that  there  can  be  poetry  of  the  primary  class :  this  will  exclude  from  the  first 
class  many  of  the  celebrated  poets  of  our  own  country. 

Looking  to  human  agency,  who  has  constructed  with  us  a  long  and  well-combined 
narratiro  of  imaginary  characters !  If  this  merely  human  creation  be  diiBcult,  what 
has  Milton  performed?  How  comparatively  easy  is  it  to  personify  and  delineate  the 
diversity  in  the  moral  and  intellectual  characters  of  mankind, — to  put  it  in  action  amid 
the  scenes  of  human  life,  and  to  show  human  passions  in  conflict !  yet  how  rarely  have 
even  these  powers  been  exhibited  I 

The  true  poet  must  create  :  he  must  leave  artists  to  illustrate  and  adorn.  Whoever 
employs  himself  much  in  the  mechanism  of  composition,  must  be  deficient  in  enthu- 
siasm and  warmth  ;  he  must  feel  no  inspiration.  Language  will  come  of  course  to  him 
who  thinks  profoundly,  feels  deeply,  and  sees  with  imaginative  brightness.  What  is 
brilliant  in  itself,  requires  no  ornament  of  paint  and  colours. 

To  study  Milton's  poetry  is  not  merely  the  delight  of  every  accomplished  mind,  bnl 
It  is  a  duty.  He  who  is  not  conversant  with  it,  cannot  conceive  how  far  the  genius  of 
the  Muse  can  go.  They  who  have  no  mirror  in  their  minds  to  receive  and  reflect,  may 
be  but  slightly  and  dimly  touched;  but  they  must  let  the  rays  shine  upon  them,  even 
as  the  sun  falls  upon  the  barren  rocks  j  at  some  happy  moment  they  may  be  benefited 
by  the  genial  beams. 

Here  are  none  of  the  frivolous  idlenesses ;  the  wanton  sports  of  imagination ;  the 
false  voluptuousness;  the  whimsical  fictions;  the  afi"ected  pathos;  the  sickly  whinings; 
the  forced  deliriums;  the  raptures  of  extravagant  words;  the  feigned  melancholy;  the 
morbid  musings ;  the  dreamy  mistiness  of  unmeaning  verbiage ;  the  echoes  of  echoes 
of  artificial  sounds.  All  is  pure  majesty;  the  sober  strength,  the  wisdom  from  above, 
that  instructs  and  awes.     It  speaks  as  an  oracle, — not  with  a  mortal  voice. 

The  bard,  whatever  might  have  been  his  inborn  genius,  could  never  have  attained 
this  height  of  argument  and  execution  but  by  a  life  of  laborious  and  holy  preparation; 
• — a  constant  conversance  with  the  ideas  suggested  by  the  Sacred  Writings ;  the  habitual 
resolve  to  lift  his  mind  and  heart  above  earthly  thoughts ;  the  incessant  exercise  of  all 
the  strongest  faculties  of  the  intellect;  retirement,  temperance,  courage,  hope,  faith. 

He  had  all  the  aids  of  learninffl|  all  the  fruit  of  all  the  wisdom  of  ages ;  all  the  effect 
of  all  that  poetic  genius,  and  all  that  philosophy  had  achieved :  all  were  infused  and 
mingled  up  in  his  mind  with  his  own  native  growth.  Had  his  learning  been  heaped 
on  a  mind  of  less  native  splendour,  it  could  have  produced  none  of  these  results  :  it  fell 
upon  a  fire,  which  bore  it  up  into  a  golden  and  ethereal  flame. 

While  the  gigantic  productions  of  such  a  mind  were  in  progress,  the  poet  must  have 
felt  strong  consolations  for  all  his  misfortunes,  privations,  and  dangers;  but  not 
unmixed,  it  appears,  with  some  regrets  and  some  complainings.  This  last  we  must 
infer  from  the  passages  in  "  Samson  Agonistes,"  already  noticed. 

Whoever  is  powerful  in  virtuous  faculties,  and  exercises  them  as  he  ought,  must 
necessarily  feel  a  great  and  proud  delight  from  the  exertion ;  but  in  the  noble  employ- 
ment of  the  mind  there  is  unmingled  delight:  hours  become  like  minutes,  and  days 
like  hours.  Sitting  in  the  humble  porch  of  his  humble  house,  blind,  poor,  meanly  clad, 
unattended,  how  great  must  Milton  have  felt  above  all  kings  and  conquerors  of  the 
earth, — above  the  possessors  of  the  wealth  of  the  world,  the  inhabitants  of  marble 
palaces  and  golden  saloons !  He  knew  his  own  dignity;  and  it  was  among  his  glories 
that  he  knew  it.  He  never  shrunk  from  the  assertion  of  his  own  ascendancy.  It  did 
not  lower  his  self-esteem  to  hear  the  popular  shouts  bestowed  on  .his  inferiors, — on 
Waller,  and  Cowley,  and  Denham,  and  the  wits  that  basked  in  the  sunshine  of  the 
Court,  while  he  was  neglected,  and  his  sublime  strains  unfelt  and  untasted:  he  knew 
the  day  would  come  when  all  that  was  wise  and  great  must  acknowledge  his  supremacy. . 

Perhaps  self-confidence  was  among  his  leading  traits :  if  he  had  been  deficient  in 
this  quality  he  would  never  have  performed  what  he  did.  It  may  produce  rashness ; 
where  there  is  innate  strength  it  will  produce  success.  Temerity  is  bettor  than  a 
chilling  and  helpless  fear ;  to  have  power,  and  not  to  know  it,  is  worse  perhaps  than  not 
to  have  it:  whoever  depends  on  the  opinions  of  others,  and  cannot  assort  his  own  cause 
is  almost  sure  to  bo  crashed. 


LIFE  OF  MILTON.  Ixxix 


Nith^Bg  is  more  useful  in  literary  biography  than  to  endeavour  to  ascertain  by  what 
means  others  have  attained  extraordinary  excellence:  there  must  always  be  a  concur- 
rence of  causes,  of  which  some  may  perhaps  be  accidental :  the  inborn  gift  is  first,  and 
Indispensable ;  but  encouragement,  discipline,  and  toil  are  also  necessary.  It  is  clear 
that  Milton  showed  the  superiority  of  his  endowments  at  ten  years  old;  and  all  other 
concurrences  would  have  done  nothing  without  these. 

Can  any  case  be  shown  where  true  genius  did  not  exhibit  itself  in  early  childhood? 
It  appears  to  me  very  improbable.  I  know  no  ascertained  case.  An  extreme  sensi- 
bility is  a  primary  ingredient:  this  must  show  itself  early.  Sometimes  common 
observers  have  mistaken  the  symptons  of  genius;  but  this  does  not  alter  the  case. 
Vulgar  censors  often  take  the  appearances  of  genius  in  childhood  for  folly;  as  has  been 
so  beautifully  described  by  Beattie,  in  "  Young  Edwin." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

BECAPITrLATION   OP   MILTON'S    PERSONAL   CHARACTER. 

I  KNOW  not  that  much  can  be  added  to  the  traits  of  Milton's  character  which  I  have 
already  given.  As  in  almost  all  cases  of  great  genius,  there  is  a  consonance  in  the 
qualities  of  the  poetry  and  the  poet.  Grandeur,  inflexibility,  sternness,  originality, 
baked  force, — all  true  splendour,  or  strength,  arises  from  internal  conviction  or  belief. 

The  poet  was  never  compliant  to  the  ways  of  the  world :  from  his  very  childhood  he 
kept  himself  aloof :  he  nursed  his  visions  in  solitude,  and  soothed  his  haughty  hopes  of 
future  loftiness  of  fame  by  lonely  musing :  the  ideal  world  in  which  his  mind  lived  would 
Hot  coalesce  with  the  rude  concourse  of  mankind. 

As  to  his  own  purity  and  sanctity  of  soul,  the  declarations  and  enthusiastic  apostro- 
phes in  his  own  prose  writings  render  it  impossible  to  doubt  it :  he  made  them  in  the 
hearing  of  his  most  bitter  enemies, — public  enemies  through  all  Europe^ — rendered 
furious  by  a  common  cause,  in  which  all  the  principles  of  ancient  institutions  were 
Involved.  The  extent  to  which  he  carried  his  arguments  appears  to  me  wrong,  and  I 
eannot  deem  his  conclusions  other  than  harsh  and  vindictive ;  but,  as  I  have  said  before, 
I  do  not  think  that  tenderness  of  feeling  was  his  distinction.  His  gigantic  heart 
was  not  easily  melted  into  tears :  he  knew  how  to  paint  rebellious  angels,  mighty  even 
in  their  defeat. 

All  his  excitements  were  intellectual :  his  thoughts  j?ere  compound :  but  it  is  sur- 
prising how  a  mind  habituated  for  twenty  years  to  the  coarse  routine  of  public  business 
could  at  once  throw  it  all  off,  and  produce  a  poetical  texture  so  close-wrought,  and  of 
such  unmingled  majesty.  Plain  as  the  style  is,  it  never  sinks  into  colloquiality  or  the 
language  of  business :  he  had  kept  his  genius  aloof  from  his  daily  occupation,  and 
Buffered  not  the  world  to  blow  or  breathe  upon  it. 

In  the  commencement  of  the  ninth  book  of  the  "Paradise  Lost,"  the  poet  speaks  of 
his  subject  as  more  heroic  than  the  subjects  of  the  Iliad  and  ^neid: — 

If  answerable  style  I  can  obtain 

Of  my  celestial  patroness,  who  designs 

Her  nightly  visitation  unimplored, 

And  dictates  to  me  slumbering,  or  inspires 

Easy  my  unpreneditated  verse, 

Since  first  ttiis  subject  for  heroic  song 

Pleased  me,  long  chusing  and  beginning  late; 

Not  Mduious  by  nature  to  indite 

Wars,  nitherto  the  only  argument 

Heroic  deem'd. 

So  before,  in  book  vii.,  addressing  himself  to  his  Muse  Urania,  he  says: — 
Standing  on  earth,  not  rapt  above  the  pole, 
More  safe  I  sing  with  mortal  voice,  unchanged 
To  hoarse  or  mute  :  though  fall'n  on  evil  days, 
On  ei  il  days  though  fall'n,  and  evil  tongues; 
In  da.kness,  and  with  dangers  compass'd  round, 
And  solitude :  yet  not  alone,  while  thou 
Visit'st  my  Blurabers  nightly,  or  when  mom 


Ixxx  LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


Purples  the  east.    Still  govern  thou  my  song, 
Urania:  and  fit  audience  find,  though  few. 

That  his  inward  light  became  more  radiant  from  his  outward  darkness  I  cannot  doubt 
This  he  expresses  himself  in  the  sublime  opening  of  his  third  book: — 
Thee  I  revisit  safe, 
And  feel  thy  sovereign  vital  lamp :  but  then 
Revisit'st  not  these  eyes,  that  roll  in  vain 
To  find  thy  piercing  ray,  and  find  no  dawn 
So  thick  a  drop  serene  hath  quench'd  their  orbs, 
Or  dim  sufiusion  veil'd.    Yet  not  the  more 
Cease  I  to  wander  where  the  Muses  haunt, 
Clear  spring,  or  shady  grove,  or  sunny  hill ; 
Smit  with  the  love  of  sacred  song.    But  chief 
Thee,  Sion,  and  the  flowery  brooks  beneath, 
That  wash  thy  hallow'd  feet,  and  warbling  floWi 
Nightly  I  visit :  nor  sometimes  forget 
Those  other  two  equall'd  with  me  in  fate, 
So  were  I  equall'd  with  them  in  renown, 
Blind  Thamyris  and  blind  Moeonides, 
And  Tiresias  and  Phineus,  prophets  old. 
Then  feed  on  thoughts,  that  voluntary  moT0 
Harmonious  numbers;  as  the  wakeful  bird 
Sings  darkling,  and,  in  simdiest  covert  hid, 
Tunes  her  nocturnal  note.    Thus  with  the  year 
Seasons  return  ;  but  not  to  me  returns 
Day,  or  the  sweet  approach  of  eve  or  mom, 
Or  sight  of  vernal  bloom,  or  summer's  rose, 
Or  flocks,  or  herds,  or  human  face  divine ; 
But  cloud  instead,  and  ever-during  dark 
Surrounds  me,  from  the  cheerful  ways  of  men 
Cut  oflT;  and  for  the  book  of  knowledge  fair 
Presented  with  an  universal  blank 
Of  nature's  works,  to  me  expunged  and  rased. 
And  wisdom  at  one  entrance  quite  shut  out. 
So  much  the  rather  thou,  celestial  light, 
Shine  inward,  and  the  mind  through  all  her  powerg 
Irradiate;  there  plant  eyes,  all  mist  from  thence 
Purge  and  disperse,  that  I  may  see  and  tell 
Of  things  invisible  to  mortal  sight. 

There  is  nothing  in  all  the  materials  of  biography  more  applicable  to  an  author's 
character  than  this  affecting  and  majestic  burst  of  egotism :  though  it  wiU  be  repeated 
in  the  poetry,  I  should  consider  myself  worse  than  tasteless  if  I  omitted  to  insert  it  here. 

If  we  do  not  dwell  on  these  parts  of  the  poet's  thoughts  and  feelings,  we  pass  ovei 
his  principal  and  most  exalted  traits.  The  metrical  writer,  whose  life  is  not  a  poem,  ie 
of  an  inferior  class,  and  a  mere  poetical  artist.  No  assumed  character, — nothing  whict 
does  not  proceed  from  "  a  believing  mind"  (to  use  CoUins's  expression),  will  be  efficient. 
Milton,  while  he  was  composing  "  Paradise  Lost,"  battled  with  the  angels,  and  lived  in 
the  garden  of  Eden.  While  he  was  dictating  the  passages  I  have  cited,  how  unutter- 
ably graud  must  have  been  the  exaltation  of  his  mind  ! 

Great  pains  have  been  taken  to  discover  what  is  called  the  origin  of  "  Paradise  Lost." 
Such  conjectures  may  amuse  the  curious  in  bibliography  j  for  higher  purposes  they  are 
but  empty  trifles.  The  great  number  of  authors,  to  whom  it  is  pretended  to  track  the 
poet,  is  alone  a  proof  how  little  certainty  there  is  in  such  researches.  It  appears  to  mo 
that  these  critics  mistake  the  nature  of  originality.  It  is  not  so  much  in  the  novelty 
of  the  ingredients,  as  in  their  selection  and  new  combinations,  that  originality  consists. 

In  confirmation  of  what  the  poet  has  said  of  his  "long  chusing,  and  beginning  late," 
he  thus  expresses  himself  in  his  second  book  of  the  "  Reformation  of  Church  Govern- 
ment," in  1641 : — 

"Neither  do  I  think  it  shame  to  covenant  with  any  knowing  reader,  that  for  some 
few  years  yet  I  may  go  on  trust  with  him  towards  the  payment  of  what  I  am  now 
indebted,  as  being  a  work  not  to  be  raised  from  the  heat  of  youth,  or  the  vapours  of 
wine;  like  that  which  flows  at  waste  from  the  pen  of  some  vulgar  amorist,  or  the 


LIFE  OF  MILTON.  Ixxxi 


trencher  fury  of  some  rhyming  parasite;  nor  to  "be  obtained  of  dame  Memory  and 
h^r  siren  daughters ;  but  by  devout  prayer  to  that  Eternal  Spirit,  who  can  enrich  with 
all  utterance  and  knowledge,  and  sends  out  his  seraphim  with  the  hallowed  fire  of  his 
altar,  to  touch  and  purify  the  lips  of  whom  he  pleases.  To  this  must  be  added  indus- 
trious and  select  reading,  steady  observation,  insight  into  all  seemly  and  generous 
arts  and  affairs." 

I  am  convinced  that  this  is  the  only  true  account  of  the  origin  of  "  Paradise  Lost-." 
Shakspeare's  originality  might  be  still  more  impugned,  if  an  anticipation  of  hints  and 
similar  stories  were  to  be  taken  as  proof  of  plagiarism.  In  many  of  the  dramatist's 
most  beautiful  plays  the  whole  tale  is  borrowed,  as  for  instance,  "Romeo  and  Julie" 
from  Luigi  da  Porto :  but  Shakspeare  and  Milton  turn  brass  into  gold.  This  sort  of 
passage-hunting  has  been  carried  a  great  deal  too  far,  and  has  disgusted  and  repelled 
the  reader  of  feeling  and  taste.  The  novelty  is  in  the  raciness,  the  life,  the  force,  the 
just  association,  the  probability,  the  truth ;  that  which  is  striking  because  it  is  extrava- 
gant, is  a  false  novelty.  He  who  borrows  to  make  patches  is  a  plagiarist;  but  what 
patch  is  there  in  Milton?    All  is  interwoven,  and  forms  pait  of  one  web. 

No  doubt,  the  holy  bard  was  always  intent  upon  sacred  poetry,  and  drew  his  principal 
inspirations  from  Scripture.  This  distinguishes  his  style  and  spirit  from  those  of  all 
other  poets ;  and  gives  him  a  solemnity  which  has  not  been  surpassed  save  in  the  Book 
whence  welled  that  inspiration. 

The  poem  is  one  which  could  not  have  been  produced  solely  by  the  genius  of  Milton, 
without  the  addition  of  an  equal  extent  and  depth  of  learning,  and  an  equal  labour  of 
reflection.  Neither  Shakspeare,  nor  Spenser,  nor  any  other  great  poet,  of  any  country, 
could  have  produced  it.  It  is  never  an  effusion.  I  conjecture  that  it  was  produced 
slowly,  after  long  musing  on  each  passage ;  though  he  hints  otherwise  himself.  It  has 
always  a  great  compression.  Perhaps  its  perpetual  allusions  to  all  past  literature  and 
history  are  sometimes  carried  a  little  too  far  for  the  popular  reader;  and  the  latinized 
style  requires  to  be  read  with  the  attention  due  to  an  ancient  classic. 

Probably  all  the  author's  diversified  mental  faculties  and  acquirements  worked 
together  in  the  production  of  almost  every  portion  of  this  majestic  edifice.  There  is 
nothing  of  mere  simple  imagination  in  any  part :  all  is  moral,  didactic,  wise,  sublime, 
as  well  as  creative  and  visionary. 

All  language  appears  diluted  in  every  other  poet,  compared  with  Milton's :  it  has  few 
transpositions ;  and  is  never  guilty  of  flowery  ornaments,  which  vulgar  taste  mistakes 
for  poetical  richness.  Serious,  profound,  devoted,  gigantic  in  conception,  and  sublime 
in  words,  he  speaks  as  an  inspired  emanation  of  a  higher  state  of  being !  There  is  a 
sombre  awe  in  him,  to  which  we  listen  as  to  an  oracle.  He  dictates  and  imposes  a 
force  of  authority,  which  we  dare  not  question.     We  tremble  while  we  believe. 

In  the  Life  which  I  have  thus  attempted  of  the  most  sublime  of  all  English  authors, 
It  has  not  been  my  purpose  to  be  minute,  and  to  collect  together  all  which  had  been 
previously  told  of  the  great  poet. 

It  has  seemed  to  me  on  the  present  occasion  even  judicious  to  adhere  to  the  leading 
features  only ;  and  to  give  them,  not  from  the  representations  of  others,  but  from  my 
own  ieelings,  reflections,  and  convictions.  I  am  afraid  that  there  are  many  who 
admire  Milton,  principally,  if  not  solely,  upon  the  force  of  authority.  All  the  admira- 
tion I  have  myself  expressed  is  strictly  sincere :  I  have  uttered  no  affected  rapture? , 
dnd  I  have  not  spoken  but  from  the  unchanging  opinion  of  a  long  and  studious  life. 

To  have  given  novelty  to  a  subject  so  often  treated,  would  be  almost  a  hopeless  wish. 
In  stating  the  dry  facts  of  such  a  topic  there  can  be  little  variety  of  expression :  but  I 
have  rather  relied  upon  the  force  of  opinions  and  comments,  than  of  facts  already 
known :  of  the  justness  and  taste  of  these,  and  of  the  manner  in  which  they  are 
expressed,  others  must  judge :  the  quality  on  which  I  rely  is  their  sincerity.  I  have 
not  been  pleading  as  a  plausible  advocate  for  one  whom  I  have  undertaken  the  task  of 
praising :  the  diflSculty  has  not  been  in  finding  pleas  for  admiration,  but  in  finding  lan- 
guage adequate  to  the  demands  for  which  excellence  gave  occasion.  The  personal 
character  of  the  poet  should  be  all  along  concurrent  with  the  genius  of  his  poetry. 
From  his  very  -childhood  he  was  a  worshipper  of  the  Muse  Urania. 
11 


Ixxxii  LIFE  OF  MILTOX. 


It  has  been  unfortunate  for  Milton  that  his  most  popular  biographer  should  be  John- 
Bon,  whose  Memoir  is  written  in  such  a  deliberate  spirit  of  detraction  as  to  fix  on  the 
writer  a  certain  degree  of  moral  turpitude.  As  a  critic  he  has  here  shown  extreme 
insensibility  and  want  of  taste,  except  on  the  "  Paradise  Lost,"  of  which  his  eulogy, 
though  strongly  expressed,  is,  as  I  shall  attempt  to  prove,  little  more  in  substance 
than  a  copy  from  Addison. 

He  who  criticised  Milton  with  the  most  congenial  spirit  was  Thomas  Warton.  Hay- 
ley  had  an  amiable  enthusiasm ;  but  his  style  was  languid,  diffuse,  and  often  sickly, 
full  of  colloquial  and  feminine  superlatives ;  such  as  "  most  affectionate " — "most  ten- 
der " — "  most  afflicting."  Hayley  was  full  of  elegant  erudition,  but  he  had  no  imagina- 
tion :  Bisliop  Newton  was  classical,  but  feeble  and  unoriginal :  Bentley  and  Warburton 
were  acute  but  fantastic.     It  is  hardly  necessary  to  characterize  minor  annotators. 


CHAPTEE   XX.  ♦ 

OBSERVATIONS  ON  THE  CRITICISMS  ON  "PARADISE  LOST,"  BY  ADDISON  AND  JOHNSON. 

The  two  grand  criticisims  on  the  "  Paradise  Lost"  are  those  of  Addision  and  John- 
son. Whatever  praise  Johnson  may  have  obtained  for  what  he  has  written  on  this 
subject,  a  strict  examination  will  show  that  he  owes  entirely  to  his  predecessor:  all  is 
drawn  from  Addison.  It  is  true,  that  he  has  clothed  it  in  his  own  diction ;  and  that 
it  had  passed  through  the  ordeal  of  his  own  mind,  so  as  not  to  be  reproduced  identi- 
cal ;  but  yet  precisely  similar:  it  has  a  more  compressed  contexture ;  and  more  point, 
which  is  taken  for  more  force. 

Both  critics  consider  this  divine  poem  under  the  four  heads  of  fable,  characters, 
sentiments,  and  language  ;  and  both  concur  in  all  the  necessary  requisites  of  each,  and 
that  Milton  has  fulfilled  them  all.  As  an  epitome  of  Addison,  that  which  Johnson 
has  written  is  valuable  ;  as  an  original,  it  has  no  merit  at  all.  In  one  respect  it  is 
more  adapted  to  modem  taste  ;  that  it  less  often  insists  on  bringing  those  questions 
to  the  standard  models  of  Homer  and  Virgil ;  which,  however  excellent,  must  be  now 
admitted  to  be  sometimes  arbitrary :  in  general,  however,  they  are  founded  on  reason, 
and  therefore  indispensable. 

As  greatness  is  the  first  quality,  the  superiority  of  Milton's  fable  to  those  of  Homer 
and  Virgil  cannot  be  disputed :  nor  is  his  manner  of  conducting  it  less  skilful  and 
perfect;  having  unity,  always  going  forward  to  its  end,  and  never  interrupted  by  ir- 
relevant episodes.  The  vastness  of  the  invention  of  the  outline,  when  little  could  be 
drawn  from  tradition,  history,  or  observation,  is  stupendous. 

The  characters  are  equally  out  of  the  conception  of  mere  human  musing.  The  deli- 
neation of  Satan,  and  the  other  Fallen  Angels,  would  have  appeared  to  any  other 
mind  but  Milton's  beyond  the  reach  of  human  ability.  The  ideas  of  Adam  and  Eve 
before  the  fall  might  not  appear  so  utterly  hopeless :  but  as  they  then  partook  of  di- 
vinity, nothing  but  the  boldest  imagination  could  have  ventured  upon  the  subject. 

The  sentiments  appropriate  to  such  characters  could  only  be  supplied  by  a  genius 
partaking  of  an  inspiration  above  humanity.  The  grandeur  of  thought  must  have 
been  incessant,  and  liable  to  no  depressions  :  the  imagination  of  many  may  be  strong 
enough  to  invent  and  communicate  the  workings  of  human  passions  and  human  in- 
tellects ;  but  of  angels  in  obedient  bliss,  of  angels  in  rebellion,  who  but  Milton  could 
venture  to  paint  the  designs  or  emotions? 

Nor  is  the  difficulty  of  adequate  language  less  than  of  adequate  conception.  How 
are  we  to  express  the  spiritual,  but  by  the  aid  of  signs  drawn  from  materiality  ?  And 
this  is  liable  to  the  objection,  that  what  is  divine  is  degraded  by  an  illustration  from 
what  is  earthly.  Even  Milton  himself  has  not  escaped  this  censure.  However,  there 
is  a  considerable  portion  of  Milton's  poem  which  does  not  consist  in  the  sublimity 
of  imagery,  but  in  what  Johnson,  I  think,  calls  "argumentative  sublimity;" — 
thoughts  which  are  purely  intellectual. 

Johnson  has  not  followed  Addison  through  all  the  details  in  which  these  grand 
principles  are  examined  and  exemplified ;  but  such  as  he  has  selected  are  mainly  the 


LIFE  OF  MILTON.  Ixxxiii 


sume:  nor  has  he  failed  to  insist  on  the  faults  which  have  struck  his  predecessor.  I 
am  not  sure  that  Addison  himself,  with  all  his  candour,  has  not  sometimes  cenpured 
eauselessly :  I  think  that  he  has  done  so  in  the  famous  allegory  of  Sin  and  Death  in 
the  tenth  book ;  and  I  am  fortified  in  this  opinion  by  Bishop  Atterbury,  whose  tastt 
was  not  only  unquestioaable,  but  exquisite.  It  is  an  invention  of  inexpressible  magni 
ficence,  both  in  conception  and  expression :  ite  materiality  is  the  object  of  disapprobation 
by  the  critics. 

It  seems  to  me  impossible  to  draw  the  line  how  far  the  shadowy  beings  of  spirit  may 
be  represented  by  poets  as  taking  part  in  material  agency  :  if  not  allowed  at  all,  there 
tiiiist  be  an  end  to  the  sublimest  allegories. 

It  is  true  that  Sin  and  Death  might  have  passed  from  the  gates  of  bell  to  earth 
without  building  a  bridge  of  such  materials  as  Milton  supposes  :  but  though  it  was  not 
necessary,  I  cannot  consider  it  an  unpardonable  license  upon  the  ground  of  its  mate- 
riality. It  may  be  said  that  it  is  allowable  to  personify  abstract  ideas,  and  give  them 
some  minglement  of  action ;  but  not  to  carry  it  far.  Thus  Gray,  in  his  "  Hymn  to 
Adversity,"  speaks  of  her  "iron  hand j"  and  Collins,  in  his  "Ode  to  the  Passions," 
exhibits  Fear  as  striking  the  "  chords"  of  the  harp.  But  such  ideal  creatures  may 
surely  be  allowed  to  act  a  little  more  on  reality  than  this.  The  rule  is  good,  that  the 
invention  ought  not  to  go  beyond  what  we  are  capable  of  believing, — at  least  in  our 
moments  of  enthusiasm.  Whether  the  allegory  of  Sin  and  Death,  under  the  effect  of 
Buch  vivid  and  sublime  description,  goes  beyond  this,  will  depend  on  the  different 
structure  of  different  minds.  For  my  part,  I  can  see  the  gates  of  hell  open,  and  the 
bridge  in  the  progress  of  its  formation !  There  are  many  passages  in  the  poetry  of  the 
Bible  not  less  typified  by  material  des.'ription ;  but  many  of  these  objectors  are  the 
very  people  who  have  least  genuine  taste  for  spirituality. 

One  of  the  finest  passages  of  Johnson  is  the  following : — "  The  appearances  of  nature, 
and  the  occurrences  of  life,  did  not  satiate  Milton's 'appetite  of  greatness.  To  paint 
things  as  they  are  requires  a  minute  attention,  and  employs  the  memory  rather  than 
the  fancy :  Milton's  delight  was  to  sport  in  the  wide  regions  of  possibility ;  reality  was 
a  scene  too  narrow  for  his  mind :  he  sent  his  faculties  out  upon  discovery  into  worlds 
where  only  imagination  can  travel,  and  delighted  to  form  new  modes  of  existence,  and 
furnish  sentiment  and  action  to  superior  beings,  to  trace  the  counsels  of  hell,  or  accom- 
pany the  choirs  of  heaven."  But  this  is  far  above  the  general  tone  of  his  criticisms; 
and  is  half  undone  again  by  a  passage  in  a  subsequent  page,  where  he  speaks  of  the 
inconvenience  of  the  design,  which  requires  the  description  of  what  cannot  be  described, 
— the  agency  of  spirits :  he  is  sometimes  raised  above  himself  by  the  inspiration  of  Ad- 
dison's noble  essay ;  then  he  sinks  again  to  his  own  level.  It  was  not  Addison's  opinion 
that  the  agency  of  spirits  could  not  be  described ;  he  only  says  that  spirits  mug*  cot  be 
too  particularly  engaged  in  action.  Bishop  Newton  justifies  these  agencies  of  imaginary 
beings  :  I  have  no  doubt  that  they  are  the  very  essences  of  the  highest  poetry.  li  is 
true  that  to  bring  Violence,  Strength,  and  Death  on  the  stage,  as  active  persons,  is 
absurd;  and  that  what  maybe  introduced  in  poetry  may  be  sometimes  improper  for 
the  definite  lines  and  colourings  of  sculpture  and  painting.  What  is  most  sublime  is 
often  vague  and  half  enveloped  in  mists. 

Addison  says,  "  Milton  seems  to  have  known  perfectly  well  wherein  his  strength  lay, 
and  has  therefore  chosen  a  subject  entirely  conformable  to  those  talents  of  which  he 
was  master.  As  his  genius  was  wonderfully  turned  to  the  sublime,  the  subject  is  the 
noblest  that  could  have  entered  into  the  thoughts  of  man :  everything  that  is  truly 
great  and  astonishing  has  a  place  in  it :  the  whole  system  of  the  intellectual  world, — 
the  chaos,  and  the  creation — heaven,  earth,  and  hell, — enter  into  the  constitution  of  his 
poem." 

Johnson  follows  in  the  same  steps,  and  begins  almost  in  the  same  words : — "  He 
teems  to  have  been  well  acquainted  with  his  own  genius  ;  and  to  know  what  it  was  that 
nature  had  bestowed  upon  him  more  bountifully  than  upoi^others, — the  power  of  dis- 
playing the  vast,  illuminating  the  splendid,  enforcing  the  awful,  darkening  the  gloomy,, 
and  aggravating  the  dreadful :  he  therefore  chose  a  subject  on  which  too  much  could 
not  ba  said;  on  which  he  might  tire  big  fancy  without  the  censure  of  extravagance.* 
So  much  for  Johnson's  originality  ! 


Ixxxiv  LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


There  is  indeed  one  leading  passage  in  Johnson's  criticism,  of  which  no  traces  can 
be  found  in  Addison : — and  behold  what  it  is ! — "  Original  deficience  cannot  oe  sup. 
plied:  the  want  of  human  interest  is  always  felt.  'Paradise  Lost'  is  one  of  the  books 
which  the  reader  admires  and  lays  down,  and  forgets  to  ttke  up  again.  None  ever 
wished  it  longer  than  it  is.  Its  perusal  is  a  duty  rather  than  a  pleasure.  We  read 
Milton  for  instruction;  retire  harassed  and  overburdened,  and  look  elsewhere  for 
recreation;  we  desert  our  master,  and  seek  for  companions  !" 

Such  was  Johnson's  taste ;  such  his  sensibility;  such  the  character  of  his  intellect ! 
Yet  this  is  he  whose  censorious  and  heartless  judgment  is  to  blast  the  fame  of  poets  of 
less  strength  than  Milton,  yet  of  great  merits,  like  Gray  and  Collins ! — who  is  to  set 
up  Blaekmore  and  Watts ;  and  exalt  Dryden  and  Pope  above  all  other  men  of  poetical 
genius ' 

Hav\ng  thus  closely  examined  this  celebrated  critique  of  the  biographer,  I  find  that 
it  sinks  to  nothing ;  and  as  almost  all  his  pretensions  to  critical  judgment  in  the  higher 
branches  of  poetry  have  been  founded  on  it,  the  ground  ought  surely  to  be  taken  from 
under  him.  In  his  discrimination  of  the  respective  merits  of  Dryden  and  Pope  he  is 
more  at  home,  and  therefore  more  to  be  depended  on. 

As  to  Addison's  Essay,  it  ought  to  be  studied  and  almost  got  by  heart  by  every  culti- 
vated mind  which  understands  the  English  language.  It  is  in  all  respects  a  masterly 
performance;  just  in  thought,  full  of  taste  and  the  finest  sensibility,  eloquent  and  beau- 
tiful in  composition,  widely  learned,  and  so  clearly  explanatory  of  the  true  principles 
of  poetry,  that  whoever  is  master  of  them,  cannot  mistake  in  his  decision  of  poetical 
merit     It  puts  Milton  above  all  other  poets,  on  such  tests  as  cannot  be  resisted. 

One  thing,  however^  must  be  observed,  that  neither  Addison  nor  Johnson  seem  much 
acquainted  with  Italian  poetry. 

It  cannot  be  unacceptable  to  put  before  the  reader  a  few  extracts  from  Addison : — 

•*  Homer  and  Virgil  introduced' persons  whose  characters  are  commonly  known  among 
men,  and  such  as  are  to  be  met  with  either  in  history,  or  in  ordinary  conversation : 
Milton's  characters,  most  of  them,  lie  out  of  nature,  and  were  to  be  formed  purely 
by  his  own  invention.  It  shows  a  greater  genius  in  Shakspeare  to  have  drawn  hia 
Caliban,  than  his  Hotspur,  or  Julius  Caesar:  the  one  was  to  be  supplied  out  of  his  own 
imagination,  whereas  the  other  might  have  been  formed  upon  tradition,  history,  and 
observation.  It  was  much  easier,  therefore,  for  Homer  to  find  proper  sentiments  for  an 
ossembly  of  Grecian  generals,  than  for  Milton  to  diversify  his  infernal  council  with 
proper  characters,  and  inspire  them  with  a  variety  of  sentiments.  The  loves  of  Dido 
and  iEneaa  are  only  copies  of  what  has  passed  between  other  persons.  Adam  and  Eve 
before  the  Fall  are  a  different  species  from  that  of  mankind,  who  are  descended  from 
them ;  and  none  but  a  poet  of  the  most  unbounded  invention  and  the  most  exquisite 
judgment,  could  have  filled  their  conversation  and  behaviour  with  so  many  apt  circum 
stances  during  their  state  of  innocence. 

"  Nor  is  it  sufficient  for  an  epic  poem  to  be  filled  with  such  thoughts  as  are  natural, 
unless  it  abound  also  with  such  as  are  sublime.  Milton's  chief  talent,  and  indeed  hiF 
distinguishing  excellence,  lies  in  the  sublimity  of  his  thoughts.  There  are  others  of 
the  moderns,  who  rival  him  in  every  other  part  of  poetry;  but  in  the  greatness  of  his 
sentiments,  he  triumphs  over  all  the  poets  both  modem  and  ancient.  Homer  only 
excepted.  It  is  impossible  for  the  imagination  of  man  to  distend  itself  with  greater 
ideas,  than  those  which  he  has  laid  together  in  his  first,  second,  and  sixth  books. 
The  seventh,  which  describes  the  creation  of  the  world,  is  likewise  wonderfully  sublime, 
though  not  so  apt  to  stir  up  emotion  in  the  mind  of  the  reader,  nor  consequently  so 
perfect  in  the  epic  way  of  writing,  because  it  is  filled  with  less  action.  Let  the  judi- 
cious reader  compare  what  Longinus  has  observed  on  several  passages  in  Homer,  ana 
he  will  find  parallels  for  most  of  them  in  the  '  Paradise  Lost.'  " 

Again,  in  another  place — "  Aristotle  observes,  that  the  fable  of  an  epic  poem  should 
abound  in  circumstances  tlyit  are  both  credible  and  astonishing;  or,  as  the  French  critic 
chooses  to  phrase  it,  the  fable  should  be  filled  with  the  probable  and  the  marvellous. 
This  rule  is  as  fine  and  just  as  any  in  Aristotle's  whole  Art  of  Poetry. 

"  1£  the  fable  is  only  probable,  it  differs  nothing  from  a  true  history ;  if  it  is  only 
marvellous,  it  is  no  better  than  a  romance:  the  great  secret^  therefore,  of  heroic  poetry 


LIFE  OF  MILTON.  Ixxxv 


IS  to  relate  such  circumstances  as  may  produce  in  the  reader  at  the  same  time  both 
belief  and  astonishment.  This  is  brought  to  pass  in  a  well-chosen  fable,  by  the 
account  of  such  things  as  have  really  happened  according  to  the  received  opinions  of 
mankind.  Milton's  fable  is  a  master-piece  of  this  nature;  as  the  War  in  Heaven,  the 
Condition  of  the  Fallen  Angels,  the  State  of  Innocence,  the  Temptation  of  the  Serpent, 
and  the  Fall  of  Man,  though  they  are  very  astonishing  in  themselves,  are  not  only 
credible,  but  actual  points  of  faith. 

"Again,  when  Satan  is  within  prospect  of  Eden,  and  looking  round  upon  the  glories 
of  the  creation,  he  is  filled  with  sentiments  diflferent  from  those  which  he  discovered 
whilst  he  was  in  hell.  The  place  inspires  him  with  thoughts  more  adapted  to  it:  he 
reflects  upon  the  happy  condition  from  whence  he  fell,  and  breaks  forth  into  a  speech 
that  is  softened  with  several  transient  touches  of  remorse  and  self-accusation  :  but  at 
length  he  confirms  himself  in  impenitence,  and  in  his  design  of  drawing  man  into  hij 
own  state  of  guilt  and  misery.  This  conflict  of  passions  is  raised"  with  a  great  deal  of 
art,  as  the  opening  of  his  speech  to  the  Sun  is  very  bold  and  noble. 

"  The  speech  is,  I  think,  the  finest  that  is  ascribed  to  Satan  in  the  whole  poem.  The 
evil  spirit  afterwards  proceeds  to  make  his  discoveries  concerning  our  first  parents,  and 
to  learn  after  what  manner  they  may  be  best  attacked.  His  bounding  over  the  walls 
of  Paradise ;  his  sitting  in  the  shape  of  a  cormorant  upon  the  tree  of  life,  which  stood 
in  the  centre  of  it,  and  overtopped  all  the  other  trees  of  the  garden ;  his  alighting 
among  the  herd  of  animals,  which  are  so  beautifully  represented  as  playing  about 
Adam  and  Eve,  together  with  his  transforming  himself  into  difl'erent  shapes,  in  order 
to  hear  their  conversations,  are  circumstances  that  give  an  agreeable  surprise  to  the 
reader,  and  are  devised  with  great  art,  to  connect  that  series  of  adventures  in  which  the 
poet  has  engaged  this  great  artificer  of  fraud. 

"  The  thought  of  Satan's  transformation  into  a  cormorant,  and  placing  himself  on  the 
Tree  of  Life,  seems  raised  up  on  that  passage  in  the  Iliad,  where  two  deities  are  described 
as  perching  at  the  top  of  an  oak  in  the  shape  of  vultures. 

"  His  planting  himself  at  the  ear*of  Eve  under  the  form  of  a  toad,  in  order  to  pro- 
duce vain  dreams  and  imaginations,  is  a  circumstance  of  the  same  nature,  as  hia 
starting  up  in  his  own  form  is  wonderfully  fine,  both  in  the  literal  description,  and  in 
the  moral  which  is  concealed  under  it.  His  answer  upon  his  being  discovered,  and 
demanded  to  give  an  account  of  himself,  is  conformable  to  the  pride  and  intrepidity  of 
his  character." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  SAME  SUBJECT  CONTINUEI.. 

"The  description  of  Adam  and  Eve"  (continues  Addison  in  his  admirable  Essay), 
"in  tlie  fourth  book,  as  they  first  appeared  to  Satan,  is  exquisitely  drawn,  and  sufficient 
to  make  the  fallen  angel  gaze  upon  them  with  all  that  ast'jnishment,  and  those  emotions 
of  envy,  in  which  he  is  represented. 

"  There  is  a  fine  spirit  of  poetry  in  the  lines  which  follow;  wherein  they  are  described 
as  sitting  on  a  bed  of  flowers,  by  the  side  of  a  fountain,  amidst  a  mixed  assembly  of 
animals.  The  speeches  of  these  first  two  lovers  flow  equally  from  passion  and  sincerity  : 
the  professions  they  make  to  one  another  are  full  of  warmth ;  but  at  the  same  time 
founded  on  truth :  in  a  word,  they  are  the  gallantries  of  Paradise.  The  part  of  Eve's 
speech,  in  which  she  gives  an  account  of  herself  upon  her  first  creation,  and  the  man- 
ner in  which  she  was  brought  to  Adam,  is,  I  think,  as  beautiful  a  passage  as  tny  in 
Milton,  or  perhaps  in  any  other  poet  whatsoever.  These  passages  are  all  worked  off 
with  so  much  art,  that  they  are  capable  of  pleasing  the  most  delicate  reader,  without 
offending  the  most  severe : — 

That  day  I  oft  remoniber,  ■when  from  sleep,  &c. 
A.  poet  of  less  judgment  and  invention  than  this  great  author  would  have  found  it  very 
difficult  to  have  fiUed  these  tender  parts  of  the  poem  with  sentiments  proper  for  a  state 
of  innocence ;  to  have  described  the  warmth  of  love,  and  the  professions  of  it,  without 
artifice  or  hyperbole ;  to  have  made  the  man  speak  the  most  endearing  things,  without 


Ixxxvi  LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


ilesoending  from  his  natural  dignity,  and  the  woman  receiving  them  without  departing 
from  the  modesty  of  her  character;  in  a  word,  to  adjust  the  prerogative  of  wisdom  and 
beauty,  and  malie  each  appear  to  the  other  in  its  proper  force  and  loveliness.  This 
mutml  subordination  of  the  two  sexes  is  wonderfully  kept  up  in  the  whole  poem,  aa 
particularly  on  the  speech  of  Eve,  I  have  before  mentioned,  and  upon  the  conclusion 
of  it ;  when  the  poet  adds  that  the  devil  turned  aside  with  envy  at  the  sight  of  30  much 
happiness,  v.  492,  &c." 

Of  all  the  difficulties  Milton  had  to  overcome,  the  greatest  seems  to  me  to  have  been 
the  description  of  the  battle  of  the  angels  in  the  sixth  book;  because  he  was  necessi- 
tated to  resort  to  material  agency.  It  is  founded  on  Rev.  xii.  7,  8 — "  There  was  war  in 
heaven:  Michael  and  his  angels  fought  against  the  dragon;  and  the  dragon  fought, 
and  his  angels,  and  prevailed  not;  neither  was  their  place  found  any  more  in  heaven." 
Bi.*hop  Newton  says,  "within  the  compass  of  this  one  book  we  have  all  the  variety  of 
battles  that  can  well  be  conceived.  We  have  a  single  combat  and  a  general  engage- 
ment: the  first  day's  fight  is  with  darts  and  swords,  in  imitation  of  the  ancients:  the 
second  day's  fight  is  with  artillery,  in  imitation  of  the  moderns ;  but  the  images  in  both 
are  raised  proportionably  to  the  superior  nature  of  the  beings  here  described :  and 
when  the  poet  has  briefly  comprised  all  that  has  any  foundation  in  fact  and  reality,  he 
has  recourse  to  the  fiction  of  the  poets  in  their  descriptions  of  the  giants'  war  with  the 
gods.     And, 

•  When  war  hath  thus  perform 'd  ■what  war  can  do, 

he  rises  still  higher,  and  the  Son  of  God  is  sent  forth,  in  the  majesty  of  the  Almighty 
Father,  agreeably  to  Scripture ;  so  much  doth  the  sublimity  of  Holy  Writ  transcend  all 
that  is  true,  and  all  that  is  feigned,  in  description." 

In  the  following  passages,  Addison  rises  to  a  sublimity,  which  assuredly  has  never, 
in  any  criticism,  been  surpassed : — "  It  required  great  pregnancy  of  invention,  and 
strength  of  imagination,  to  fill  this  battle  with  such  circumstances  as  should  raise  and 
astonish  the  mind  of  the  reader;  and  at  the  same  time,  an  exactness  of  judgment  to 
avoid  everything  that  might  appear  light  or  trivial.  Those  who  look  into  Homer,  are 
surprised  to  find  his  battles  still  rising  one  above  another,  and  improving  in  horror  to 
the  end  of  the  Iliad.  Milton's  fight  of  angels  is  wrought  up  with  the  same  beauty :  it 
is  ushered  in  with  such  signs  of  wrath  as  are  suitable  to  Omnipotence  incensed.  The 
first  engagement  is  carried  on  under  a  cope  of  fire,  occasioned  by  the  flights  of  innu- 
merable burning  darts  and  arrows  which  are  discharged  from  either  host.'  The  second 
onset  is  still  more  terrible,  as  it  is  filled  with  those  artificial  thunders  which  seem  to 
make  the  victory  doubtful,  and  produce  a  kind  of  consternation  even  in  the  good  angels. 
This  is  followed  by  the  tearing  up  rf  mountains  and  promontories ;  till  in  the  last  place, 
Messiah  comes  forth  in  the  fulness  of  majesty  and  terror.  The  pomp  of  his  appear- 
ance, amidst  the  roarings  of  his  thunders,  the  flashings  of  his  lightnings,  and  the  noise 
of  his  chariot  wheels,  is  described  with  the  utmost  flights  of  human  imagination. 

"  There  is  nothing  on  the  first  and  last  day's  engagement  which  does  not  appear 
natural,  and  agreeable  enough  to  the  ideas  most  readers  would  conceive  of  a  fight 
between  two  armies  of  angels. 

"  The  second  day's  engagement  is  apt  to  startle  an  imagination  which  has  not  been 
raised  and  qualified  for  such  a  description  by  the  reading  of  the  ancient  poets,  and  of 
Homer  in  particular.  It  was  certainly  a  very  bold  thought  in  our  author  lo  ascribe  the 
first  use  of  artillery  to  the  rebel  angels  :  but  as  such  a  pernicious  invention  may  be 
well  supposed  to  have  proceeded  from  such  authors,  so  it  entered  very  properly  into 
the  thoughts  of  that  being,  who  is  all  along  described  as  aspiring  to  the  majesty  of  his 
Maker.  Such  engines  were  the  only  instruments  he  could  have  made  use  of  to  imitate 
those  thunders  that,  in  all  poetry,  both  sacred  and  profane,  are  represented  as  the  arms 
of  the  Almighty.  The  tearing  up  of  hills  was  not  altogether  so  daring  a  thought  as 
the  former :  we  are  in  some  measure  prepared  for  such  an  incident  by  the  description 
of  the  giants'  war,  which  we  meet  with  in  many  of  the  ancient  poets.  What  still  made 
this  circumstance  the  more  proper  for  the  poet's  use,  is  the  opinion  of  many  learned 
men,  that  the  fable  of  the  giants'  war,  which  makes  so  great  a  noise  in  antiquity,  and 
gave  birth  to  the  sublimest  description  in  Hesiod's  works,  was  an  allegory  founded  upon 
this  very  tradition  of  a  fight  between  the  good  and  bad  angels. 


LIFE  OF  MILTON.  Ixxxvii 


"Milton  has  taken  everything  that  is  sublime  from  the  Latin  and  Greek  poets  in 
the  giants'  wars,  and  composes  out  of  them  the  following  great  image : — 
From  their  foundations  loosening:  to  and  fro, 
They  plucked  the  seated  hills  with  all  their  load. 
Rocks,  waters,  woods,  and  by  the  shaggy  tops 
Uplifting,  bore  them  in  their  hands. 

"  Milton  has  likewise  raised  his  description  in  this  book  with  many  images  taken  out 
of  the  poetical  parts  of  Scripture.  The  Messiah's  chariot  is  formed  upon  a  vision  of 
Ezekiel,  who,  as  Grotius  observes,  has  very  much  in  him  of  Homer's  spirit  in  the  po- 
etical parts  of  his  prophecy.  The  lines,  in  that  glorious  commission  which  is  given 
the  Messiah,  to  extirpate  the  host  of  rebel  angels,  are  drawn  from  a  sublime  passage 
in  the  Psalms.    The  reader  will  easily  discover  many  other  strokes  of  the  same  nature. 

"As  Homer  has  introduced  into  his  battle  of  the  gods  everything  that  is  great  and 
terrible  in  Nature,  Milton  has  filled  his  fight  of  good  and  bad  angels  with  all  the  like 
circumstances  of  horror.  The  shout  of  armies,  the  rattling  of  brazen  chariots,  the 
hurling  of  rooks  and  mountains,  the  earthquakes,  the  fire,  the  thunder,  are  all  of  them 
employed  to  lift  up  the  reader's  imagination,  and  give  him  a  suitable  idea  of  so  great 
an  action.  With  what  art  has  the  poet  represented  the  whole  body  of  the  earth  trem- 
bling even  before  it  was  created !  ver.  218,  Ac.  In  how  sublime  and  just  a  manner 
does  he  afterwards  describe  the  orbed  heaven  shaking  under  the  wheels  of  the  Mes- 
siah's chariot,  with  that  exception  of  the  throne  of  God  !  Notwithstanding  the  Messiah 
appears  clothed  with  so  much  terror  and  majesty,  the  poet  has  still  found  means  to 
make  his  readers  conceive  an  idea  of  him,  beyond  what  he  himself  is  able  to  describe, 
ver.  832,  <tc.  In  a  word,  Milton's  genius,  which  was  so  great  in  itself,  and  so  strength- 
ened by  all  the  helps  of  learning,  appears  in  this  book  every  way  equal  to  his  subject, 
which  was  the  most  sublime  that  could  enter  into  the  thoughts  of  a  poet." 

Speaking  of  the  eighth  book,  which  describes  the  creation  of  Adam  and  Eve,  Addi- 
son says, — "  These,  and  the  like  wonderful  incidents  in  this  part  of  the  work,  have  in 
them  all  the  beauties  of  novelty,  at  the  same  time  that  they  have  all  the  graces  of 
nature  :  they  are  such  as  none  but  a  great  genius  could  have  thought  of;  though,  upon 
a  perusal  of  them,  they  seem  to  rise  of  themselves  from  the  subject  of  which  he  treats. 
In  a  word,  though  they  are  natural,  they  are  not  obvfous ;  which  is  the  true  character 
of  all  fine  writing."* 

In  the  tenth  book,  upon  the  arrival  of  Sin  and  Death  into  the  works  of  the  Creation, 
he  observes, — "  The  following  passage,  ver.  641,  Ac,  is  formed  upon  that  glorious  image 
in  Holy  Writ,  which  compares  the  voice  of  an  innumerable  host  of  angels  uttering 
hallelujahs  to  the  voice  of  mighty  thunderings,  or  of  many  waters."     He  continues : — 

"  Though  the  author,  in  the  whole  course  of  his  poem,  particularly  in  the  book  we 
are  now  examining,  has  infinite  allusions  to  places  of  Scripture,  I  have  only  taken 
notice  in  my  remarks  of  such  as  ar3  of  a  poetical  nature,  and  which  are  woven  with 
great  beauty  into  the  body  of  this  fable :  of  this  kind  is  that  passage  in  the  present 
book,  where,  describing  Sin  as  marching  through  the  works  of  nature,  he  adds, 

^  Behind  her  Death 

Close  following  pace  for  pace,  not  mounted  yet 
On  his  pale  horso  : 

whioh  alludes  to  that  passage  in  Scripture,  so  wonderfully  poetical,  and  terrifying  to 
the  imagination: — 'And  I  looked,  and  beheld  a  pale  horse,  and  his  name  that  sai  nn 
him  was  Death,  and  Hell  followed  with  him :  and  power  was  given  unto  them  over  tbo 
fourth  part  of  the  earth,  to  kill  with  sword,  and  with  hunger,  and  with  sickness,  ani 
with  the  beasts  of  the  earth.' " 

Addison  concludes  his  series  of  eloquent,  just,  and  admirable  criticisms  thus  : — 
"  I  have  now  finished  my  observations  on  a  work  which  does  an  honour  to  tlie 
English  nation.  I  bave  taken  a  general  view  of  it  under  these  four  heads, — the  fable, 
tlie  characters,  the  sentiments,  and  the  language  :  I  have  in  the  next  place  spoken  of 
the  censures  which  our  author  may  incur  under  each  of  these  heads;  of  which  I  migh 
have  enlarged  the  number  if  I  had  been  disposed  to  dwell  on  so  ungrateful  a  subject. 

*  Johnson  has  borrowed  this  m  speaking  of  Gray's  Elegy 


Ixxxviii  LIFE  OP  MILTON. 


I  believe  however,  tliat  the  severest  reader  will  not  find  any  little  fault  in  heroic 
poetry,  which  this  author  has  fallen  into,  that  does  not  come  under  one  of  these  head?. 
among  which  I  have  distributed  his  several  blemishes. 

"  After  having  thus  treated  at  large  of  '  Paradise  Lost,'  I  could  not  think  it  sufficient 
to  have  celebrated  this  poem  in  the  whole,  without  descending  to  particulars :  I  have 
therefore  endeavoured  not  only  to  prove  that  the  poem  is  beautiful  in  general,  but  to 
point  out  its  particular  beauties,  and  to  determine  wherein  they  consist.  I  have  endear 
voured  to  show  how  some  passages  are  beautiful  by  being  sublime ;  others  by  being 
soft ;  others  by  being  natural ;  which  of  them  are  recommended  by  the  passion ;  which 
by  the  moral;  which'  by  the  sentiment;  and  which  by  the  expression.  I  have  likewise 
endeavoured  to  show  how  the  genius  of  the  poet  shines  by  a  happy  invention,  a  dis- 
tant allusion,  or  judicious  imitation ;  how  he  had  copied  or  improved  Homer  or  Virgil, 
and  raises  his  own  imaginations  by  the  use  he  has  made  of  several  poetical  passages  in 
Scripture.  I  might  have  inserted  also  several  passages  of  Tasso  which  our  author  has 
imitated ;  but  as  I  do  not  look  upon  Tasso  to  be  a  sufficient  voucher,  I  would  not  per- 
plex my  reader  with  such  quotations,  as  might  do  more  honour  to  the  Italian  than  the 
English  poet.  In  short,  I  have  endeavoured  to  particularize  those  innumerable  kinds 
of  beauty,  which  it  would  be  tedious  to  recapitulate,  but  which  are  essential  to  poetry; 
and  which  may  be  met  with  in  the  works  of  this  great  author." 

I  have  here  cited  enough  to  draw  again  the  attention  of  the  modem  reader  to  an 
elegant  and  exquisite  author,  whom  the  more  recent  fame  of  subsequent  critics  seems 
in  some  degreee  to  have  pushed  aside ;  but  who  is  as  superior  to  Johnson,  as  Milton  ia 
to  Pope  or  Dryden.  Addison  was  not  vigorous  in  his  metrical  compositions ;  but  he 
had  a  beautiful  invention  in  prose.  He  was  a  classical  scholar,  of  far  finer  taste  than 
Johnson ;  and  if  not  more  profound  as  a  moralist,  more  rich,  more  chaste,  and,  as  it 
seems  to  me,  more  original.  Johnson's  critique  on  Milton  is  an  instance  how  much  he 
secretly  borrowed.  In  his  "  Rambler"  is  a  large  proportion  of  verbiage  :  he  has  none 
of  that  nice,  delicate,  and  sensitive  discrimination  which  delights  in  Addison ;  those 
touches  of  the  heart;  those  unforced  and  mellow  observations;  those  flashes  of  polished 
and  exquisite  humour.  He  too  often  dictates  as  a  pedagogue,  and  silences  by  his 
coarseness.  It  is  not  out  of  place  thus  to  censure  him  in  a  "  Life  of  Milton,"  whom  he 
has  traduced  with  as  much  bad  taste  in  literature  as  malignity  of  temper.  And  what 
is  the  worth  of  the  praise  by  which  he  has  afiected  to  counteract  his  scoffs  and  his 
cavils  ? — a  disguised  echo  of  the  encomium  of  a  predecessor,  whose  principles  of  poetry 
he  was  outraging  by  the  whole  tenor  of  his  own  judgments  through  the  series  of  poeti- 
cal biographies  he  was  then  composing.  Examine  the  rules  by  which  Addison  has 
tried  the  details  of  execution  in  the  successive  books  of  "  Paradise  Lost :"  will  the 
praises  or  censures  of  Johnson  on  the  poets  whom  he  has  criticised  abide  these  tests  ? 
Johnson  cared  little  for  poetical  invention,  for  imagery,  or  for  sentiment :  his  whole 
idea  of  excellence  lay  in  what  he  called  ratiocination  in  verse  :  thus  Dryden  and  Pope 
were  his  supreme  favourites. 

I  remember  how  he  shocked  the  taste  and  the  creed  of  the  higher  and  more  imagi 
native  classes  of  his  poetical  readers,  when  his  "  Lives"  came  out^  but  he  was  tho 
fashion  of  the  day ;  and  the  attempt  was  vain  to  stem  the  tide.  The  sensitl/e  were 
stunned  by  his  coarseness ;  and  the  worldlings  and  the  talkers  became  insolent  in  their 
triumph.  An  epigrammatic  point,  an  observation  on  life,  a  stinging  couplet,  can  be 
felt  and  repeated  by  every  pert  disputant  in  society :  but  cite  a  noble  passage  from  a 
great  poet,  and  it  draws  sneers  or  ridicule  ! 

Johnson's  work  did  great  injury  to  the  national  taste ;  and  debases  it  even  to  thig 
day.  Imagination,  repressed  in  its  proper  issues,  has  broken  out  in  wrong  places :  it 
has  become  fantastic  and  distorted ;  in  seeking  not  to  be  obvious,  it  has  become  unna- 
tural.  In  the  search  for  novelty  we  ought  not  to  feign  impossibilities  or  improbabilities ; 
nothing  should  be  extravagant;  nothing  over-coloured.  We  are  to  imagine  what  may 
be ;  but  which  is  at  the  same  time  grand,  beautiful,  or  pathetic.  We  are  to  take 
advantage  of  the  dim  hints  of  remote  history,  to  fill  up  the  details  with  the  marvellous, 
tho  sublime,  and  the  fair.  Poetry  deals  more  with  the  imagination  than  the  under- 
standing ;  but  it  must  not  outrage  the  understanding. 

Some  contend  that  Johnson  had  imagination :  if  he  had,  it  was  the  imagination  of 


LIFE  OF  MILTON.  Ixxxix 


big  and  vague  words:  all  his  "Rasselas"  consists  of  generalizations:  it  is  little  more 
than  a  series  of  moral  observations ;  sometimes  powerful  or  plaintive ;  too  often  pom- 
pous and  verbose,  where  triteness  is  covered  by  grandiloquence.  On  a  few  occasions 
he  may  have  been  picturesque — especially  in  his  "  Journey  to  the  Hebrides ;"  but  very 
rarely.  Sounding  words  are  easily  put  together  by  one  long  practised  in  literary  com- 
position. He  has  given  no  proof  of  distinct  images ;  of  that  power  of  selecting  the 
leading  feature,  which  levives  the  whole  object,  and  which,  above  all  others,  Milton 
and  Shakspeare  possessed;  and  which  distinguish — as  the  epithets  in  Gray's  "Elegy,' 
and  CoUins's  "Ode  to  Evening."  Johnson  not  only  could  not  invent  such,  but  his 
mind  had  no  mirror  for  them  when  they  were  presented  by  others ;  it  gave  him  no 
pleasure  to  muse  upon  them.  He  had  the  faculty  of  powerful  reason  and  strong 
memory ;  but  the  materials  of  thought  afforded  by  his  fancy  were  sterile  and  few :  he 
loved  therefore  society  and  busy  manners  for  the  purposes  of  observation ;  in  solitude 
he  was  miserable :  he  had  no  relief  from  painful  recollections.  It  is  thus,  in  part,  that 
we  may  account  for  his  distaste  of  Milton.  When  he  praised,  the  praise  was  extorted, 
and  borrowed  under  the  powerful  authority  of  a  mightier  critic. 


CHAPTER  XXIL 

THE    MERITS    OP   MILTOK   COMPARED   WITH   THOSE    OF   OTHEB  POElB. 

It  is  universally  admitted  that  the  primary  and  most  essential  quality  of  a  poet  is 
invention;  but  it  must  be  invention  also  of  a  sublime  or  beautiful  kind;  and,  to  be 
perfect,  it  must  display  this  excellence  in  fable,  characters,  sentiments,  and  language. 
Of  all  our  English  poets,  Milton  only  has  combined  all  these  merits.  Shakspeare 
wanted  the  first,  though  he  was  admirable  in  the  last  three.  What  invention  of  fable, 
or  even  of  character,  is  there  in  Dryden  or  Pope  ?  I  can  hardly  think  that  strictly  they 
have  invention  of  sentiments ;  for  these  are  by  them  drawn  from  observation. 

Spenser  attained  the  marvellous  in  pure  invention;  but  his  fictions  go  beyond 
nature,  and  outrage  our  faith.  Chaucer's  tales  are  rarely,  if  ever  original :  they  are 
principally  borrowed  from  the  Italians,  or  from  old  romances.  Saokville's  famous 
legend  is  historical.  The  productions  of  subsequent  poets  of  the  best  f&me, — I  do  not 
speak  of  the  living, — are  too  brief  for  much  fable,  except  of  Lord  Byron  :  but  whatever 
splendours  Lord  Byron  had,  his  fables  are  generally  extravagant.  In  Cowley,  Waller, 
Benham,  Prior,  Thomson,  Collins,  Gray,  Young,  Akenside,  Shenstone,  Cowper,  Burns, 
Beattie,  the  Wartons,  Kirke  White,  Shelley,*  Coleridge,  there  was  no  fable.  In 
Crabbe  were  short  fables ; — but  if  they  did  not  want  nature,  they  wanted  dignity :  they 
were  colloquial  and  monotonous.  Hayley  had  nothing  of  the  force  of  fiction ; — all  hi? 
incidents  were  unpoetical. 

Thus  it  is,  that  before  the  sun  of  Milton,  all  other  stars  are  paled, — unless  of  Homer 
and  Virgil ; — and  what  is  there  in  the  fable  of  these  two  that  can  stand  before  the 
divine  brightness  of  the  bard  of  angels  ? 

With  regard  to  characters, — invention  of  such  as  are  at  once  true  to  nature,  and  yd 
grand,  or  attractive,  is  very  rare.  Those  of  Dryden  and  Pope  are  portraits, — copied 
from  individuals :  they  are  admirable  as  portraits : — but  they  have  not  the  sublimity  of 
poetic  invention ;  they  have  frail  humanity  for  their  types.  They  have  not  the  magni- 
ficence of  Satan  and  his  brother  rebels, — still  less  of  the  good  angels,  nor  the  purity  and 
beauty  of  Adam  and  Eve. 

Where  there  is  not  invention,  there  cannot  be  adequate  grandeur.  Experience  and 
reality  fall  short  of  our  ideal  greatness.  We  can  always  imagine  higher  things  than 
we  observe ;  and  give  full  evidence  to  that  imagination  : — but  not  if  it  exceeds  proba- 
bility,—or  at  least  possibility. — Incredultu  odi,  —  Shakspeare,  having  conceived  a 
character,  always  preserves  it;  as  Macbeth,  Lady  Macbeth,  Lear,  Hamlet,  Ac.  E»cb 
electrifies  by  acting  apppropriately :  but  this  can  never  be  effected  by  drawing  merely 
from  observation :  the  inventor  is  the  master  of  the  very  soul  of  the  person  he  invents. 

*  Sir  Walter  Scott  requires  an  examination  peculiar  to  himself. 
12 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


He  rules  all  the  motives  and  conduct  of  the  invented  being; — and  if  he  paints  anj 
inconsistency,  it  is  from  his  own  weakness,  and  want  of  sagacity. 

The  same  principles  apply  to  the  sentiments  as  to  the  characters :  if  not  in  conformity 
with  the  moral  and  intellectual  traits  of  the  character  represented,  they  are  faulty  j 
while  that  character  itself  must  be  striking  and  estimable,  as  well  as  natural. 

To  invent  fable,  characters,  sentiments, — all  with  these  excellencies, — can  only  be 
within  the  power  of  a  gigantic  mind. — Lastly,  we  come  to  the  language.  This  ought  tc 
be  such  as  expresses  these  complex  inventions  the  most  clearly,  most  harmoniously, 
and  at  the  same  time  with  the  most  dignity.  Whatever  overlays  them, — whatever 
draws  attention  from  the  thought  to  the  words, — is  faulty :  if  the  thought  is  good,  it 
does  not  want  to  be  raised  by  the  dress: — if  it  is  weak,  or  trite,  it  is  not  fit  for  poetry; 
and  no  ornament  of  cover  can  --mpply  a  radical  defect : — on  the  contrary,  it  is  a  decep- 
tion, which,  when  detected,  disgusts. — Tinnit ; — inane  eat. — The  florid  style  is  always 
bad.  An  over-regard  to  a  monotonous  harmony  fatigues  in  Pope.  Nothing  can  be 
more  tiresome  than  a  long  continuation  of  the  unbroken  couplet. 

Milton's  metrical  combinations, — unfettered  by  rhyme,  run  into  every  variety  and 
extent  of  musical  cadence ; — and  his  diction  has  often  double  force  from  its  bold  naked- 
ness.    His  majestic  thoughts  support  themselves  in  the  plainest  words. 

What  is  called  an  illustrative  imagination  is  a  feebler  sort  of  power : — it  is  a  petty 
invention. — Metaphors  and  similes  may  occasionally  show  visibly  what  in  its  abstrac- 
tion is  not  easily  conceived ;  but  these  are  rarely  necessary  except  in  didactic  poetry, 
which  is  of  an  inferior  class.  Sometimes  the  thought  and  the  metaphor  rise  togethei 
in  the  mind,  and  cannot  be  separated;  but  there  are  spiritual  ideas  sublimer  than  any 
illustration  from  materiality. 

The  embodiment  ought  to  lie,  not  in  the  metaphor,  but  in  the  abstraction  itself.  By 
the  junction  of  the  metaphor  there  are  two  ideas  ;  and  the  attention  is  drawn  from  the 
principal  to  the  secondary.  He,  whose  chief  strength  exists  in  his  secondary  ideas,  ia 
not  a  great  poet.  I  must  confess  that  I  think  this  was  mainly  the  case  with  Dryden 
and  Pope.  What  are  Pope's  "Moral  Essays"  but  illustration  and  decoration? — A 
vast  proportion  of  the  primary  thoughts  is  trite. — There  is  no  embodiment  except  in 
the  dress : — the  inside  remains  abstract.  There  is  not  only  no  contexture  of  fable,  but 
no  fable  at  all.  Mere  skill  in  language  can  never  supply  the  want  of  fable,  or  charac- 
ters, or  sentiments. 

Characters  and  sentiments  derive  a  complex  force  from  a  well-combined  fable :  they 
are  comparatively  feeble,  if  insulated.  The  actions  and  the  movements  of  the  head 
and  heart  are  operated  upon  by  the  osnflicting  or  consecutive  incidents  of  the  fable; 
and  each  differently  according  to  the  discriminative  conformation  of  the  respective 
actors.  That  generalization,  which  separates  the  represented  being  from  an  intricate 
and  particular  train  of  circumstances,  can  never  exhibit  him  in  those  strong,  affecting, 
and  vivid  lights,  which  are  forced  forward  by  the  gradual  developments  of  a  well- 
feigned  and  well-told  tale. 

Let  Pope  draw  the  characters  of  Buckingham  and  Wharton — to  say  nothing  of  tho 
absence  of  invention, — we  do  not  read  then"  in  a  moral  worked  up  by  the  recital  of  a 
long  succession  of  incidents.  They  are  single  figures, — contemplated  only  by  them- 
selves. The  absence  of  fable,  then,  is  a  defect,  which  must  insuperably  disqualify  a 
candidate  for  a  seat  on  the  highest  point  of  Parnassus.  Will  the  "  Rape  of  the  Lock" 
be  pleaded  in  Pope's  favour  ?  Here  the  invention  has  neither  greatness  nor  nature :  it 
is  a  sportive  trifle,  as  far  as  the  fable  goes :  it  is  a  piece  of  exquisite  artifice ;  a  laboured 
gem  of  filagree-work. 

The  power  of  language  must  not  be  wanting ; — but  it  is  the  least  of  the  four  requi- 
sites. It  cannot  be  truly  good,  where  the  thought  is  wanting; — but  it  is  sometimes 
wanting  where  the  thought  is  good.  It  is  that,  of  which  the  semblance  of  excellence  is 
ttost  easily  attained ;  and  which  is  most  apt  to  delude  the  common  reader. 

Flowing  language  is  the  taste  of  superficiil  and  feeble  minds  r  perhaps  it  is  because 
they  only  regard  the  ornament,  and  can  take  in  but  a  single  image  at  a  time.  If  there 
be  deep  thought  into  the  bargain,  it  is  too  complex  for  them. 

Let  us  suppose, — what  I  am  afraid  is  true, — that  Milton  is  too  high  for  the  voluntary 
tftste  of  common  intellect; — ^yet  it  ia  surely  a  duty,  that  all  who  desire  to  attain  tho 


LIFE  OF  MILTON.  xcl 


advantages  of  a  cultivated  education,  should  have  impressed  upon  them  by  labour  and 
care  his  sublimity,  his  beauty,  and  his  wisdoo.  We  may  not  only  improve,  but  acquire 
taste  by  patient  lessons.  By  distinctly  studying  the  genuine  purposes  of  poetry ;  by 
having  pointed  out  to  us  in  whom  the  chief  merit  lies ;  by  learning  in  what  it  consists  J 
by  clear  definitions  and  demonstrative  explanations ;  by  examples  precisely  applicable  j 
by  calm  reasoning ;  by  unexaggerated  praise, — we  may  assist  and  lead  the  populai 
opinion  and  sympathy. 

There  will  always  be  books  of  bad  criticism, — books  proceeding  not  only  from  a 
vicious  judgment  or  mean  taste,  but  from  interested  motives;  and  these  will  have 
the  more  effect,  because  they  flatter  the  opinions  and  failings  of  the  vulgar :  but  thej 
ought  not  to  go  uncounteracted :  what  is  repeated  without  contradiction  is  soon  taken 
to  be  a  truth. 

The  true  principles  of  poetical  invention  laid  down  by  Addison  are  incontrovertible; 
but  they  are  not  such  as  are  assumed  by  common  critics, — who  deem  the  improbable 
and  the  extravagant  a  greater  proof  of  genius  than  the  natural ; — who,  at  the  same 
time,  like  a  tale  of  familiar  life  better  than  a  tale  of  genuine  grandeur;  and  who  con- 
sider a  piquant  epigram  on  the  manners  of  daily  occurrence  a  better  proof  of  intellect 
and  sagacity  than  an  epic  poem. 

I  know  not  why  vulgarity  should  be  considered  natural;  but,  if  it  be  so,  there  is  a 
high  nature  also,  as  well  as  a  low  nature,  and  poets  are  bound  to  choose  the  best.  The 
characters,  the  sentiments,  the  language — all  must  follow  the  tone  and  colours  of  the 
fable.  In  choosing  his  fable,  therefore,  Milton  felt  conscious  of  his  own  gigantic 
power.  Any  other  mind  would  have  shrunk  from  the  hope  to  sustain  the  other  requi 
sites  at  the  same  height  Homer  or  Virgil  might  find  no  diflBculty  in  supporting  the 
career  of  Achilles,  Hectcr,  or  iEueas ;  but  how  different  the  case  of  the  first  two  of  human 
beings  before  the  Fall ;  or  of  their  seducer,  the  rebel  angel — Satan. 

There  is  copious  and  diversified  inventior.  in  the  Fairy  Queen;  but  it  wants  unity,  and 
unbroken  progression  to  one  definite  end.  It  is  almost  like  a  collection  of  episodes  :  the 
tales  are  concurrent  rather  than  consecutive. — Under  all  the  influences  of  chivalry, 
when  it  was  not  yet  extinct,  the  mind  might  be  brought  to  have  a  poetical  belief  of 
those  tales  as  allegories ;  but  that  belief  can  scarcely  be  sustained  now  that  the  feudal 
ages  have  passed  away.  Even  in  Spenser's  own  age,  he  often  verged  on  the  bounds 
of  what  the  mind  would  then  deem  extravagant.  Our  poetical  belief  in  "  Paradise 
Lost"  is  cherished  by  our  belief  in  Scripture.  It  is  miraculous  that  he  never  offenda 
the  imagination,  considering  our  habitual  awe  on  such* subjects. 

Dante  is  often  sublime  as  he  is  gloomy,  and  has  a  grand  and  vast  imaginative  inven- 
tion ;  but  he  has  no  combination  and  unity  of  fable ;  and  he  has  only  sketches  and 
outlines  rather  than  finished  characters.  His  sentiments  are  sometimes  obscure,  and 
there  is  a  mass  of  crude  and  irrelevant  intermixtures :  it  is  something  of  a  chaos  of 
mighty  fragments,  rather  than  a  regular  building  of  finished  Gothic  architecture.  Of 
Milton,  all  the  parts  are  exactly  disposed,  and  none  left  imperfect :  they  are  all  of  the 
game  date,  in  the  same  style,  and  in  the  most  graceful  proportions. 

Beautiful  poetry,  with  an  equal  regard  to  the  four  essential  principles,  may  be  writ- 
ten on  a  far  humbler  subject  than  Milton's  :  but  where  is  it  now  to  be  found? — and  why 
has  it  not  been  written  ?  One  cause  I  would  assign  is  this,  that  false  criticism  chills  it 
Technical  critics  require  technical  excellences  :  they  like  finer  work,  and  gaudy  colours, 
and  varnish :  they  pay  little  regard  to  the  solid  ore ;  they  look  to  the  mechanical  work- 
manship :  there  must  be  a  flower  here,  and  a  piece  of  gold-leaf  there ;  and  all  must  be 
polished  into  one  uniform  model  till  it  shines,  and  sparkles,  and  dazzles :  or,  on  the 
other  hand,  it  must  be  full  of.  such  wonders  as  were  never  heard  or  thought  of  before ; 
— raving  expressions,  irregular  and  dissonant  numbers,  and  an  affected  sort  of  madness, 
which  is  called  originality  and  invention !  Since  the  bursting  forth  of  the  French 
Revolution  in  1789,  we  have  had  a  great  deal  of  this :  it  has  begun  to  subside ;  better 
oriticisiTB  and  wiser  timej  arc  come.  Nothing  unnatural  and  monstrous  has  ever  long 
kept  its  hold  on  the  pullic  taste. 

Addison's  rules  are  so  founded  on  eternal  reason,  that  they  never  can  be  shaken. 
There  cannot  be  true  poetry  of  a  high  order  without  invention  of  fable,  characters,  and 
sentiments,— and  those  having  such  qualities  as  the  critic  demands.    A  fantastic  inven- 


LIFE  OF  MILTON". 


tion  is  the  invention  of  a  madman :  it  is  not  genius  !  The  purpose  of  poetry  la  ta  con- 
vey exalted  truths  through  the  medium  of  feigned  examples :  if  it  gives  no  instructioDj 
one  requisite  of  prime  poetry  is  wanting.  They  who  only  deal  in  decorative  poetry, 
produce  flowers  without  fruits ;  and,  generally,  only  artificial  flowers. 

If  we  receive  any  pleasu-e  from  these  stimulative  compositions,  they  work  us  into  a 
factitious  fury,  which  unfits  us  for  the  sober  business  of  life.  We  retire  from  the  holy 
strains  of  Milton,  improved  in  wisdom,  fortified  against  the  ills  of  existence,  patient  in 
adversity,  and  glorying  in  the  works  of  the  Creator.  His  enthusiasm  is  always  philo- 
sophical. 

Many  will  think  me  too  severe  in  the  application  of  the  theory  I  have  adopted, 
because  it  will  degrade  into  a  much  lower  class  several  of  their  favourite  poets.  They 
may  still  regard  them  with  affection,  for  they  may  still  aflford  them  refined  pleasures; 
but  we  must  not  put  their  pretentions  on  false  grounds.  He  cannot  strictly  deserve  the 
name  of  poet,  who  is  not  an  inventor  or  creator;  and  he  who  does  not  admire  Milton 
to  enthusiasm,  does  not  know  what  poetry  is :  he  may  delude  himself,  but  the  test  ia 
infallible.  Mean  and  dull  minds  love  the  worst  poets  most,  or,  rather,  those  smooth 
versifiers  who  have  no  poetry  in  them. 


CHAPTER  XXIIL 
ON  "paradise  regained." 

There  is  less  complex  fable  in  the  "  Paradise  Regained"  than  in  its  predecessor :  it 
is  chiefly  argumentative,  while  the  other  is  narrative,  dramatic,  and  full  of  imagery; 
but  it  is  scarcely  less  sublime,  if  we  may  allow  of  argumentative  sublimity.  It  has  fer 
more  of  the  moral  and  practical  wisdom,  which  relates  to  the  state  of  mankind  after 
the  Fall,  and  therefore  afibrds  more  lessons  of  instruction.  It  has  less  of  the  blaze  of 
the  sun,  but  more  of  the  mellow  mildness  of  its  setting  radiance :  it  has,  however, 
enough  of  fable  in  it,  in  the  poetical  sense :  the  characters  are  few,  and  the  language, 
for  the  most  part,  subdued  and  plain :  tho  sentiments  are  abundant,  wise,  elevated,  and 
beautiful.  Here  the  poet  is  more  profuse,  and  more  rich,  even  than  in  the  "  Paradise 
Lost"  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  admit  that  there  is  less  genius  or  less  excellence  in 
this  poem  than  in  the  other.  If  fable  were  the  only  grand  essence  of  poetry,  then  I 
must  yield.  Imagery  implies  materiality  and  embodiment :  so  far  it  is  less  splendid  ; 
but  my  own  taste  leads  me  to  the  intellectual,  the  spiritual,  the  ideal.  This  may  allow 
of  fable,  as  well  as  what  is  more  narrative ;  yet  it  cannot  be  denied  that  there  is  less 
invention  in  the  "  Paradise  Regained :"  the  story  being  singular,  there  was  less  oppor- 
tunity for  it  Milton  had,  in  the  second  book  of  his  Reason  of  Church  Government, 
long  before  hinted  that  the  rules  of  Aristotle  were  not  always  strictly  to  be  kept;  but 
rather  nature  to  be  followed ;  and  that  the  Book  of  Job  might  be  considered  as  "  a 
brief  model  of  an  epic  poem." 

However  we  may  rebel  against  the  principles  of  Aristotle  when  they  are  arbitrary, 
we  must  consider  the  greater  part  of  them  to  be  built  on  nature  and  truth ;  and  so  fai 
not  to  be  departed  from.  Fiction,  therefore,  whether  imaginative  or  spiritual,  is  indis- 
pensable to  poetry.  For  this  reason,  history  in  metre  is  not  poetry;  nor  is  the  narra- 
tive of  what  is  drawn  from  observation  poetry. 

I  am  fully  aware  what  will  be  the  result  of  an  adherence  to  these  strict  principles  :  it 
will  exclude  a  great  part  of  what  has  taken  to  itself  the  name  of  poetry.  When  a 
writer  of  verses  speaks  in  his  own  person,  and  describes,  not  his  visionary,  but  his  actual 
feelings  and  opinions,  it  is  not  poetry.  We  canno*.  lift  ourselves  up  to  the  height  of  an 
Invented  character,  because  sad  realities  intervene  to  chill  us. 

Let  us  take  the  example  of  a  popular  author,  and  refer  to  Cowper's  "  Task,"  Here 
Is  no  fable ;  here  are  no  invented  characters ;  it  wants  therefore  a  primary  essential  of 
the  best  I'oetry.  Then  why  does  it  please? — because  it  is  the  language  of  po-stry; 
because  in  his  own  person  the  author  speaks  the  sentiments  and  tone  of  poetry.  Still 
khe  one  grand  requisite  is  not  there. 

The  same  objection  applies  to  the  greater  part  of  Cowley's  works,  except  to  the  lan- 
>2;uag8,  where  there  is  often  beautiful  imagery.    I  believe  nobody  reads  the  "  Davidois.* 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


There  is  no  invented  fable  in  Pope's  "  Eloisa :" — all  that  is  borrowed  either  from  biogra- 
phy or  former  fictions.  All  the  charm  lies  in  the  animation,  passion,  and  harmonious 
eloquence  of  the  style  and  versification.  The  true  poet  surrounds  himself  with  ideal 
worlds;  he  lives  out  of  himself;  he  lives  in  others,  but  those  others  of  his  own  erea- 
iion.  He  escapes  from  realities  to  possibilities ;  bat  how  few  have  strength  of  wing  for 
this !  Scarce  any  can  long  support  themselves  in  the  air :  in  those  ethereal  realms 
their  wings  soon  drop  beneath  the  heat.  They  are  willing  to  rest  upon  the  earth,  and 
be  content  with  the  solid  substances  around  and  before  them.  Appeals  to  the  imagina- 
tion, however,  are  not  the  less  excellent,  because  they  are  above  the  vulgar  taste 
Beoause  there  are  those  among  the  people  whom  something  of  fact  pleases  better  than 
exalt<Ml  fiction,  is  this  fiction  to  be  debased  in  the  scale  of  excellence  ?  We  know  not 
the  mysteries  of  Providence,  nor  why  this  great  poetical  genius  is  so  sparingly  dis- 
pensed :  we  only  know  that  upon  this  great  scale  all  except  four  or  five  are  found 
wanting.  Poetical  artists,  whose  skill  lies  in  the  mechanical  parts,  are  numerous  ;  the 
dress  is  a  bauble;  the  creative  thought  is  the  essence.  There  is  not  much  difficulty  in 
finding  language  to  illustrate  a  trite  truth,  and  rhymes  to  give  it  harmony  to  the  ear; 
but  the  combination  of  incidents,  and  exhibition  of  ideal  characters,  is  another  affair. 

I  have  already  said  that  we  have  scarcely  any  Epics  in  our  language  subsequent  to 
Milton's,  except  the  mean  and  miserable  flatnesses  of  Blackmore :  perhaps,  however,  a 
few  modern  poems  may  come  under  the  denomination ;  as  Southey's  "  Joan  of  Arc," 
"  Madoc,"  and  "  Roderic,"  and  some  of  Scott's  and  Byron's  productions ;  but  Scott's 
are  more  lyrical,  and  many  of  Byron's  Tales  incline  to  this.  They  want  the  regularity 
of  the  old  heroic  poem :  the  characters,  too,  are  not  quite  natural.  Gray's  "  Bard"  may 
be  called  a  fable ;  but  if  it  be,  it  is  a  lyrical  fable. 

After  the  choice  of  subjects  executed  by  Milton,  all  others  fade  into  littleness.  This 
is  one  of  the  difficulties  which  he  has  thrown  upon  his  successors.  The  actors  and  the 
machinery  from  human  materials  must  appear  foiiiparatively  uninteresting.  We  may 
invent  some  great  hero;  but  how  spiritless  will  lie  appear  before  Satan!  and  how  mean, 
before  Adam  and  Eve,  will  all  other  human  beings  show  themselves ! 

Still  something  might  be  done  better  than  has  been  done;  at  once  natural,  vigorous, 
and  new.  We  may  imagine  characters  distinctly  discriminated,  moral,  intellectual,  gene- 
rous, bold,  enterprising,  lofty;  and  we  may  put  them  into  a  progression  of  movement?, 
wading  through  conflicting  obstacles,  and  going  forwards  to  some  great  end.  We  may 
borrow  these  from  no  history,  nor  derive  much  from  observation — the  whole  may  bo 
invention ;  yet  we  may  keep  close  to  the  probabilities  of  nature,  but  nature  sublimed  by 
virtue,  and  high  inborn  endowments. 

This  will  free  us  from  the  servile  task  of  copying  from  actual  examples,  •which 
freezes  the  energies  of  the  mind,  and  binds  us  down  in  chains  to  the  earth ;  because 
we  can  always  imagine  more  than  we  can  find,  and  conceive  ideal  virtue  higher  than 
any  which  experience  justifies.  So  of  ideal  beauty ; — we  can  embody  visions  of 
fairness  and  purity,  such  as  no  individual  ever  possessed. 

But  to  invent  single  characters  is  not  so  impracticable,  as  to  make  several  so  in- 
vented act  their  parts  in  one  story,  and  have  their  respective  qualities  drawn  out  by 
the  conflict.  '■'■Hie  labor,  hoc  opus  esty  A  short  poem,  delineating  a  single  character, 
real  or  imaginary,  does  but  little.  Prior's  "  Henry  and  Emma"  goes  a  little  farther, 
but  the  fable  is  not  his  own :  he  has  merely  given  a  modem  versification  to  the  dia- 
logue. As  far  as  it  goes,  it  is  very  beautiful.  Gray's  "Elegy"  is  a  soUloquy,  and 
not  of  an  ideal  person.     Not  one  of  Dryden's  fables  is  original. 

It  is  remarked  that  the  style  of  the  "  Paradise  Kegained  "  is  much  less  encumbered 
with  allusions  to  abstruse  learning  than  the  "  Paradise  Lost."  DiflFerent  critics  assign 
diiferent  reasons  for  this.  It  is  probable  that  the  poet  was  influenced  by  regard  to  the 
simple  language  of  the  New  Testament :  in  previous  parts  of  the  Bible  there  is  much 
more  of  poetical  ornament  and  figurative  richness. 

It  is  probable  also  that  the  latter  poem  was  written  more  hastily  and  less  laboured, 
As  to  much  imagery,— though  a  splendid  charm,  when  just  and  grand,  or  beautiful, 
— it  is  not  an  essential  of  poetry.  There  may  be  invention,  which  is  not  in  its  strict 
Bense  imaginative :  it  may  be  purely  intellectual  and  spiritual. 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


CHAPTER  XXrV. 

ON   MILTOff'S  JUVENILE  POEUS. 

It  appears,  that  Milton,  from  the  first  verses  he"  composed,  aiways  tended  to  sacred 
objects,  and  was  always  familiar  with  the  style  and  images  of  the  Scripture  :  ha  had 
early  the  idea  of  an  epic  poem;  but  his  first  productions  were  short  and  lyrical :  in 
these  the  invention  lay  in  the  sentiments  and  language  :  he  was  always  picturesque, 
and  often  sublime  :  his  "  L'Allegro"  and  "  II  Penseroso"  are  almost  entirely  descriptire. 
though  there  is  something  of  a  distftct  character  in  those  descriptions  as  applicable 
to  different  states  of  mind.  Here  he  speaks  mainly  in  his  own  person,  and  consonant  to 
his  own  individual  taste  :  I  think,  however,  that  there  is  less  originality  in  these  than 
in  most  of  his  other  poems. 

"Comus"  is  the  invention  of  a  beautiful  fable,  enriched  with  shadowy  beings  and 
visionary  delights :  every  line  and  word  is  pure  poetry,  and  the  sentiments  are  as 
exquisite  as  the  images.  It  is  a  composition  which  no  pen  but  Milton's  could  have  pro- 
duced ;  though  Shakspeare  could  have  written  many  parts  of  it,  yet  with  less  regu- 
larity, and,  of  course,  less  philosophical  thought  and  learning ;  less  profundity  and 
solemnity;  but  perhaps  with  more  buoyancy  and  transparent  flow. 

"  Lycidas"  stands  alone :  Johnson  says  it  has  no  passion ;  the  passion  results  from 
the  imaginative  richness :  the  bursts  of  picturesque  imagery  give  a  melancholy  rapture 
to  a  sensitive  fancy.  But  Johnson  had  no  fancy.  It  is  like  entering  into  an  enchanted 
forest,  where  the  wood-nymphs  are  mourning  over  their  loves  in  strains  of  aerial  music; 
or  approaching  a  fairy  island,  where  the  sea-nymphs  are  singing  melodious  dirges  from 
its  promontories. 

Johnson's  censure  of  Milton  for  representing  himself  and  Lycidas  as  shepherds,  would 
go  to  destroy  all  figurative  language.  A  shepherd's,  as  long  as  poetry  has  been  known, 
has  been  considered  a  poetical  life :  his  conversance  with  the  fields  and  open  air,  joined 
to  his  leisure,  connects  itself  with  all  the  picturesque  imagery.  The  Scriptures  would 
have  afforded  the  critic  an  authority  which  one  should  have  supposed  he  would  have 
respected ;  as,  for  instance,  the  beautiful  adaptation  of  Addison,  beginning 

The  I,ord  my  pasture  shall  prepare. 
And  feed  me  with  a  shepherd's  care. 

But  Johnson  had  an  abhorrence  of  a  rural  abode :  with  him  "  the  full  tide  of  life  was 
at  Charing-Cross."  He  preferred  the  roll  of  the  hackney-coach,  and  the  cries  of  Lon- 
don, to  the  sound  of  the  woodman's  axe,  the  shepherd's  halloo,  and  the  echo  of  the 
deep-mouthed  hounds  ringing  from  some  forest-slope ;  and  the  witticisms  of  aldermen 
in  waistcoats  of  scarlet-and-gold  at  the  full-clad  table  of  Thrale  the  brewer,  to  dreams 
by  the  side  of  murmuring  rivers,  or  a  book  in  some  shade,  with  the  greenery  of  nature 
at  his  feet. 

It  is  not  true  that  there  is  no  grief  in  "  Lycic  as ;"  but  grief  shows  itself  in  different 
minds  according  as  they  are  differently  constructed.  An  imaginative  mind  does  not 
grieve  in  the  same  way  as  a  sterile  one  :  it  is  not  stunned ;  it  expatiates  abroad  :  it  dwells 
on  all  the  scenes  in  which  it  has  been  associated  with  the  object  of  its  loss.  If  it  is  full 
of  tears,  those  tears  are  gilded  by  hope :  but  Johnson  looked  to  death  only  with  a  sullen 
gloom;  he  saw  no  bright  emanations  of  joy  playing  in  the  skies :  with  him  it  was,  that 

Low.  sullen  sounds  his  grief  beguiled.— Collins. 

Johnson  prefers  Cowley's  "  Elegy  on  his  friend  W.  Hervey,"  on  account  of  its  plain 
nnmetaphorical  language.  Why  did  he  not  mention  that  of  Tickell  on  Addison,  where 
he  speaks  of  their  walking  and  conversing  in  consecrated  groves  ?  The  critic  says  there 
is  no  nature  in  "  Lycidas,"  for  there  is  no  truth  ;  no  art,  for  there  is  nothing  new.  This 
I  do  not  understand ;  a  proper  novelty  is  the  result  of  genius,  not  of  art.  But  the 
assertion  that  there  is  no  novelty  in  this  composition  is  not  just :  the  imagery  and  the 
combinations  are  all  new :  raciness  is  one  of  its  beautiful  characteristics :  it  is  full  of 
imagery ;  but  principally  primal,  not  metaphorical  imagery.  "  Lycidas"  appears  to  me 
mnch  more  vigorous,  more  expansive,  more  vivid,  more  full  of  sentiment  and  intellectu- 
ality, than  •  L'Allegro"  and  "  II  Penseruso,"  which  are  the  popular  favouritea. 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


It  is  extraordinary  that  Johnson  had  the  courage  to  venture  such  a  disrepuiable 
criticism ;  but  he  was  now  in  the  height  of  his  fame,  and  had  grown  humoursome  and 
arbitrary.  His  contemporaries  feared  his  vituperation  and  personal  invectives.  The 
Wartons  were  mild  men,  and  loved  too  much  their  own  quiet  :*  Mason  lived  at  a  dis- 
tance from  him,  and  abhorred  and  feared  him :  Gray  was  dead :  Johnson's  club  were 
all  his  flatterers  and  worshippers:  Burke  was  absorbed  in  politics;  and  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  never  ventured  to  engage  in  literary  conflict  with  him.  A  few  feeble  missilee 
were  aimed  at  him  by  Potter  and  other  mediocrists ;  but  it  was  a  crisis  of  no  brilliance! 
Hayley  became  a  fashionable  poet;  and  Beattie  lost  his  spirits,  and  could  not  carry  the 
"Minstrel"  beyond  the  second  canto:  Robertson  and  Gibbon  were  great  in  history; 
but  tney  did  not  much  concern  themselves  with  poetry :  Sir  William  Jones  was  yet 
young,  vain,  and  ambitious  to  go  with  the  stream :  Horace  Walpole  was  too  delicate, 
and  too  fearful  of  the  rude  ridicule  of  Johnson  to  enter  the  lists  with  him ;  nor  probably 
would  his  taste  have  led  him  to  it:  I  doubt  whether  Milton's  genius  had  much  of  his 
sympathy. 

In  this  age,  such  an  ebullition  of  vulgar  acrimony  and  hard  insensibility  would  not 
have  been  left  unassailed  and  unrepelled.  The  Southeys,  the  Lockharts,  the  Words- 
worths,  the  Wilsons,  the  Campbells,  the  Moores,  and  many  an  unfleshed  sword  besides, 
would  all  have  stepped  forth.  The  flattering  Thrales,  and  Boswells,  and  Hawkinses, 
and  Murphys,  would  have  had  no  shield. 

I  do  not  know  how  Cowper  felt :  he  had  not  yet  broke  forth  into  fame,  and  perhaps 
was  too  meek  to  have  then  dared  an  opinion  of  his  own ;  but  he  has  left  many  proofs 
that  he  was  a  devoted  admirer  of  Milton.  I  was  a  boy  when  the  Life  of  Milton  came 
out;  though  the  Lives  of  the  more  modern  poets  appeared  after  I  arrived  at  Cam- 
bridge ;  and  then  my  indignation  at  the  attacks  on  Collins  and  Gray  rose  to  a  height 
which  has  never  since  subsided. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 
ON  Milton's  sonnets. 

The  Sonnets  are  another  object  of  Johnson's  virulent  attack :  they  have  a  character 
of  their  own,  supported  for  the  most  part  by  a  naked  majesty  of  thought.  The  model 
is  drawn  from  the  Italians ;  and  Milton's  favourite,  Dante,  set  him  the  example.  He 
took  little  from  the  tone  of  Petrarch  :  he  has  none  of  Petrarch's  sweetness.  The  stern- 
ness, severity,  gloominess,  and  sublimity  of  Dante  had  his  entire  sympathy.  The 
English  reader  may  find  specimens  of  Dante's  manner  in  his  Sonnets,  excellently  trans- 
lated by  Hayley,  in  the  notes  to  his  poem  on  Epic  Poetry :  I  must  admit  that,  in  the 
Sonnets,  Milton  has  not  reached  his  model. 

The  brevity  of  the  Sonnet  will  scarcely  admit  the  greater  traits  of  poetry :  there  is 
no  space  for  fable;  but  for  the  preservation  of  a  single  grand  thought  it  is  admirably 
fitted.  Mr.  Dyce,  in  his  "  Specimens  of  English  Sonnets,  from  the  time  of  Henry  VIII., 
chronologically  arranged,"  has  shown  their  progress  and  their  fashions.  They  were 
favourites  with  Spenser  and  Shakspeare,  and  many  less  eminent  poets  of  those  days  j 
as  Sydney,  Constable,  B.  Barnes,  Daniel,  and  Drayton.  It  appears  to  me  that  the  Son- 
nets both  of  Spenser  and  Shakspeare  have  been  commended  too  much  ;  they  are  quaint, 
laboured,  and  often  metaphysical.  Of  all  authors,  Wordsworth  has  most  succeeded  in 
this  department. 

But  there  are  many  of  Milton's  which  are  very  grand  in  their  nakedness :  they  have 
little  of  picturesque  imagery.  To  make  use  once  more  of  an  expression  of  Johnson — 
not  as  applied  to  them,  but  to' other  p.arts  of  Milton — their  sublimity  is  argumentative- 
it  is  intellectual  and  spiritual.  There  is  something  at  times  of  ruggedness  and  involu- 
tion in  the  words :  they  rarely  flow.  They  are  spoken  as  by  one,  who,  conscious  of  the 
force  of  the  thought,  scorns  ornament;  they  have  something  of  the  brevity  and  the  dic- 
tatorial tone  of  the  oracle,  and  seem  to  come  from  one  who  feels  conscious  that  he  ifi 

*  As  T.  Warton's  book  appeared  in  1785,  ho  probably  composed  his  remarks  soon  after  the 
"  Lives"  ivere  published  in  1781.  Whether  he  would  have  printed  them  while  the  Doctor 
lived,  may  be  a  question. 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


entitled  to  authority.  Compositiors  so  short  can  only  have  weight  when  they  «ome 
from  established  names:  every  word  ought  to  be  pregnant  with  mind,  wilh  ch.ught, 
sentiment,  or  imagery.  The  form  will  not  allow  diffuseness  and  smooth  diluced  periods: 
the  repetition  of  the  rhymes  certainly  aggravates  the  difiBculty. 

If  it  can  be  shown  that  in  any  one  of  these  Sonnets  of  Milton  there  \e  not  much  ster 
ling  ore,  I  will  give  it  up.  In  all  there  is  some  important  thought,  or  opinion,  or  senti* 
ment  developed.  The  modulation  may  sometimes  appear  rough  to  delicate  and  sickly 
ears ;  and  there  is  not  the  nice  polish  of  a  lady's  gem  come  from  a  refining  jeweller's 
workshop :  it  is  all  massy  gold, — not  fillagreed  away  into  petty  ornaments. 

The  Sonnet  on  Cromwell  is  majestic ; — on  his  blindness,  sublime ; — on  his  twenty- 
second  birth-day,  both  pathetic  and  exalted:  others  are  moral  and  axiomatic;  and 
others  descriptive.     Not  one  is  a  mere  effusion  of  idle  words  or  insipid  common-place 
not  one  has  the  appearance  of  being  written  for  the  sake  of  writing. 

The  necessity  of  compression  gives  this  form  of  composition  a  great  merit,  when  the 
fountain  of  the  writer's  mind  is  abundant.  It  is  true,  that  in  this  short  space,  biirren- 
ness  itself  can  find  enough  to  fill  up  the  outline;  but  in  Milton  there  is  no  unmeaning - 
sentence  or  useless  word.  The  form  of  the  Sonnet,  however,  does  not  refuse  melliflu- 
onsness  when  the  occasion  requires,  as  Petrarch  almost  everywhere  proves.  No  verses 
can  be  more  mellifluous  than  Petrarch's :  something  of  this  will,  perhaps,  be  attributed 
to  the  softness  of  the  Italian  language ;  but  the  English  tongue  is  also  capable  of  it, 
however  obstinately  Johnson  may  have  pronounced  otherwise.  Milton  had  no  Laura 
to  flatter  and  idolize :  he  found  in  his  wife  a  dull,  insensate,  and  capricious  woman, 
nnwarmed  by  his  genius,  and  inapprehensive  of  his  moral  qualities :  his  admiration 
turned  to  disgust,  and  his  resentment  to  bitterness.  One  may  conceive  that  his  genir.s 
might  have  thrown  more  of  the  splendour  of  imagination  into  his  Sonnets :  single 
images,  such  as  are  scattered  through  all  the  rest  of  his  poetry,  might  have  been  thrown 
into  a  succession  of  these  small  forms,  and  might  have  risen  by  a  noble  climax  to  their 
termination. 

If  there  was  one  poetical  power  of  Milton  more  eminent  than  another,  it  was  hia 
power  of  description;  he  gave  an  idealism  to  all  his  material  images;  and  yet  they 
were  in  the  highest  degree  distinct  and  picturesque.  He  knew  where  to  throw  a  veil, 
and  when  to  make  the  features  prominent.  A  poetical  image  should  have  the  distinct- 
ness which  a  painter  can  depict;  but  it  should  have  also  something  of  the  indefinite, 
which  a  painter  cannot  depict: — this  is  Milton's  merit;  and  it  is  no  less  that  of  Dante. 
It  is  what  art  can  never  reach :  what  genius  only  gives  by  flashes :  it  is  enthusiasm 
and  inspiration. 

The  question  at  present  is,  not  whether  the  Sonnets  are  equal  to  Milton's  genius,  but 
whether  they  are  good,  or  as  contemptible  as  Johnson  represents  them.  I  say  that 
they  are  such  as  none  but  Milton  could  have  written :  they  are  full  of  lofty  thought, 
moral  instruction,  and  virtuous  sentiment,  expressed  in  language  as  strong  as  it  is  plain. 
They  are  pictures  of  a  manly,  resolute,  inflexible  spirit,  and  aid  us  in  our  knowledge  of 
the  poet's  individual  character.  Is  this  light  merit? — Where  is  the  enlightened  reader 
who  will  agree  with  Johnson,  and  wish  them  thrown  aside? 

But  Johnson's  prejudices  against  Milton  were  inveterate :  they  must  have  been  taken 
up  early  in  life  from  some  passion,  and  have  grown  with  his  growth.  He  never  ridded 
himself  of  the  impressions  he  imbibed  from  Lauder:  his  hatred  however  was  partly 
political.  I  know  not  what  made  him  so  bigoted  and  blind  a  partisan  :  his  birth  and 
station  will  not  account  for  it; — probably  it  was  imbibed  jacobitism.  But  there  was 
something  adverse  in  the  native  structure  of  the  minds  of  these  two  celebrated  men  :  if 
Johnson  had  genius,  it  was  quite  dissimilar  to  that  of  Milton  :  it  was  solely  argumenta- 
tive :  he  had  no  inventive  imagination  :  he  saw  no  phantoms  but  the  gloomy  phantoms 
of  superstition  :  he  had  no  chivalrous  enthusiasm  :  he  delighted  not  to  gaze  on  feudal 
halls,  or  "  throngs  of  knights  and  barons  bold :"  he  thought  not  of  another  world ;  of 
angels,  and  heavenly  splendour,  but  as  subjects  of  trembling  and  painful  awe !  He 
turned  away  from  them,  except  so  far  as  duty  enforced  his  attention ;  he  loved  the 
world,  and  all  its  gayeties,  and  follies,  and  conflicts. 

Could  there  be  a  greater  contrast  to  the  bard  of  "Paradise  Lost"  and  "Paradise 
Regained?"    To  him  who  would  decapitate  kings,  and  defy  the  powers  of  the  earth7 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


To  him  who  would  haunt  groves  and  forests,  and  listen  to  the  lonely  blast,  and  busy 
himself  in  deep  solitude,  and  love  musing  and  his  own  creations,  rather  than  the  busy 
talk  of  social  collision  ?  Him,  whose  taste  is  opposed  to  our  own,  and  from  its  eleva- 
tion claims  a  superiority,  we  learn  first  to  envy,  then  to  hate,  then  to  scorn.  Till  we 
can  persuade  ourselves  that  he  is  in  the  wrong,  we  feel  our  own  degradation.  Thus 
Johnson,  when  he  was  grasping  at  the  head  seat  of  the  literature  of  his  country,  could 
not  bear  the  memory  of  one  whose  dissimilar  splendour  paled  hia  ownj  hence  his 
constant  detractions,  his  petty  cavils,  his  malignant  perversions. 

To  dwell  on  this  topic  is  not  idle  or  irrelevant:  Johnson  still  holds  the  public  ear; 
and  to  endeavour  to  weaken  his  influence  is  a  duty  neither  useless  nor  ungenerou". 
The  more  the  public  studies  and  admires  Milton,  the  higher  will  be  its  taste  and  grasp 
of  intellect.  As  to  the  Sonnets,  if  any  one  can  read  them  without  both  pleasurable 
excitation  and  improvement,  he  has  a  sort  of  mind  which  it  would  be  vain  to  attempt 
to  cultivate— ft  barren  soil,  or  one  overgrown  with  weeds  and  prejudices. 


CHAPTER  XXVL 

ON    "SAMSOK   AG0NI8TES." 

We  come  again  to  fable  and  invention.  "  Samson  Agonistes"  is  written  after  the 
severe  model  of  the  ancient  Greek  tragedies;  but  it  is  not  fit  for  the  stage,  nor  intended 
for  it :  the  characters  are  few ;  it  indeed  almost  approaches  to  a  monologue.  Many 
object  to  the  Chorus;  but  for  a  dramatic  poem  it  aflfords  many  opportunities  of  noble 
eloquence.  Samson's  character  is  magnificently  supported :  he  is  a  giant  in  mind  as 
well  as  in  body :  his  language,  though  not  suited  to  the  effeminate  polish  of  modern 
ears,  is  vigorous  and  majestin. 

There  is  a  deep  pathos,  but  unyielding  soul,  in  all  the  hero  utters :  the  moral 
reflections  are  grand,  profound,  and  expansive.  The  application  everywhere  to  the 
poet's  own  misfortunes  and  position  augments  the  interest  twofold. 

Milton,  in  his  preface  to  this  poem,  lays : — "  Tragedy,  as  it  was  anciently  composed, 
hath  been  ever  held  the  gravest,  moralest,  and  most  profitable  of  all  other  poems; 
therefore  said  by  Aristotle  to  be  of  power,  by  raising  pity  and  fear,  or  terror,  to  purge 
the  mind  of  (hose  and  such  like  passions;  that  is,  to  temper  and  reduce  them  to 
just  measure  with  a  kind  of  delight,  stirred  up  by  reading  or  seeing  those  passions  well 
imitated,"  Ac. 

On  this  Warton  makes  the  following  note : — "  Milton,  who  was  inclined  to  puritan- 
Ism,  had  good  reason  to  think  that  the  publication  of  his  '  Samson  Agonistes'  would  be 
very  offensive  to  his  brethren,  who  held  poetry,  and  particularly  that  of  the  dramatic 
kind,  in  the  greatest  abhorrence :  and  upon  that  account,  it  is  probable,  that  in  order 
to  excuse  himself  from  having  engaged  in  this  proscribed  and  forbidden  species  of 
writing,  he  thought  it  expedient  to  prefix  to  his  play  a  formal  defence  of  tragedy." 
Such  defence  of  what  does  not  require  to  be  defended  never  makes  impression  upon 
bigoted  minds.  The  blind  slaves  of  party  are  never  convinced  by  reason ;  they  repeat 
by  rote,  and  cannot  be  put  out  of  their  lesson.  Long  speeches  on  the  stage  become 
tedious;  but  are  not  so  to  the  intelligent  reader:  and  there  is  no  mode  by  which 
an  'deal  character  can  be  represented  with  so  much  effect.  A  person  under  the  influ- 
ence of  passion  can  best  describe  his  own  feelings :  we  cannot  conceive  anything  more 
heroic  than  much  of  what  is  said  by  Samson. 

In  accordance  with  some  celebrated  critics,  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  third  place  of 
excellence  in  Milton's  works  ought  to  be  assigned  to  "  Samson  Agonistes" — placing 
the  "  Paradise  Lost"  first,  and  "  Paradise  Regained"  second.  Though  "  Comus"  is 
exquisite  poetry,  it  has  not  so  much  grandeur  and  holiness :  it  certainly  is  more  purely 
imaginative;  but  then  we  must  consider  the  compound  of  the  four  great  essentiaLsj 
and  we  must  always  prefer  sublimity  to  sweetness.  To  live  among  the  nymphs  and 
dryads  is  delightful;  but  moral  heroism  is  more  delightful.  One  is  duty;  the  ether  \» 
only  pleasure. 

We  are  entitled  to  amuse  ourselves  by  sometimes  living  in  a  purely  visionary  world; 

n 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


but  sometimes  also  we  are  called  upon  to  perform  our  part  among  the  human  inhabit- 
ants of  the  solid  earth  :  and  the  grandeur  of  bold  enterprise,  or  patient  suffering,  has  a 
longer,  deeper,  and  more  instructive  hold  upon  the  mind,  than  any  simple  abd  unmixed 
play  upon  the  fancy  or  the  senses. 

The  "Comus"  is  the  work  of  a  younger  man,  full  of  hope,  elasticity,  and  joy:  the 
tragedy  is  the  pouring  out  of  one  enriched  by  the  wisdom  of  age  and  experience, 
mellowed  by  misfortune,  and  elevated  by  patience  under  danger  and  calumny  : — of  one 
"  fallen  on  evil  tongues  and  evil  days  ;" — of  one  resolved  to  lift  himself  above  sublu- 
nary oppression,  and  rising  in  grandeur  in  proportion  to  the  severity  of  his  trials. 
We  muse  in  this  tragedy  upon  the  grsat  bard  mingling  his  ideal  inventions  with  his 
own  personal  gloomy  recollections  and  his  presant  sorrows  and  privations.  We  trace 
the  workiugs  of  his  heroic  spirit;  and  we  see  the  sublime  picture  of  lofty  virtue  and 
splendid  genius  "  struggling  with  the  storms  of  fate."  The  temperament  of  poetry  is 
beat  and  exhalation  :  it  throws  out  flashes,  of  which  labour  and  art  cannot  supply 
Bcintillae.  Its  warmth  and  tone  communicate  its  contagion  to  others.  Whatever  there 
is  of  artificial  and  mechanical  attempt  to  produce  this  effect  on  others,  fails,  and  ends 
in  nothing.  It  is  like  dead  air,  whence  we  draw  no  healthful  breath.  Nc  one  can 
write  with  the  powers  of  a  poet  except  when  he  is  in  a  state  of  excitement-  All  must 
be  centred  within  him : — there  the  fire  must  burn  and  blaze.  He  must  seo  with  the 
mental  eye,  and  pore,  and  believe.  Language  will  accompany  this  state  of  spiritualisni 
without  being  searched  for.  If  the  thought  does  not  predominate  over  the  expression, 
it  is  not  only  charmless,  but  weak  and  faulty  : — 

Cold  as  the  snow  upon  Canadian  hills, 

It  wakea  no  spark  within,  but  chills  the  heart. 

The  spell  comes  from  the  imagination  : — there  can  be  no  warmth  in  literary  composi- 
tion where  there  is  no  imagination. 

The  force  and  brightness  of  the  fire  is  in  proportion  to  the  richness  and  abundance 
of  the  fuel  applied  to  it.  Milton  applied  all  invention,  all  wisdom,  all  learning,  and  all 
knowledge. 

Perhaps  we  must  bring  to  the  reading  of  Milton  much  greatness  of  spirit,  a  strong 
and  unsophisticated  fancy — much  erudition,  and  much  power  of  thought,  to  enable  us 
thoroughly  to  taste  and  admire  him.  In  this  he  differs  from  Shakspeare,  who  is  equally 
fitted  for  the  people  and  for  the  most  radiant  and  most  cultivated  minds.  One  can 
Bcarcely  deny  that  this  is  a  superiority  in  Shakspeare :  Milton  could  not  have  been 
what  he  was  without  the  aid  of  intense  study;  but  as  Milton  could  not  have  done  what 
Shakspeare  did,  so  Shakspeare  could  not  have  done  what  Milton  did.  To  have  pro- 
duced "  Samson  Agonistes"  would  have  been  utterly  beyond  Shakspeare's  reach :  Shak- 
Bpeare,  however,  would  have  given  more  variety  of  characters,  and  richness  and 
contrast  of  incidents :  he  would  have  drawn  Dalilah  more  inviting,  and  Samson  more 
tender:  his  language  would  have  been  more  flowing — more  vernacular;  and  if  not  so 
sublime,  more  beautiful :  it  would  have  sunk  with  less  consideration,  and  more  imme- 
diately into  people's  hearts. — "  Samson  Agonistes"  is  for  study,  and  not  to  be  lightly 
perused.  But  let  no  scholar — let  no  magnanimous-souled  being  who  understands  the 
English  language,  and  has  any  tincture  of  education,  omit  to  read  it,  and  Tiuse  upon 
it  again  and  again,  and  lay  it  up  in  the  treasured  stores  of  his  memory :  it  will  exercise 
and  improve  all  his  intellectual  faculties,  and  elevate  his  heart : — it  has  at  once  novelty, 
truth,  and  wisdom.  He  may  learn  by  it  lessons  for  the  great  affairs  of  life,  enlarge  hii 
comprehension,  and  fortify  his  bosom.  He  may  be  taught  that  sublimity  and  strength 
of  language  lie  not  in  glitter  or  floweriness ; — that  strength  is  naked,  and  boldness 
of  conception  can  support  itself. 


CHAPTER  XXVn. 

CONCLUSION. 


I  HAVE  thus  given  my  opinion  distinctively  of  Milton's  epic,  dramatic,  and  lyrical 
genius.  I  have  done  it  sincerely,  without  exaggeration,  and,  after  a  habit  of  consider- 
ing the  subject  for  many  years,  with  an  earnest  desire  to  form  a  right  judgment. 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


To  praise  upon  mere  authority  can  answer  no  good  purpose ;  the  repetition  of  false 
praise  will  add  to  its  nauseousnoss :  but  there  can  be  no  certainty  of  merit,  unless  we 
Strictly  establish  principles  which  shall  become  a  test  to  it.  The  endless  diversity 
of  capricious  opinion  puts  everything  afloat :  we  can  trust  to  nothing  but  the  concur- 
rence of  all  ages  and  all  nations.  If,  therefore,  we  find  that  what  was  laid  down  by 
Aristotle  has  received  the  sanction  of  posterity  under  all  changes  of  manners  and 
varieties  of  countries,  reason  enjoins  us  to  rely  upon  it  as  truth :  I  take,  therefore, 
Aristotle's  four  requisites  of  good  poetry  to  be  undeniable.  By  these  rules  Milton  must 
ever  stand  where  he  has  been  placed — at  the  head  of  his  art,  if  art  it  may  be  called- 
But  the  extraordinary  thing  is,  that  he  has  no  second  in  this  combination  of  merits, — 
that  lie  stands  alone !  There  are  those  whom  this  will  offend;  but  it  is  the  stern  truth. 
If  fable,  in  the  sense  in  which  Aristotle  uses  it,  is  a  necessary  essential,  the  conclusion 
is  incontrovertible. 

Of  all  the  fifty-two  poets  whose  Lives  have  been  written  by  Johnson,  and  of  whom 
not  less  than  seventeen  are  mere  versifiers,  and  several  of  them  mediocre  versifiers, — 
Dryden  and  Pope  stand,  in  common  estimation,  next  to  Milton.  But  however  I  may 
ein  against  the  popular  opinion,  I  persevere  in  saying  that  they  are  deficient  in  this 
first  essential,  to  which  I  have  alluded :  I  assert  that  they  have  no  poetical  invention. 
Pope's  "  Kape  of  the  Lock"  will  scarcely  be  objected  to  me ;  nor  Dryden's  "  Fables," 
which  are  all  borrowed.  Sir  William  Temple's  observation  of  the  rarity  of  poetical 
genins,  so  often  cited,  is  thus  verified.  Single  qualities  may  not  be  uncommon ;  it  is 
the  union  of  all  the  essentials  which  so  seldom  occurs.  Milton  had  them  all ;  and  each 
In  the  most  eminent  degree.  Pope  may  be  said  to  have  had  the  last  three :  Dryden 
wanted  the  first,  and,  perhaps,  the  third. 

So  far  as  poetry  is  to  be  considered  not  only  the  voice  of  pleasure,  but  the  voice  of 
wisdom,  whatever  fiction  is  contrary  to  probability,  is  not  only  not  praiseworthy,  but 
culpable.  It  justly  brings  poetry  into  contempt,  and  gives  it  the  name  of  an  idle, 
empty  art.  I  prefer  even  insipidity  and  triteness  to  extravagance ;  the  effort  to  sur- 
pri8e_  is  always  vicious.  Tde  poet's  business  is  to  exhibit  nature,  but  nature  in  an 
exalted  state :  hence  I  cannot  approve  Crabbe's  poetry,  however  true  to  life  his  descrip- 
tions may  be.  On  the  other  hand,  I  must  admit  that  Byron  in  his  fictions  goes  some- 
times far  beyond  nature.  These  are  small  names,  even  the  last,  to  mention  after 
Milton,  whose  fables  utter  the  songs  of  angels  and  archangels ;  and  whose  sanctity,  ele- 
vated into  the  highest  sublimity,  keeps  due  music  with  the  choirs  of  Heaven  !  Not  but 
Byron  might,  if  he  had  been  equally  devout,  have  followed  Milton  in  this  track. 

I  am  conscious  what  talents  far  above  mine  it  requires  to  treat  adequately  the  subject 
I  have  here  undertaken :  but  others,  as  weak  as  I  am,  have  already  entered  on  the  task 
with  less  respectfulness  and  less  love,  and  I  am  willing  to  attempt  to  wipe  away  some 
of  the  stains  they  have  left.  For  fifty  years  I  have  had  an  unquenchable  desire  to 
refute  Johnson's  perverse  critieibms  and  malignant  obloquies.  I  know  not  by  what 
epell  his  authority  over  the  public  is  still  great  To  almost  every  new  edition  of  Milton, 
except  Todd's  and  Mitford's,  Johnson's  Life  of  the  Poet  has  continued  to  be  reprinted 
This  repetition  surely  becomes  nauseous. 

But  he  who  gains  novelty  at  the  expense  of  truth,  pays  too  dear  for  it ;  and  gains 
what  is  not  worth  having.  Nothing  is  more  easy  than  to  stimulate  for  a  moment  by 
what  is  new,  though  unfounded :  but  sobriety  of  judgment,  and  nicety  of  taste,  mus*. 
give  their  sanction  to  what  is  pronounced.  All  inconsiderate  and  unmeasured  praise 
is  hurtful.  I  have  forborne  to  commend  any  composition  of  this  mighty  poet  without 
long  and  calm  thought.  I  have  considered  that  the  powers  of  Johnson  entitled  him  to 
a  cool  and  careful  consideration}  before  I  ought  to  venture  to  contradict  his  opinion ; 
but  that,  when  I  could  no  longer  doubt,  no  force  of  authority  ought  to  restrain  my 
expression. 

But  much  greater  authority  than  Johnson's  on  a  poetical  question  is  on  my  side : — 
Dryden,  Addison,  Gray,  the  Wartons,  Cowper,  Hayley,  and  innumerable  others. 

It  would  be  almost  superfluous  to  say  more  of  Milton's  merits  as  a  poet,  after  all  that 
I  have  said :  recapitulation  in  his  case  would  probably  weaken  its  effect.  He  had  nof 
only  every  requisite  of  the  Muse ;  but  every  one  of  the  highest  order,  and  in  the  highest 
degree.    His  invention  of  poetical  fable,  and  poetical  imagery,  was  exhaustless,  and 


APPENDIX  TO  THE 


always  grand,  and  always  consistent  with  the  faith  of  a  cultivated  and  sensitive  mind. 
Sublimity  was  his  primary  and  unfailing  power.  His  characters  were  new,  surprising, 
gigantic,  or  beautiful ;  and  full  of  instruction,  such  as  high  wisdom  sanctioned.  His 
sentiments  were  lofty,  comprehensive,  eloquent,  consistent,  holy,  original ;  and  an 
amalgamation  of  spirit,  religion,  intellect,  and  marvellous  learning.  His  language  was 
his  own:  sometimes  a  little  rough  and  unvernacular;  but  as  magnificent  as  his  mind: 
Df  pregnant  thought ;  naked  in  its  strength ;  rich  and  picturesque,  where  imagery  was 
required;  often  exquisitely  harmonious,  where  the  occasion  permitted;  but  sometimes 
Strong,  mighty,  and  speaking  with  the  voice  of  thunder. 

I  can  scarcely  go  further,  to  constitute  the  greatest  poet  of  our  nation,  and,  in  my 
opinion,  of  the  world :  for  surely,  taking  dignity  of  fable  and  other  characters  into  the 
question.  Homer  and  Virgil  cannot  be  compared  with  Milton !  And,  to  fortify  me,  Ad- 
dison and  Dryden  have  come  to  the  same  conclusion. 

In  moral  character  the  poet  stands  among  the  noblest  and  the  best.  His  spirit  was 
as  holy,  and  his  heart  as  sanctified,  as  his  writings :  for  this  we  must  admit  the  testi- 
mony of  his  own  repeated  declaration  in  the  face  of  malignant  enemies,  and  the  foulest 
passion  of  detraction.  But,  as  humanity  cannot  be  perfect,  he  was  provoked  by  dia- 
bolical slander  into  recriminations  unbecoming  the  dignity  of  his  supreme  genius,  and 
devout  heart.  His  politics  were  severe,  and,  in  my  apprehension,  wrong ;  but  they 
were  conscientious.  The  principles  which  he  entertained,  the  boldness  of  his  mind 
pushed  to  an  unlimited  and  terrible  extent:  and  thus  he  was  brought  to  justify  the 
decapitation  of  Charles  I.  I  would  forget  this,  if  I  could;  because,  remembering  it,  I 
cannot  but  confess  that  I  feel  it  a  cloud  upon  his  dazzling  glory :  but  as  Horsley  said 
on  another  occasion : — 

One  passing  vapour  shall  dissolve  away, 

And  leave  thy  glory's  unobstructed  ray  ! 


APPENDIX. 

No.  I. 

MEMORANDA   RELATING  TO   THE    FAMILY    OP    POWELL    OP    FOREST-HILL,    OXFORDSHIRB. 

"  Milton  married  in  1643,  a  daughter  of  Justice  Powell  of  Sandford,  in  the  vicinity  of 
Oxford,  and  lived  in  a  house  at  Forest-hill,  about  three  miles  from  Oxford." 

Todd's  Lifb  or  Milton,  vol.  i.  p.  25,  ed.  100. 

NoTHiNa  can  possibly  be  more  erroneous.  The  families  of  Powell,  alias  ap  Howell, 
of  Sandford,  and  Powell  of  Forest-hill,  were  not  in  the  remotest  degree  connected :  the 
former  were  Roman  Catholics.  Milton's  first  wife  was  Mary,  daughter  of  Richari 
Powell  of  Forest-hill.  About  twenty  years  ago,  the  writer,  being  strongly  impressed 
with  the  incorrectness  of  the  above  statement,  and  residing  for  a  few  months  at  Oxford, 
compiled  a  pedigree  of  the  family  of  Powell  of  Sandford,  by  which  the  fact  is  proved 
to  demonstration.  There  were  then  no  memorials  of  the  family  in  the  church  of  Forest- 
hill  ;  and  the  earliest  register  commencing  A.  D.  1700,  no  notice  respecting  them  could 
be  gleaned  from  that  source.  It  is  probable  they  came  gradually  into  prosperity  undei 
the  wings  of  the  Bromes.  One  Richard  Powell  is  "  remembered"  as  "  a  servant"  (per- 
hnps  bailiflf  or  steward)  under  the  will  of  George  Brome  of  Halton,  and  is  mentioned 
before  the  testator's  armourer. 

Richard  Powell  of  Forest-hill,  and  Sir  Edward  Master  of  Ospringe,  in  Kent,  were 
executors  under  the  will  of  George  Brome's  widow,  Eliz.  (made  8th  September,  1629) 
proved  February  6th,  1634-5. 

The  will  of  Edmund  Brome  of  Forest-hiU,  made  November  8th,  1625,  was  proved 
August  12th,  1628,  by  Richard  Powell  (sole  executor),  Milton's  father-in-law.  There 
is  no  pedigree  of  the  family  to  be  met  with ;  but  the  following  are  some  memoranda 
respecting  the  will  of  Richard  Powell  of  Forest-hiU,  Esq.,  made  December  30th,  1646, 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


proved  March  26th,  1647,  by  his  widow,  Anne;  and  on  May  10th,  1662,  by  his  son 
Richard ;  by  which  act  the  effect  of  the  power  so  given  to  the  mother  was  done  away 
with.  One  of  the  attesting  witnesses  was  John  Milton  his  son-in-law ;  but  the  original 
will  not  being  now  (1831)  at  Doctors'  Commons,  curiosity  will  be  disappointed  in  the 
expectation  of  seeing  the  poet's  handwriting. 

The  testator  names  as  executor,  in  the  first  place,  his  eldest  son  Richard ;  and  in  the 
second,  in  case  of  said  Richard's  unwillingness  to  act,  his  wife  Anne;  and  in  the  third 
place,  in  case  of  said  Anne  being  unwilling  to  do  so,  his  friend  Mr.  John  EUstone  of 
Forest-hill,  to  whom  he  gives  twenty  shillings  for  a  ring.  He  appoints  as  overseers 
his  loving  friends  Sir  John  Curson  and  Sir  Robert  Pye,  Knights,  and  gives  to  them 
twenty  shillings  each  for  a  ring. 

He  devises  his  house,  Ac,  at  Forest-hill  (alias  Forsthall)  and  alludes  to  his  recently 
compounding  for  the  same  at  Goldsmiths'  Hall,  to  his  eldest  son  Richard,  subject, 
however,  to  as  follows  : — Payment  of  debts  and  funeral  expenses,  <tc.,  satisfying  a  bond 
to  Anne  his,  the  testator's  wife,  in  reference  to  her  jointure,  and  which  the  testator  was 
not  able  at  that  period  (1646)  to  discharge  out  of  his  personal  property ;  and  the 
remainder  was  then  to  be  divided  into  two  parts :  one  of  them  to  belong  to  the  said 
Richard,  and  the  other  to  be  divided  among  such  of  his  brothers  and  sisters  as  might 
not  have  been  already,  at  the  time  of  the  testator's  decease,  provided  for;  and  the 
sisters  to  have  one-third  more  apiece  than  their  brothers. 

The  testator  desires  that  his  daughter,  Milton,  may  be  had  regard  to,  as  to  the 
BuflBciency  of  her  portion ;  and  more,  if  his,  the  testator's  estate  will  bear  it. 

His  houses  and  lands  at  Wheatley,  and  all  other  properties  of  the  testator,  not  so 
above  specifically  bequeathed,  Ac,  are  given  to  his  said  son  Richard. 

The  marriage  portion,  £1000,  promised  to  John  Milton  by  his  father-in-law,  was 
never  paid,  according  to  the  biographies  of  the  poet.  His  distresses  in  the  royal  cause 
prevented,  probably,  the  payment  of  it. 

[I  am  indebted  for  this  information  to  the  kindness  of  Mr.  Frederick  Holbrooke  of  Parkhurst, 
Bexley.— Ed.] 

No.  II. 
DESCENDANTS  OF  MILTON.* 

"  Mix-ton's  iirect  descendants  can  only  exist,  if  they  exist  at  all,  among  the  posterity 
of  his  youngest  and  favourite  daughter  Deborah,  afterwards  Mrs.  Clarke,  a  woman  of 
cultivated  understanding,  and  not  unpleasing  manners,  known  to  Richardson  and 
Professor  Ward,  and  patronized  by  Addison,  who  intended  to  have  procured  a  perma- 
nent provision  for  her,  and  presented  with  fifty  guineas  by  Queen  Caroline.  Her 
affecting  exclamation  is  well  known,  on  seeing  her  father's  portrait  for  the  first  time 
more  than  thirty  years  after  his  death  : — '  Oh,  my  father,  my  dear  father !'  '  She  spoke 
of  him,'  says  Richardson,  'with  great  tenderness;  she  said  he  was  delightful  company, 
the  life  of  the  conversation,  not  only  by  a  flow  of  subject,  but  by  unaffected  cheerful- 
ness and  civility.'  Thie  is  the  character  of  him  whom  Dr.  Johnson  represents  as  a 
morose  tyrant,  drawn  by  one  of  the  supposed  victims  of  his  domestic  oppression. 

"  Her  daughter,  Mrs.  Foster,  for  whose  benefit  Dr.  Newton  and  Dr.  Birch  procured 
Comus  to  be  acted,  survived  all  her  children.  The  only  child  of  Deborah  Milton,  of 
whom  we  have  any  accounts  besides  Mrs.  Foster,  was  Caleb  Clarke,  who  went  to 
Madras  in  the  first  years  of  the  eighteenth  century,  a,nd  who  then  vanishes  from  the 
view  of  the  biographers  of  Milton.  We  have  been  enabled,  by  accident,  to  enlarge  a 
very  little  this  appendage  to  his  history.  It  appears  from  an  examination  of  the 
parish  register  of  Fort  St.  Qeorge,  that  Caleb  Clarke,  who  seems  to  have  been*  parish- 
clerk  of  that  place,  from  1717  to  1719,  was  buried  there  on  the  26th  of  October  of  the 
latter  year.  By  his  wife  Mary,  whose  original  surname  does  not  appear,  he  had  three 
children  born  at  Madras : — Abraham,  baptized  on  the  2d  of  June,  1703 ;  Mary,  bap- 
tized  on  the  17th  of  March,  1706,  and  buried  on  December  the  15th  of  the  same  year; 
and  Isaac,  biptized  the  13th  of  February,  1711.  Of  Isaac  no  further  account  appears. 
Abraham,  tho  great-grandson  of  Milton,  in  September,  1725,  married  Anna  Clarke;  and 
*  Prom  a  critique  on  Godwin's  '  Lives  of  Milton's  Nephews,'  in  Edinburgh  Review,  No.  L 


APPENDIX  TO  THE 


the  baptism  of  his  daughter,  Mary  Clarke,  is  registered  on  the  2d  of  Apru,  1727.  "With 
her  all  notices  of  this  fiiraily  eease.  But  as  neither  he  nor  any  of  his  f.imily,  nor  his 
brother  Isaac,  died  at  Madras,  and  as  he  was  only  twenty-four  years  of  age  at  the 
baptism  of  his  daughter,  it  is  probable  that  the  family  migrated  to  some  other  part  of 
India,  and  that  some  trace  of  them  might  yet  be  dijcovered  by  examination  of  the 
parish  registers  of  Calcutta  and  Bombay.  If  they  had  returned  to  England,  they  could 
not  have  escaped  the  curiosity  of  the  admirers  and  historians  of  Milton.  We  cannot 
apologize  for  the  minuteness  of  this  genealogy,  or  for  the  eagernoss  of  our  desire  that 
it  should  be  enlarged.  We  profess  that  superstitious  veneration  for  the  memciy  of 
that  greatest  of  poets,  which  regards  the  slightest  relic  of  him  as  sacred ;  and  we  cannot 
conceive  either  true  poetical  sensibility,  or  a  just  sense  of  the  g'ory  of  England,  to 
belong  to  that  Englishman,  who  would  not  feel  the  strongest  emotions  at  the  sight  of  a 
descendant  of  Milton,  discovered  in  the  person  even  of  the  most  humble  and  unlettered 
of  human  beings."* 

No.  III. 
MILTON'S  AGREEMENT  WITH  MR.  SYMONS  FOR  "PARADISE  LOST" 

SATED  t27TH  APKIL,  1007. 

"  These  Presents  made  the  27th  of  day  April  1667,  between  John  Milton,  Gent  of 
the  one  part,  and  Samuel  Symons,  printer,  of  the  other  part,  wittness  That  the  said 
John  Milton  in  consideration  of  five  pounds  to  him  now  paid  by  the  said  Samuel 
Symons,  and  other  the  consideracons  herein  mentioned,  hath  given,  granted  and 
assigned,  and  by  these  pnts  doth  give,  grant  and  assign  unto  the  said  Samll  Symons, 
his  executors  and  assignees.  All  that  Booke,  Copy,  or  Manuscript  of  a  Poem  intituled 
Paradise  Lost,  or  by  whatsoever  other  title  or  name  the  same  is  or  shall  be  called  or 
distinguished,  now  lately  licensed  to  be  printed,  together  wi'h  the  full  benefitt,  profit, 
and  advantage  thereof,  or  w^h  shall  or  may  arise  thereby.  And  the  said  John  Milton 
for  him,  his  ex"  and  adm",  doth  covenant  w'h  the  said  Sam'i  Symons,  his  ex"  and  ass', 
that  he  and  they  shall  at  all  times  hereafter  have,  hold  and  enjoy  the  same  and  all 
impressions  thereof  accordingly,  without  the  lett  or  hindrance  of  him  the  said  .John 
Milton,  his  ex"  or  ass»,  or  any  person  or  persons  by  his  or  their  consent  or  privity. 
And  that  he  the  said  John  Milton,  his  ex"  or  adm",  or  any  other  by  his  or  iheir  nieanes 
or  consent,  shall  not  print  or  cause  to  be  printed,  or  sell,  dispose  or  publish  the  said 
book  or  manuscript,  or  any  other  book  or  manuscript  of  the  same  tenor  or  subject, 
without  the  consent  of  the  said  Sam'i  Symons,  his  ex"  or  ass*:  In  eoncidera^on 
whereof  the  said  Same"  Sym5ns  for  him,  his  ex"  and  adm",  doth  covenant  with  the 
said  John  Milton,  his  ex"  and  ass»,  well  and  truly  to  pay  unto  the  said  John  Milton, 
his  ex"  and  adm",  the  sum  of  five  pounds  of  lawfull  english  money  at  the  end  of  the 
first  Impression,  which  the  said  SamU  Symons,  his  ex"  or  ass»,  shall  make  and  publish 
of  the  said  copy  or  manuscript,  which  impression  shall  be  accounted  to  be  ended  when 
thirteen  hundred  books  of  the  said  whole  copy  or  manuscript  imprinted,  shall  be  sold 
and  re-tailed  ofiF  to  particular  reading  customers.  And  shall  also  pay  other  five  pounds, 
unto  the  said  John  Milton  or  his  ass',  at  the  end  of  the  second  impression  to  be  accounted 
as  aforesaid.  And  five  pounds  more  at  the  end  of  the  third  impression,  to  be  in  like 
manner  accounted.  And  that  the  said  three  first  impressions  shall  not  exceed  fifteen 
hundred  books  or  volumes  of  the  said  whole  copy  or  manuscript,  a  piece.  And  further; 
that  he  the  said  Samuel  Symons  and  his  ex",  aJm",  and  ass>  shall  be  ready  to  make 
oath  before  a  Master  in  Chancery  concerning  his  or  their  knowledge  and  belief  of  oi 
concerning  the  truth  of  the  disposing  and  selling  the  said  books  by  retail,  as  aforesaitl, 
whereby  the  said  Mr.  Milton  is  to  be  entitled  to  his  said  money  from  time  to  time, 
upon  every  reasonable  request  in  that  behalf,  or  in  default  thereof  shall  pay  the  said 
five  pounds  agreed  to  be  paid  upon  every  impression,  as  aforesaid,  as  if  the  same  were 
due,  and  for  and  in  lieu  thereof.     In  witness  whereof,  the  said  parties  have  to  this 

'  While  thA  grandson  of  Miltou  resided  at  Madras,  in  a  condition  so  humb.e  tls  to  make  the 
office  of  pnrish-clerk  an  object  of  ambition,  it  is  somewhat  remarkable  that  tlie  elder  bnitliei 
of  Addison  should  have  been  the  governor  of  that  sotllemeut.  Tlie  Honourable  Ualslon 
AddiHcn  died  there  in  the  year  1709. 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


writing  indented,  interchangeably  sett  their  hands  and  scales  the  day  and  yeare  first 

above  written.  John  Milton.     (Seal.). 

Sealed  and  delivered  in  |  John  Fisher, 
the  presence  of  us,       J  Benjamin  Greene,  serv»  to  Mr.  Milton. 

Rec<i  then  of  Samuel  Simmons  five  pounds,  being  the  Second  five  pounds  to  be  paid  — 
mentioned  in  the  Covenant     I  say  rec*  by  me, 

Witness,  £dmund  Upton.  John  Milton. 

I  do  hereby  acknowledge  to  have  received  of  Samuel  Symonds  Cittizen  and  Statonoi 
of  London,  the  Sum  of  Eiglit  pounds :  which  is  in  full  payment  for  all  my  right,  title,  or 
interest,  which  I  have  or  ever  had  in  the  Coppy  of  a  Poem  Intitled  Paradise  Lost  in 
Twelve  Bookes  in  8vo — By  John  Milton  Gent  my  late  husband.  Witness  my  hand 
this  21st  day  of  December  1680. 

Wittness,  William  Yopp,  Ann  Yopp.  Elizabeth  Milton. 

Know  all  men  by  these  pssents  that  I  Elizabeth  Milton  oi  London  Widdow,  late  wife 
of  John  Milton  of  London  Gent:  deceased — have  remissed  released  and  for  ever 
quitt  claimed  And  by  these  pssents  doe  remise  release  &  for  ever  quitt  claymo  unto 
Samuel  Symonds  of  London,  Printer — his  heirs  Execut"  and  Administrators  All  and 
all  manner  of  Accon  and  Accons  Cause  and  Causes  of  Accofi  Suites  Bills  Bonds 
writinges  obligatorie  Debts  dues  duties  Accompts  Summe  and  Sumes  of  money  Judg- 
ments Executions  Extents  Quarrells  either  in  Law  or  Equity  Controversies  and 
demands — And  all  &  every  other  matter  cause  and  thing  whatsoever  which  against 
the  said  Samuel  Symonds — I  ever  had  and  which  I  my  heires  Executers  or  Admin 
istrators  shall  or  may  have  clayme  &  challenge  or  demand  for  or  by  reason  or  means 
of  any  matters  cause  or  thing  whatsoever  from  the  beginning  of  the  World  unto  the 
day  of  these  pssents.  In  witness  whereof  I  have  hereunto  sett  my  hand  and  scale 
the  twenty-ninth  day  of  April  in  the  thirty-third  Year  of  the  Reigne  of  our  Sovereign 
Lord  Charles  by  the  grace  of  God  of  England  Scotland  ffrance  and  Ireland  King 
defender  of  the  fiTaith  &  Anno  Dni.  1681.  Elizabeth  Milton. 

JSiffned  atid  delivered  in  the  pssence  of  Job.  Lkigh  Wm.  WiLXiNs. 

No.  IV. 
COWLEY'S  PREFACE  TO  HIS  POEMS,  1636. 

It  has  been  already  observed  that  Cowley  had  scarcely  opportunity  to  become 
acquainted  with  the  early  poems  of  Milton;  and  his  party  attachments  prevented  even 
a  wish  for  personal  intimacy ;  he  was  engaged  beeides  on  active,  sometimes  foreign 
service,  and,  if  he  read  the  "  Defensio"  of  the  great  republican,  in  all  probability  read 
It  with  horror. 

Yet  we  find  on  authority  not  to  be  questioned,  that  Milton  spoke  of  Cowley  as  a  poet 
whom  he  valued,  and  named  him  with  Spenser  and  Shakspeare.  This  is  the  more 
surprising,  as  Cowley  was  by  ten  years  the  younger  man,  and  his  writings  had  never 
appeared  in  a  body  till  1656,  when  he  returned  to  England  from  the  Continent,  and 
published  them  in  folio.  This  volume  was,  there  can  be  no  question,  read  to  Milton  in 
his  blindness :  the  congeniality  of  their  studies,  and  their  religious  feelings,  led  him  to 
estimate  highly  the  only  rival  that  Cambridge  had  bred  to  him  in  Latin  verse ;  and 
though  unnoticed  in  the  volume  upon  his  table,  the  Preface  spoke  to  him,  as  by  the 
inspiration  of  Urania  herself.  Let  the  reader  imagine  the  blind  bard  listening  to  the 
following  exquisite  admonitions,  which  he  alone  fully  comprehended ;  and  the  expecta- 
tions which  of  all  mankind  he  only  could  gratify;  and  upon  which  he  was  then 
earnestly  and  silently  meditating  : 

"  When  I  consider  how.  many  bright  and  magnificent  subjects  the  holy  Scripture 
affords  and  proffers,  as  it  were,  to  poesy,  in  the  wise  managing  and  illustrating  whereof 
the  Glory  of  God  Almighty  might  be  joined  with  the  singular  utility  and  noblest  delight 
of  mankind ;  it  is  not  without  grief  and  indignation  that  I  behold  that  divine  science 
employing  all  her  inexhaustible  riches  of  wit  and  eloquence,  either  in  the  wicked  and 
beggarly  flattery  of  great  persons,  or  the  unmanly  idolizing  of  foolish  women,  or  the 
wretched  affectation  of  scurril  laughter,  or  at  best  on  the  confused  antiquated  dreams 
of  senseless  fables  and  metamorphoses.     Amongst  all  holy  and  consecrated  things 


APPENDIX  TO  THE 


"which  the  devil  ever  stole  and  alienated  ftom  the  service  of  the  Deity ;  as  altars,  templeS; 
sacrifices,  prayers,  and  the  like;  there  is  none  that  he  so  universally,  and  so  long 
usurped,  as  poetry.     It  is  time  to  recover  it  out  of  the  tyrant's  hands,  and  to  restore  it 
to  the  kingdom  of  God,  who  is  the  father  of  it.     It  is  time  to  baptize  it  in  Jordan,  foi 
it  will  never  become  clean  by  bathing  in  the  water  of  Damascus.     There  wants,  methinks, 
but  the  conversion  of  that,  and  the  Jews,  for  the  accomplishment  of  the  kingdom  of 
Christ     And  as  men,  before  their  receiving  of  the  faith,  do  not  without  some  carnal 
reluctancies  apprehend  the  bonds  and  fetters  of  it,  but  find  it  afterwards  to  be  the  truest 
and  greatest  liberty ;  it  will  fare  no  otherwise  with  this  art,  after  the  regeneration  of  it : 
it  will  meet  with  wonderful  variety  of  new,  more  beautiful,  and  more  delightful  objects; 
neither  will  it  want  room,  by  being  confined  to  heaven.     There  is  not  so  great  a  lie  to 
be  found  in  any  poet,  as  the  vulgar  conceit  of  men,  that  lying  is  essential  to  good 
poetry.     Were  there  never  so  wholesome  nourishment  to  be  had  (but  alas,  it  breathes 
nothing  but  diseases)  out  of  these  boasted  feasts  of  love  and  fables ;  yet,  methinks,  tho 
unalterable  continuance  of  the  diet  should  make  us  nauseate  it:  for  it  is  almost  impos- 
sible to  serve  up  any  new  dish  of  that  kind.     They  are  all  but  the  cold  meats  of  the 
ancients,  new-heated,  and  new  set  forth.     I  do  not  at  all  wonder  that  the  old  poets 
made  some  rich  crops  out  of  these  grounds ;  the  heart  of  the  soil  was  not  then  wrought 
out  with  continual  tillage  :  but  what  can  we  expect  now,  who  come  a  gleaning,  not  after 
the  first  reapers,  but  after  the  very  beggars  ?     Besides,  though  those  mad  stories  of  the 
gods  and  heroes  seem  in  themselves  so  ridiculous  ;  yet  they  were  in  the  whole  body  (or 
rather  chaos)  of  the  theology  of  those  times.     They  were  believed  by  all  but  a  few 
philosophers,  and  perhaps  some  atheists,  and  served  to  good  purpose  among  the  vulgar 
(as  pitiful  things  as  they  are),  in  strengthening  the  authority  of  law  with  the  terrors  of 
conscience,  and  expectation  of  certain  rewards,  and  unavoidable  punishments.     There 
was  no  other  religion ;  and  therefore  that  was  better  than  none  at  all :  but  to  us,  who  have 
no  need  of  them ;  to  us,  who  deride  their  folly,  and  are  wearied  with  their  impertinen- 
cies ;  they  ought  to  appear  no  better  arguments  for  verse,  than  those  of  their  worthy 
successors,  the  knights  errant     What  can  we  imagine  more  proper  for  the  ornaments 
of  wit  or  learning  in  the  story  of  Deucalion  than  in  that  of  Noah  ?    Why  will  not  the 
actions  of  Samson  afiford  as  plentiful  matter  as  the  labours  of  Hercules?    Why  is  not 
Jephthah's  daughter  as  good  a  woman  as  Iphigenia  ?  and  the  friendship  of  David  and 
Jonathan  more  worthy  celebration  than  that  of  Theseus  and  Pirithous  ?    Does  not  the 
passage  of  Moses  and  the  Israelites  into  the  Holy  Land  yield  incomparably  more  poeti- 
cal variety  than  the  voyages  of  Ulysses  or  .Sineas  ?     Are  the  obsolete  thread-bare  tales 
of  Thebes  and  Troy  half  so  stored  with  great,  heroical,  and  supernatural  actions  (since 
verse  will  needs  find  or  make  such)  as  the  wars  of  Joshua,  of  the  Judges,  of  David, 
and  divers  others?     Can  all  the  transformations  of  the  gods  give  such  copious  hints  to 
flourish  and  expatiate  on,  as  the  true  miracles  of  Christ,  or  of  his  prophets  and  apostles  ? 
What  do  I  instance  in  these  few  particulars  ?    All  the  books  of  the  Bible  are  either  already 
most  admirable  and  exalted  pieces  of  poesy,  or  are  the  best  materials  in  the  world  for 
it     Yet,  though  they  be  in  themselves  so  proper  to  be  made  use  of  for  this  purpose; 
none  but  a  good  artist  will  know  how  to  do  it :  neither  must  we  think  to  cut  and  polish 
diamonds  with  so  little  pains  and  skill  as  we  do  marble :  for  if  any  man  design  to  com- 
pose a  sacred  poem,  by  only  turning  a  story  of  the  scripture,  like  Mr.  Quarles's,  or  some 
other  godly  matter,  like  Mr.  Heywood  of  angels,  into  rhyme ;  he  is  so  far  from  eleva- 
ting of  poesy,  that  he  only  abases  divinity.     In  brief,  he  who  can  write  a  profane  poem 
well,  may  write  a  divine  one  better;  but  he  who  can  do  that  but  ill,  will  do  this  much 
worse.     The  same  fertility  of  invention  ;  the  same  wisdom  of  disposition ;  the  same 
judgment  in  observance  of  decencies;  the  same  lustre  and  vigour  of  elocution;  the 
dame  modesty  and  majesty  of  number;  briefly,  the  same  kind  of  habit  is  required  to 
both  :  only  this  latter  allows  better  stufi",  and  therefore  would  look  more  deformedly  ill 
dressed  in  it.     I  am  far  from  assuming  to  myself  to  have  fulfilled  the  duty  of  this 
weighty  undertaking :  but  sure  I  am,  there  is  nothing  yet  in  our  language  (nor  per- 
haps in  any)  that  is  in  any  degree  answerable  to  the  idea  that  I  conceive  of  it.     And  I 
shall  be  ambitious  of  no  other  fruit  from  this  weak  and  imperfect  attempt  of  mine,  but 
the  opening  of  a  way  to  the  courage  and  industry  of  some  other  personi,  who  may  be 
better  able  to  perform  it  thoroughly  and  successftilly." 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


Such  were  the  dispositions  of  that  amiable  and  excellent  writer,  and  such  the  soil  on 
which  this  broad-cast  of  celestial  seed  was  thrown.  What  a  subject  of  regret  that  he 
should  have  died,  without  seeing  the  work  he  was  so  modest  as  to  expect  from  another 
and  superior  Muse !  He  died  on  the  28th  of  July,  1667,  in  the  49th  year  of  his  age; 
and  (he  "  Paradise  Lost"  was  then  just  issuing  from  the  press. 


14 


SELECTED  ENCOMIASTIC  LINES. 

BARROW.* 

Qui  legis  Amissam  Paradisum,  grandia  magni 

Carmina  Miltoni,  quid  nisi  cuncta  legis  ? 
Res  cunctas,  et  cunctarum  primordia  rerum, 

Et  fata,  et  fines  continet  iste  liber. 
Intima  panduntur  magni  penetralia  mundi, 

Scribitur  et  toto  quicquid  in  orbe  latet : 
Terrseque,  tractusque  maris,  ccelumque  profundum, 

Sulphureumque  Erebi,  flammivomumque  spocns ; 
Quseque  colunt  terras,  pontumque  et  Tartara  caeca  * 

Quaeque  colunt  summi  lucida  regna  poll : 
Et  quodcunque  ullis  conclusum  est  finibus  usquam. 

Et  sine  fine  Chaos,  et  sine  fine  Deus ; 
Et  sine  fine  magis,  si  quid  magis  est  sine  fine, 

In  Christo  erga  homines  conciliatus  amor. 
Hsec  qui  speraret  quis  crederet  esse  futurum  ? 

£t  tamen  heec  hodie  terra  Britanna  legit. 
0,  quantos  in  bella  duces  !  quae  protulit  arma ! 

Quae  canit,  et  quanta,  praelia  dira  tuba ! 
Coelestes  acies !  atque  in  certamine  caelum  1 

Et  quae  coelestes  pugna  deceret  agros ! 
Quantus  in  aethereis,  tollit  se  Lucifer  armis  . 

Atque  ipso  graditur  vix  Michaele  minor ! 
Quantis  et  quam  funestis  concurritur  iris, 

Dum  ferus  hie  Stellas  protegit,  ille  rapit ! 
Dum  vulsos  montes  ceu  tela  reciproca  torquent, 

Et  non  mortali  desuper  igne  pluunt : 
Stat  dubius  cui  se  parti  concedat  Olympus, 

Et  metuit  pugnae  non  superesse  suae. 
At  simul  in  Coelis  Messiae  insignia  fulgent, 

Et  currus  animes,  armaque  digno  Deo, 
Horrendumque  rotae  strident,  et  saeva  rotarum 

Erumpunt  torvis  fulgura  luminibus, 
Et  flammae  vibrant,  et  vera  tonitrua  raaco 

Admistis  flammis  insonuere  polo  ; 
Excidit  attonitis  mens  omnis,  et  impetus  omnia, 

Et  cassis  dextris  irrita  tela  cadunt 
Ad  poenas  fugiunt ;  et,  ceu  foret  Orcus  asylum 

Infernis  certant  condere  se  tenebris. 
Gedite,  Romani  scriptores ;  cedite,  Grail ; 

Et  quos  fama  recens  vel  celebravit  anus. 
Hsec  quicunque  leget  tantum  cecinisse  putabit 

Maeonidem  ranas,  Virgilium  culices. 

ANDREW  MARVELL.t 
When  I  beheld  the  poet  blind,  yet  hold, 
In  slender  book  his  vast  design  unfold. 
•  In  Paradisum  Amissam  Summi  Poetee  Johannis  Miltoni. 
t  Address  to  Milton  on  ittading  Paradise  Loat. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE 


Messiah  crown'd,  God's  reconciled  decree, 
Rebelling  angels,  the  forbidden  tree, 
Heaven,  hell,  earth,  chaos,  all ;  the  argument 
Ileld  me  awhile  misdoubting  his  intent 
That  he  would  ruin  (for  I  saw  him  strong) 
The  sacred  truths  to  Fable  and  old  song;  ' 

(So  Samson  groped  the  temple's  posts  in  spite) 
The  world  o'erwhelming  to  revenge  his  sight. 

Yet  as  I  read,  still  growing  less  severe, 
T  liked  his  project,  the  success  did  fear  ; 
Through  that  wide  field  how  he  his  way  should  find 
O'er  which  lame  faith  leads  understanding  blind; 
Lest  he  perplex'd  the  things  he  wuuld  explain, 
And  what  was  easy  he  should  render  vain. 
Or  if  a  work  so  infinite  he  spann'd, 
Jealous  I  was,  that  some  less  skillful  hand 
(Such  as  disquiet  always  what  is  well, 
And  by  ill  imitating,  would  excel,) 
Might  hence  presume  the  whole  Creation's  day 
To  change  in  scenes,  and  show  it  in  a  play. 

Pardon  me,  mighty  Poet !  nor  despise 
My  causeless,  yet  not  impious  surmise : 
But  I  am  now  convinced ;  and  none  will  dare 
Within  thy  labours  to  pretend  to  share. 
Thou  hast  not  miss'd  one  thought  that  could  be  fi^ 
And  all  that  was  improper  dost  omit : 
So  that  no  room  is  here  for  writers  left. 
But  to  detect  their  ignorance  or  theft 

That  majesty  which  through  thy  work  doth  reign, 
Draws  the  devout,  deterring  the  profane : 
And  things  divine  thou  treat'st  of  in  such  state. 
As  them  preserves,  and  thee,  inviolate. 
At  once  delight  and  horror  on  us  seize. 
Thou  sing'st  with  so  much  gravity  and  ease; 
And  above  human  flight  dost  soar  aloft 
With  plume  so  strong,  so  equal,  and  so  soft : 
The  bird  named  from  that  Paradise  you  sing, 
So  never  flags,  but  always  keeps  on  wing. 

Where  couldst  thou  words  of  such  a  compass  find? 
Whence  furnish  such  a  vast  expanse  of  mind? 
Just  Heaven  thee,  like  Tiresias,  to  requite, 
Rewards  with  prophecy  thy  loss  of  sight 

Well  mightst  thou  scorn  thy  readers  to  allure 
With  tinkling  rhyme,  of  thy  own  sense  secure ; 
While  the  Town-Bays  writes  all  the  while  and  spells, 
And,  like  a  pack-horse,  tires  without  his  bells : 
Their  fancies  like  our  bushy  points  appear ; 
The  poets  tag  them,  we  for  fashion  wear. 
I  too,  transported  by  the  mode,  offend  ; 
And,  while  I  meant  to  praise  thee,  must  commend: 
Thy  verse  created,  like  thy  theme  sublime, 
In  number,  weight,  and  measure,  needs  not  rhyme. 

DRYDEN.* 

Threb  Poets,  in  three  distant  ages  bom, 
Greece,  Italy,  and  England  did  adorn : 

*  Epigram  on  Milton 


LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


The  first  in  loftiness  of  thought  surpass'd ; 
The  next,  in  majesty ;  in  both,  the  last. 
The  force  of  nature  could  no  farther  go : 
To  make  a  third,  she  join'd  the  former  two. 

ADDISON.* 
Bt7t  Milton  next,  with  high  and  haughty  stalks, 
Unfetter'd,  in  majestic  numbers,  walks : 
No  vulgar  hero  can  his  Muse  engage, 
Nor  earth's  wide  scene  confine  his  hallow'd  rage. 
See !  see !  he  upward  springs,  and,  towering  bigbj 
Spurns  the  dull  province  of  mortality ; 
Shakes  Heaven's  eternal  throne  with  dire  alarmsi  i 

And  sets  the  Almighty  Thunderer  in  arms ! 
Whate'er  his  pen  describes  I  more  than  see; 
Whilst  every  verse,  array'd  in  majesty. 
Bold  and  sublime,  my  whole  attention  draws, 
And  seems  above  the  critic's  nicer  laws. 
How  are  you  struck  with  terror  and  delight^ 
When  angel  with  archangel  copes  in  fight! 
When  great  Messiah's  outspread  banner  shines, 
How  does  the  chariot  rattle  in  his  lines ! 
What  sound  of  brazen  wheels,  with  thunder,  scare 
And  stun  the  reader  with  the  din  of  war* 
With  fear  my  spirits  and  my  blood  retire, 
To  see  the  seraphs  sunk  in  clouds  of  fire ; 
But  when,  with  eager  steps,  from  hence  I  rise, 
And  view  the  first  gay  scene  of  Paradise ; 
What  tongue,  what  words  of  rapture  can  express 
A  vision  so  profuse  of  pleasantness ! 

THOMSON. t 

_ . FoK  lofty  sense. 

Creative  fancy,  and  inspection  keen 

Through  the  deep  windings  of  the  human  heart, 

ts  not  wild  Shakspeare  thine  and" Nature's  boast? 

Is  not  each  great,  each  amiable  Muse 

Of  classic  ages  in  thy  Milton  met  ? 

A  genius  universal  as  his  theme ; 

Astonishing  as  Chaos ;  as  the  bloom 

Of  blowing  Eden  fairj  as  Heaven  sublime! 

GRAY4 

Nor  second  he  that  rode  sublime 

Upon  the  seraph-wings  of  ecstasy  j 

The  secrets  of  the  abyss  to  spy. 

He  pass'd  the  flaming  bounds  of  place  and  timo: 

The  living  throne,  the  sapphire  blaze. 

Where  Angels  tremble  while  they  gaze, 

He  saw ;  but,  blasted  with  excess  of  light, 

Closed  his  eyes  in  endless  night. 

COLLINS.^ 
High  on  some  cliff,  to  Heaven  up-piled. 
Of  rude  access,  of  prospect  wild. 
Where,  tangled  round  the  jealous  steep, 
Strange  shades  o'erbrow  the  valleys  deep, 

*  From  an  Account  of  the  Greatest  English  Poets.  f  The  Season*—"  Summer.' 

t  Progress  of  Poosy.  «  Ode  on  the  Poetical  Character. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE 


And  holy  Genii  guard  the  rock, 

Its  glooms  embrown,  its  springs  unlock ; 

While  on  its  rich  ambitious  head 

An  Eden,  lilse  his  own,  lies  spread ; 

I  view  that  oak  the  fancied  glades  among, 

By  which,  as  Milton  lay,  his  evening  ear. 

From  many  a  cloud  that  dropp'd  ethereal  dew, 

Nigh  sphered  in  heaven,  its  native  strains  could  hear, 

On  which  that  ancient  trump  he  reach'd  was  hung; 

Thither  oft  his  glory  greeting, 

From  Waller's  myrtle  shades  retreating, 

With  many  a  vow  from  Hope's  aspiring  tongue. 

My  trembling  feet  his  guiding  steps  pursue; 

In  vain : Such  bliss  to  one  alone 

Of  all  the  sons  of  Soul  was  known ; 
And  Heaven  and  Fancy,  kindred  Powers, 
Have  now  o'erturn'd  the  inspiring  bowers. 
Or  curtain'd  close  such  scene  from  every  future  view. 

MASON* 

B(SE,  hallow'd  Milton  !  rise  and  say, 

How,  at  thy  gloomy  close  of  day ; 
How,  when  "  depress'd  by  age,  beset  with  wrongs ;" 
When  "  fallen  on  evil  days  and  evil  tongues :" 

When  Darkness,  brooding  on  thy  sight. 

Exiled  the  sovereign  lamp  of  light ; 
Bay,  what  could  then  one  cheering  hope  dififuse? 
What  friends  were  thine,  save  Memory  and  the  Mnse? 

Hence  the  rich  spoils,  thy  studious  youth 

Caught  from  the  stores  of  ancient  Truth : 
Hence  all  thy  busy  eye  could  pleased  explore. 
When  Rapture  led  thee  to  the  Latian  shore; 

Each  scene,  that  Tiber's  bank  supplied; 

Each  grace,  that  play'd  on  Arno's  side : 
The  tepid  gales,  through  Tuscan  glades  that  fly; 
The  blue  serene,  that  spreads  Hesperia's  sky ; 

Were  still  thine  own  :  thy  ample  mind 

Each  charm  received,  retain'd,  combined. 
And  thence  "the  nightly  Visitant,"  that  came 
To  touch  thy  bosom  with  her  sacred  flame, 

Recall'd  the  long-lost  beams  of  grace. 

That  whilom  shot  from  Nature's  face 
When  God,  in  Eden,  o'er  her  youthful  breast 
Spread  with  his  own  right  hand  Perfection's  gorgeotti  vest. 

DR.  ROBERTS.t 

Poet  of  other  times !  to  thee  I  bow 

With  lowliest  reverence.     Oft  thou  takest  my  soul. 

And  waft'st  it  by  thy  potent  harmony 

To  that  empyreal  mansion,  where  thine  ear 

Caught  the  soft  warblings  of  a  seraph's  harp. 

What  time  the  nightly  visitant  unlock'd 

The  gates  of  Heaven,  and  to  thy  mental  sight 

Display'd  celestial  scenes.     She  from  thy  lyre 

With  indignation  tore  the  tinkling  bells,  /' 

And  turn'd  it  to  sublimest  argument 


*  Ode  to  Memory. 


t  Epiitle  on  the  English  Poets. 


LIFE  OP  MILTON".  dx 


COWPER.* 

Ages  elapsed  ere  Homer's  lamp  appear' d, 
And  ages  ere  the  Mantuan  swan  was  heard : 
To  carry  Nature  lengths  unknown  before, 
To  give  a  Milton  birth,  ask'd  ages  more. 
Thus  Genius  rose  and  set  at  order' d  times, 
And  shot  a  day-spring  into  distant  climes, 
Ennobling  every  region  that  he  chose  ; 
Ho  sunk  in  Greece,  in  Italy  he  rose  ; 
And,  tedious  years,  of  gothic  darkness  pass'd, 
Emerged  all  splendour  in  our  isle  at  last. 
Thus  lovely  halcyons  dive  into  the  main. 
Then  show  far  off  their  shining  plumes  again. 

COWPER.t 

Philosophy,  baptized 
In  the  pure  fountain  of  eternal  love. 
Has  eyes  indeed  ;  and  viewing  all  she  sees 
As  meant  to  indicate  a  God  to  man, 
Gives  him  his  praise,  and  forfeits  not  her  own. 
Learning  has  borne  such  fruit  in  other  days 
On  all  her  branches  ;  piety  has  found 
Friends  in  the  friends  of  science,  and  true  prayer 
Has  flowed  from  lips  wet  with  Castulian  dews. 
Such  was  thy  wisdom,  Newton,  childlike  sage  I 
Sagacious  reader  of  the  works  of  God, 
And  in  his  word  sagacious.     Such  to  thine, 
Milton,  whose  genius  had  angelic  wing, 
And  fed  on  manna. 

WORDSWORTH4 

Milton  !  thou  shouldst  be  living  at  this  hour ; 

England  hath  need  of  thee  ;  she  is  a  fen 

Of  stagnant  waters  ;  altar,  sword,  and  pen, 

Fireside,  the  heroic  wealth  of  hall  and  bower 

Have  forfeited  their  ancient  English  dower 

Of  inward  happiness.     We  are  selfish  men ; 

O,  raise  us  up  !  return  to  us  again ; 

And  give  us  manners,  virtue,  freedom,  power. 

Thy  soul  was  like  a  star,  and  dwelt  apart ; 

Thou  hadst  a  voice,  whose  sound  was  like  the  sea, 

Pure  as  the  naked  heavens,  majestic,  free ; 

So  didst  thou  travel  on  life's  common  way. 

In  cheerful  godliness  :  and  yet  thy  heart 

The  lowliest  duties  on  herself  did  lay. 


I. 

Hb,  most  sublime  of  bards,  whose  lay  divine 
Sung  of  the  Fall  of  Man,  was  in  his  style 
Naked  and  stern  ;  and  to  effeminate  ears 
Perchance  ev'n  harsh  ;  but  who  will  dare  dispute 
His  strength  and  grandeur  ?  what  bright  glories  shine 
Upon  the  towers  of  his  gigantic  pile, 
Which  neither  storms  nor  Time's  destruction  fears, 
Eternal  growth  of  an  eternal  root  I 

>  Table  Talk.  f  The  Task  Book  in.  J  Sonnet,  written  In  1802. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LIFE  OF  MILTON. 


How  plain  the  words,  that  with  essential  thought, 

Pure,  heavenly,  incorporeal, — by  the  skill 

Of  angels'  tongues  how  marvellously  wrought, — 

The  web  ethereal,  where  the  serpent's  ill 

Brought  woe  and  ruin  into  Paradise, 

And  drove  the  sire  of  man  from  Eden's  blisk- 

n. 

Not  Milton's  holy  genius  could  secure 

In  life  his  name  from  insult  and  from  scorn 

And  taunts  of  indignation  j  foul  as  fall 

Upon  the  vilest  tribe  of  human  kind ; 

Nor  yet  untainted  could  his  heart  endure 

The  calumnies  his  patience  should  have  borne 

For  words  revengeful  started  at  his  call. 

And  blotted  the  effulgence  of  his  mind. 

But,  0,  how  frail  the  noblest  soul  of  man, 

Not  o'er  aggressive  blame  the  bard  arose ; 

His  monarch's  deeds  t'was  his  with  spleen  to  scan, 

And  on  his  reign  the  gates  of  mercy  close  I 

He  had  a  hero's  courage  ;  but,  too  stern, 

He  could  not  soft  submission's  dictates  learn  !    F.  B. 


PAEADISE  LOST 

BOOK  I. 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 


This  Book  on  the  whole  is  so  perfect  from  beginning  to  end,  that  it  would  be  difiScnlt 
to  find  a  single  superfluous  passage.  Milton's  poetical  style  is  more  serried  than  any 
other:  rhymed  metre  leads  to  empty  words,  involutions,  and  circumlocutions;  but  it  is 
In  the  thought,  still  more  than  in  the  language,  that  this  closeness  is  apparent  The 
matter,  the  illustrations,  and  the  allusions,  are  historically,  naturally,  or  philosophically 
true.  The  learning  is  of  every  extent  and  diversity ; — recondite,  classical,  scientific- 
antiquarian.  But  the  most  surprising  thing  is  how  he  vivifies  every  topic  he  touches 
by  poetry :  he  gives  life  and  picturesqueness  to  the  driest  catalogue  of  buried  names, 
persona  or  geographical.  They  who  bring  no  learning,  yet  feel  themselves  charmed 
by  sounds  and  epithets  which  give  a  vague  pleasure  to  the  mind,  and  stir  up  the  imagi- 
nation into  an  indistinct  emotion. 

Notwithstanding  all  that  has  been  said  so  copiously  about  poetical  imagination,  by 
critics  ancient  and  modern,  I  still  think  that  the  generality  of  authors  and  readers 
have  a  very  confused  idea  of  it  It  is  the  power,  not  only  of  conceiving,  but  creating 
embodied  illustrations  of  abstract  truths,  which  are  sublime,  or  pathetic,  or  beautifuL 

But  those  ideas  which  Milton  has  embodied,  no  imagination  would  have  dared  to 
attempt  but  his  own :  none  else  would  have  risen  "to  the  highth  of  this  great  argument." 
Every  one  else  would  have  fallen  short  of  it,  and  degraded  it. 

Johnson  says,  that  an  "inconvenience  of  Milton's  design  is,  that  it  requires  the  de- 
scription of  what  cannot  be  described, — the  agency  of  Spirits.  He  saw  that  imma- 
teriality supplied  no  images,  and  that  he  could  not  show  angels  acting  but  by  instru- 
ments of  action;  he  cherefore  invested  them  with  form  and  matter.  This  being 
Bocessary,  was  therefore  defensible,  and  he  should  have  secured  the  consistency  of  his 
system  by  keeping  immateriality  out  of  sight,  and  enticing  his  reader  to  drop  it  from 
his  thoughts."  Surely  this  was  quite  impossible  for  the  reason  Johnson  himself  has 
given.  The  imagination,  by  its  natural  tendencies,  always  embodies  Spirit  Poetry 
deals  in  pictures,  though  not  exclusively  in  pictures. 

In  this  respect  Milton's  poetry  is  difi'erent  from  almost  all  other;  that  it  is  always 
founded  on  our  belief,  and  a  belief,  which  we  consider  a  matter  of  duty  and  religion. 
Milton's  imagination  is  always  conscientious:  and  here  again  is  his  peculiarity.  Almost 
every  imaginat've  poet,  except  Milton,  falls  occasionally  into  fantasticality : — ^perhaps 
I  ought  to  except  also  Shakspeare.  This  is  the  vice  of  poetry,  where  there  is  not  the 
severest  judgment  and  the  most  profound  control ;  and  it  is  a  vice  which  the  bad  taste 
of  the  public  encourages.  The  flowers,  as  they  are  called, — the  corrupt  ornaments  of 
poetry,  please  vulgar  apprehensions  and  feelings.  Glaring  colours,  exnggerated forms, 
rouse  ordinary  eyes  and  intellects. 

(Ill) 


112  INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 

The  classical  taste,  the  sober  grace  of  ideal  majesty  or  beauty,  appears  tame  to  a 
mind  vitiated  with  all  the  extravagances  and  fooleries  of  insane  romance.  The  Gothic 
ages  introduced  numer  jus  ignorant  superstitions  and  absurd  opinions,  which  in  more 
enlightened  times  revolt  a  strict  or  sober  understanding.  Fictions  founded  on  such 
systems,  or  interwoven  with  them,  except  so  far  as  they  are  merely  illustrative,  may 
amuse  as  momentary  sports  of  wanton  or  forced  invention ;  but  the  sound  intellect 
rojectJ!  them  in  its  moments  of  seriousness. 

Among  the  miraculous  acquirements  of  Milton,  was  his  deep  and  familiar  intim&cy 
with  all  classical  and  all  chivalrous  literature, — the  amalgamation  in  his  mind  of  all  the 
philosophy  and  all  the  sublime  and  ornamental  literature  of  the  ancients,  and  all  the  ab- 
struse, the  laborious,  the  immature  learning  of  those  who  again  drew  off  the  mantle  of 
Time  from  the  ancient  treasures  of  genius,  and  mingled  with  them  their  own  crude 
oonoeptions  and  fantastic  theories.  He  extracted  from  this  mine  all  that  would  aid  the 
imagination  without  shocking  the  reason.  He  never  rejected  philosophy  j — but  where 
it  was  fabulous,  only  offered  it  as  ornament. 

It  will  not  be  too  much  to  say,  that  of  all  uninspired  writings  (if  these  he  uninspired), 
Milton's  are  the  most  worthy  of  profound  study  by  all  minds  which  would  know  the 
creativeness,  the  splendour  the  learning,  the  eloquence,  the  wisdom,  to  which  the  human 
intellect  can  reach. 

So  far  as  poetry  is  made  by  mere  figures  of  speech,  it  is  a  miserable  art,  which  haa 
nothing  of  invention  or  thought. 

As  to  material  pictures  of  spiritual  existences,  they  always  take  such  appearances 
when  they  visit  us,  though  they  can  resolve  themselves  back  into  air.  It  is  not  incon- 
sistent, therefore,  or  contrary  to  what  we  suppose  to  be  the  system  of  the  creation,  so  to 
represent  them.  Animation  is  the  soul  of  fiction ;  but  it  is  true,  that  there  may  be  ani- 
mation without  body. 

Milton's  force  and  sublimity  of  fable  is  especially  attested  by  his  frequent  concur- 
rence with  the  hints  and  language  of  the  Scriptures,  and  his  filling  up  those  dark  and 
mysterious  intimations  which  escape  less  illuminated  minds.  Here  then  imagination 
took  its  grandest  and  most  oracular  form. 

But  they  who  have  degraded  and  depraved  their  taste  by  vulgar  poetry,  not  only  do 
not  rise  to  the  delight  of  this  tone,  but  have  no  conception  of  it.  They  deem  the  bard  8 
work  to  be  a  concentration  of  petty  spangles  of  words,  like  false  jewels  made  of  paste 
by  an  adroit  artisan.  Everything  is  technical,  and  they  judge  only  by  skill  in  deco- 
ration. 

In  Milton's  language,  though  there  is  internal  force  and  splendour,  there  is  outward 
plainness.  Common  readers  think  that  it  sounds  and  looks  like  prose :  this  is  one  of 
its  attractions ;  while  all  which  is  stilted,  and  decorated,  and  affected,  soon  fatigues  and 
satiates.  To  delight  the  ear  and  the  eye  is  a  mere  sensual  indulgence ; — true  poetry 
strikes  at  the  soul. 

After  all  which  has  been  said  of  Milton  by  so  many  learned  and  able  critics,  these 
remarks  may  seem  superfluous ;  but  I  persuade  myself  that  some  of  the  topics  of  praise 
here  urged  have  not  been  duly  noticed  before.  I  must  here  also  repeat  my  conviction, 
that  of  all  critics,  Addison  is  the  most  beautiful,  eloquent,  and  just:  he  enters  deep 
into  the  fable,  the  imagery,  and  the  sentiment :  most  of  the  other  commentator]  merely 
busy  themselves  with  the  explanation  or  illustration  of  the  learning. 

We  are  bound  to  study  in  what  way  Milton  has  exercised  his  mighty  powers  of  in- 
vention and  imagination,  and  what  ought  to  be  their  purposes,  their  qualities,  and  theif 
merits.  If  any  one  thinks  the  imagination  to  be  an  idle  and  empty  power,  he  is  as 
hard  and  dull  as  he  is  ignorant  and  blind.  In  the  "  Paradise  Lost"  wo  hare  demon- 
strated, what  a  grand  and  holy  imagination  can  do. 


"THE  VERSE." 


[The  following  is  from  the  hand  of  the  poet  himself:  as  it  is  short,  I  have  given  his  own 
orthography,*  peculiar  in  some  points.— Ed.] 

"  The  measure  is  English  Heroick  Verse  Tnthout  Rime,  as  that  of  Homer  in  Greek, 
Rnd  of  Virgil  in  Latin ;  Rime  being  no  necessary  Adjunct  or  true  Ornament  of  Poem  or 
good  Verse,  in  longer  Works  especially,  but  the  Invention  of  a  barbarous  Age,  to  set 
off  wretched  matter  and  lame  Meeter;  grac't  indeed  since  by  the  use  of  some  famous 
modern  Poets,  carried  away  by  Custom,  but  much  to  thir  own  vexation,  hindrance,  and 
constraint,  to  express  many  things  otherwise,  and  for  the  most  part  worse,  then  else  they 
would  have  exprest  them.  Not  without  cause,  therefore,  some  both  Italian  and  Spanish 
Poets  of  prime  note,  have  rejected  Rime  both  in  longer  and  shorter  Works,  as  have 
also,  long  since,  our  best  English  Tragedies ;  as  a  thing  of  it  self,  to  all  judicious  ears, 
trivial  and  of  no  true  musical  delight ;  which  consists  only  in  apt  Numbers,  fit  quantity 
of  Syllables,  and  the  sense  variously  drawn  out  from  one  verse  into  another,  not  in  the 
jingling  sound  of  like  endings,  a  fault  avoided  by  th^ learned  Ancients  both  in  Poetry 
and  all  good  Oratory.  This  neglect  then  of  Rime  so  little  is  to  be  taken  for  a  defiKjt, 
though  it  may  seem  so  perhaps  to  vulgar  Readers,  that  it  rather  is  to  be  esteem'd  an 
example  set,  the  first  in  English,  of  ancient  liberty  reoover'd  to  Heroick  Poem  froua  the 
troublesome  and  modem  bondage  of  Riming." 

*  From  Milton's  own  edition,  1669. 

(113) 

16 


BOOK  I. 

ARGUMENT. 

Tms  first  book  propnaes,  first  in  brief,  the  whole  subject,  man'*  disobedience,  and  the  loss 
thereupon  of  Paradise,  wherein  he  was  placed.  Then  touches  the  prime  cause  of  his  fall ; 
the  serpect,  or  ratlier  Satan  in  the  serpent,  who,  revolting  from  Gud,  and  drawing  tu  hid 
•ide  nr.any  legions  nf  Angels,  was  by  the  command  of  God  driven  out  of  heaven  with  all 
fiia  crew,  into  the  great  deep.  Which  action  passed  over,  the  Poem  hastes  into  the  inidtit 
of  things,  presenting  Satan  with  his  Angels  now  fallen  into  hell,  described  here,  not  in  th3 
centre,  for  heaven  and  earth  may  be  supposed  as  yet  not  made,  certainly  not  yet  accursed  ; 
but  in  a  place  of  utter  darkness,  fitliest  called  Chaos  :  here  Satan  with  his  Angels  lying  on 
the  burnmg  lake,  thunderstruck  and  astonished,  after  a  certain  space  recovers,  as  from 
confusion,  calls  up  him  who  next  in  order  and  dignity  lay  by  him:  they  confer  of  their 
miserable  ta...  Satan  awakens  all  his  legions,  who  lay  till  then  in  the  same  manner  con- 
founded :  they  rise;  their  numbers,  array  of  battel,  their  chief  leaders  named,  according 
to  the  idols  known  afterwards  in  Canaan  and  the  countries  adjoining.  To  these  Satan 
airects  his  speech,  comforts  them  with  hope  yet  of  regaining  heaven,  but  tells  them 
lasllv  of  a  new  world  and  a  new  kind  of  creature  to  be  created,  acc(  rding  to  an  ancient 
prophecy  or  report  in  heaven  ;  for  that  Angels  were  long  before  this  Visible  creation,  was 
the  opinion  of  many  ancient  Fathers.  To  find  out  the  truth  of  this  prophecy,  and  what  to 
determine  thereon,  he  refers  to  a  full  council.  What  his  associates  thence  attempt.  Pan- 
denronium,  the  palace  of  Satan,  rises,  suddenly  built  out  of  the  deep :  the  infernal  Peers 
ther  e  sit  in  council. 

Op  Man's  first  disobedience,*  and  the  fruit 

Of  that  forbidden  tree,  whose  mortal  taste 

Brought  death  into  the  world,  and  all  our  woe, 

With  loss  of  Eden,  till  one  greater  Man 

Restore  us,  and  regain  the  blissful  seat, 

Sing,  heavenly  Muse,  that  on  the  secret  top 

Of  Oreb,  or  of  Sinai,  didst  inspire 

That  shepherd,  who  first  taught  the  chosen  seed, 

In  the  beginning  how  the  heavens  and  earth 

Rose  out  of  chaos :  or,  if  Sion  hill 

Delight  thee  more,  and  Siloa's  brook  *  that  flow'd 

Fast  by  the  oracle  of  God,  I  thence 

Invoke  thy  aid  to  my  adventurous  song. 

That  with  :io  middle  flight  intends  to  soar 

Above  the  Aonian  mount,  while  it  pursues 

<  Milton  has  proposed  the  subject  of  his  poem  in  the  first  six  verses :  thei>e  lines  aro 
perhaps  as  plain,  simple,  and  unadorned,  as  any  of  the  whole  poem :  in  which  particular 
the  author  has  conformed  himself  to  the  example  of  Homor,  and  the  precept  of  Horace. 
His  invocation  to  a  work,  which  turns  in  a  great  measure  on  the  creation  of  the  world, 
is  properly  made  to  the  Muse  who  inspired  Moses  in  those  books  from  whence  our 
author  drew  his  subject ;  and  to  the  Holy  Spirit,  who  is  therein  represented  as  operat- 
ing after  a  particular  manner  in  the  first  production  of  nature.  The  whole  exordium 
rises  very  happily  into  noble  language  and  sentiment,  as  I  think  the  transition  to  the 
fable  is  exquisitely  beautiful  and  natural. — Addison. 

l>  And  Siloa'a  brook, 
Siloa  was  a  smaU  hrook  that  flowed  near  the  temple  of  Jerusalem :  it  is  mentioned, 
Isaiah  viii.  6;  so  that,  in  effect,  Milton  invokes  the  heavenly  Muse  that  inspired  David 
aad  the  prophets  on  Mount  Sion,  and  at  Jerusalem ;  as  well  as  Moses  ou  Mount  Sinai. 

— NXWTOH. 

(114) 


BOOK  1]  PARADISE  LOST.  115 

Things  unattempted  yet  in  prose  or  rhyme.' 
And  chiefly  thou,  0  Spirit/  that  dost  prefer 
Before  all  temples  the  upright  heart  and  pure, 
Instruct  me,  for  thou  know'st ;  thou  from  the  first 
Wast  present,  and  with  mighty  wings  outspread 
Dove-like  sat'st  brooding*  on  the  vast  abyss, 
And  madest  it  pregnant :  what  in  me  is  dark 
Illumine,'  what  is  low  raise  and  support ; 
That  to  the  highth  of  this  great  argument* 

e  Rhyme. 
Rhyme  here  means  verse. — T.  Warton. 

Blank  verse  is  apt  to  be  loose,  thin,  and  more  full  of  words  than  thought:  the  blank 
«erse  of  Milton  is  compressed,  close-wove,  and  weighty  in  matter. 

<•  And  chiefly  thou,  0  Spirit. 
Invoking  the  Music  is  commonly  a  matter  of  mere  form,  wherein  the  poets  neither 
mean  nor  desire  to  be  thought  to  mean,  anything  seriously:  but  the  Holy  Ghost  here 
invoked  is  too  solemn  a  name  to  be  used  insignificantly ;  and  besides,  our  author,  in 
the  beginning  of  his  next  work,  "  Paradise  Regained,"  scruples  not  to  say  to  the  same 
divine  person : — 

Inspire, 
As  thou  art  wont,  my  pronipttd  song,  e.se  mute. 

This  address,  therefore,  is  no  mere  formality :  yet  some  may  think  that  he  incurs  a 
worse  charge  of  enthusiasm,  or  even  profaneness,  in  vouc  hing  inspiration  for  his  perform- 
ance :  but  the  Scriptures  represent  inspiration  as  of  a  uauch  larger  extent  than  is  com- 
monly apprehended,  teaching,  that  "  every  good  gift,"  in  naturals  as  well  as  in  morals, 
"descendeth  from  the  great  Father  of  Lights."  James  i.  17.  And  an  extraordinary 
skill,  even  in  mechanical  arts,  is  there  ascribed 'to  the  illumination  of  the  Holy  Ghost 
It  is  said  of  Bezaleel,  who  was  to  make  the  furniture  oi'the  tabernacle,  that  "the  Lord 
had  filled  him  with  the  spirit  of  God,  in  wisdom,  in  understanding,  and  in  knowledge, 
and  in  all  manner  of  workmanship,  and  to  devise  curious  works,"  &e.  Exod.  xxxT 
31. — Heylin. 

It  may  be  observed,  too,  in  justification  of  our  author,  that  other  sacred  poems  are 
not  without  the  like  invocations,  and  particularly  Spenser's  hymns  of  Heavenly  Love 
and  Heavenly  Beauty,  as  well  as  some  modern  Latin  poems.  But  I  conceive  that 
Milton  intended  something  more;  for  I  have  been  infarmed  by  those  who  had  oppor- 
tunities of  conversing  with  his  widow,  that  she  wasVont  to  say  that  he  did  really  look 
upon  himself  as  inspired;  and  I  think  his  works  are  not  Without  a  spirit  of  enthusiasm. 
In  the  beginning  of  the  second  book  of  the  "  Reason  of  Church  Government,"  speak- 
ing  of  his  design  of  writing  a  poem  in  the  English  la.nguage,  he  says,  "  It  was  not  to 
be  obtained  by  the  invocation  of  Dame  Memory  and  her  siren  daughters,  but  by  devout 
prayer  of  that  Eternal  Spirit  who  can  enrich  with  all  utterance  and  knowledge ;  and 
sends  out  his  seraphim  with  the  hallowed  fire  of  his  altar,  to  touch  and  purify  the  lips 
of  whom  he  pleases."  p.  61,  edit.  1738. — Newton. 

e  Dove-like  tat'at  brooding. 
Alluding  to  Gen.  i.  2.  "The  spirit  of  God  moved  on  the  face  of  the  waters;"  for  the 
word  that  we  translate  moved,  signifies  properly  brooded,  as  a  bird  doth  upon  her  eggs ; 
and  Milton  says  like  a  dove,  rather  than  any  other  bird,  because  the  descent  of  the 
Holy  Ghost  is  compared  to  a  dove,  Luke  iii.  22.  As  Milton  studied  the  Scriptures  in  the 
original  language,  his  images  and  expressions  are  oftener  copied  from  them  than  tiom 
our  translations. — Newton. 

'  What  in  me  ia  dark 
Illumine. 
He  calls  the  Holy  Ghost -the  illumining  Spirit  in  his  "Prose  Works,"  vol.  i.  p.  273, 
edit.  169?.     Compare  Fairfax's  "Tasso,"  b.  viii.  st  76: — 

Illumine  their  dark  souls  with  light  divine.— Todd. 

s  That  to  the  highth  of  thia  great  argument. 

The  height  of  the  argument  is  precisely  what  distinguishes  this  poem  of  Miltoo 

fro'n  all  others.     In  other  works  of  imagination,  the  difficulty  lies  in  giving  sufficient 

elevation  to  the  subject:  here  it  lies  in  raising  the  imagination  up  to  the  grandeur  of 

the  subject,  in  adequate  concei)tion  of  its  mightiness,  and  in  finding  language  of  such 


I  may  assert  eternal  Providence, 
And  justify  the  ways  of  God  to  men." 

Say  first,  for  heaven  hides  nothing  from  thy  view, 
Nor  the  deep  tract  of  hell,'  say  first  what  cause 
Moved  our  grand  parents,  in  that  happy  state, 
Favour'd  of  Heaven  so  highly,  to  fall  off 
From  their  Creator,  and  transgress  his  will 
For  one  restraint,  lords  of  the  world  besides  ? 
Who  first  seduced  them  to  that  foul  revolt  ? 
The  infernal  Serpent ;  ho  it  was,  whose  guile, 
Stirr'd  up  with  envy  and  revenge,  deceived 
The  mother  of  mankind  ;  what  time  his  pride 
Had  cast  him  out  from  heaven,  with  all  his  host 
Of  rebel  Angels ;  by  whose  aid  aspiring 
To  set  himself  in  glory  above  his  peers,'' 
He  trusted  to  have  equal'd  the  Most  High,* 
If  he  opposed  ;  and  with  ambitious  aim 
Against  the  throne  and  monarchy  of  God 
Raised  impious  war  in  heaven  and  battel  proud 

majesty  as  will  not  degrade  it.  A  genius  less  gigantic  and  less  holy  than  Milton's 
would  have  shrunk  from  the  attempt  Milton  not  only  does  not  lower,  V/ut  he  illumines 
the  bright,  and  enlarges  the  great:  he  expands  his  wings,  and  "sails  with  supreme 
dominion''  up  to  the  heavens,  parts  the  clouds,  and  communes  with  angels  and  unem< 
bodied  spirits. 

h  And  jugti/i/  the  ways  of  God  to  men. 
Pope  has  thought  fit  to  borrow  this  verse,  with  some  little  variation,  "  Essay  on  Man," 
ep.  i.  16 : — "  but  vindicate  the  ways  of  God  to  man."  It  is  not  easy  to  conceive  any 
good  reason  for  Pope's  preferring  vindicate  ;  but  Milton  uses  justify,  as  it  is  the  Scrip- 
ture word,  "  that  thou  mightest  be  jmtified  in  thy  sayings."  Rom.  iii.  4. — And  "  the 
ways  of  God  to  men"  are  justified  in  the  many  argumentative  discourses  throughout 
the  poem,  particularly  in  the  conferences  between  God  the  Father  and  the  Son. — 
Newton. 

'  Say  first,  for  heaven  hides  nothing  from  thy  view, 
Nor  the  deep  tract  of  hell. 
The  poets  attribute  a  kind  of  omniscience  to  the  Muse;  and  very  rightly,  as  it 
enables  them  to  speak  of  things  which  could  not  otherwise  be  supposed  to  come  to  theii 
knowledge.     Thus  Homer,  II.  ii.  486 : — 

'Y/itrf  yap  deal  tart,  naptari  rt,  Ion  rt  ninra. 
And  see  Virgil,  ^n.  vii.  645.     Milton's  Muse  being  the  Holy  Spirit,  must  of  course  be 
omniscient:  and  the  mention  of  heaven  and  hell  is  very  proper  in  this  place,  as  the 
scene  of  a  great  part  of  the  poem  is  laid  sometimes  in  hell  and  sometimes  in  heaven. — 
Nkwton. 

J  By  whose  aid  aspiring 
To  set  himself  in  glory  above  his  peers. 
H^re  Dr.  Bentley  objects,  that  Satan's  crime  was  not  his  aiming  "above  his  peers:" 
he  was  in  place  high  above  them  before,  as  the  Doctor  proves  from  b.  v.  812:  but, 
though  this  be  true,  Milton  may  be  right  here;  for  the  force  of  the  words  seems  not 
th",t  Satan  aspired  to  set  himself  above  his  peers,  but  that  he  aspired  to  set  himself  in 
ffU  ry ;  that  is,  in  divine  glory;  in  such  glory  as  God  and  his  Son  were  set  in.  Here 
was  his  crime ;  and  this  is  what  God  charges  him  with  in  b.  v.  725 : — 

wno  intends  to  erect  his  throne 
Equal  to  ours 

And  in  b.  vi.  88,  Milton  says  that  the  rebel  angels  hoped 

To  w'.n  the  Mount  of  God,  and  on  his  throne 
To  set  the  envier  of  his  state,  the  proud 
Aspirer. 

Bee  also,  to  the  same  purpose,  b.  vii.  140,  &c. — Pearck. 

k  He  trusted  to  have  equal'd  the  Most  High, 
See  Isaiah,  oh.  xir.  13. — Stillinofleet. 


BOOK  I.]  PARADISE  LOST.  lit 

With  vain  attempt.     Him  the  Almighty  Power 

Hurl'd  headlong  flaming  from  the  ethereal  sky, 

With  hideous  ruin  and  combustion,  down 

To  bottomless  perdition,  there  to  dwell 

In  adamantine  chains  and  penal  fire, 

Who  durst  defy  the  Omnipotent  to  arms. 

Nine  times  the  space  that  measures  day  and  night 

To  mortal  men,'  he  with  his  horrid  crew 

Lay  vanquish'd,  rolling  in  the  fiery  gulf, 

Confounded  though  immortal :  but  his  doom 

Reserved  him  to  more  wrath ;  for  now  the  thought 

Both  of  lost  happiness  and  lasting  pain 

Torments  him ;  round  he  throws  his  baleful  eyes, 

That  witness'd  huge  affliction  and  dismay, 

Mix'd  with  obdurate  pride  and  stedfast  hate. 

At  once,  as  far  as  angels  ken,  he  views 

The  dismal  situation  waste  and  wild  : 

A  dungeon  horrible,  on  all  sides  round. 

As  one  great  furnace,  flamed ;  yet  from  those  flames 

No  light,™  but  rather  darkness  visible" 

Served  only  to  discover  sights  of  woe. 

Regions  of  sorrow,  doleful  shades,  where  peace 

And  rest  can  never  dwell ;  hope  never  comes, 

That  comes  to  all ;°   but  torture  without  end 

1  Nine  timet  the  apace  that  measures  day  and  night 
To  mortal  men. 
The  nine  days'  astonishment,  in  which  the  angels  lay  entranced  after  their  dreadful 
overthrow  and  fall  from  heaven,  before  they  could  recover  either  the  use  of  thought  or 
speech,  is  a  noble  circumstance,  and  very  finely  imagined.  The  division  of  hell  into 
Beas  of  fire,  and  into  firm  ground  impregnated  with  the  same  furious  element,  with 
that  particular  circumstance  of  the  exclusion  of  hope  from  tho8(^ infernal  regions,  are 
instances  of  the  same  great  and  fruitful  invention.-vADDisoN. 

•"  Yet  from  those  flames 
No  light. 

So  the  Wisdom  of  Solomon,  ch.  xviii.  5,  6 : — "  No  power  of  the  fire  might  give  them 
light;  only  there  appeared  unto  them  a  fire  kindled  of  itself,  very  dreadful." — Todd. 

»  Darkness  visible, 

Milton  seems  to  have  used  these  words  to  signify  gloom :  absolute  darkness  is,  strictly 
(peaking,  invisible;  but  where  there  is  a  gloom  only,  there  is  so  much  light  remaining, 
as  serves  to  show  that  there  are  objects,  and  yet  Uiat  those  objects  cannot  be  distincily 
seen. — Pearce. 

Sjneca  has  a  like  expression,  speaking  of  the  grotto  of  Pausilipo,  epist.  Ivii. : — "  Nihil 
illo  carcere  longius,  nihil  illis  faucibus  obscurius,  quae  nobis  praestant  non  ut  ;a«r  tenehmt 
videamus,  sed  ut  ipsas."  And,  as  Voltaire  observes,  Antonio  de  Soils,  in  his  "  History 
of  Mexico,"  speaking  of  the  place  wherein  Montezuma  C9nsulted  his  deities,  saj-s,  "  It 
we^  a  large  dark  subterranean  vault,  where  some  dismal  tapers  afforded  just  light 
ciwiujh  to  see  the  obscurity."     So  Euripides,  "  Bacchas,"  v.  510  : — 

'lit  3V  (tk6tio»  tiaopa  Kvifjjai. 
There  is  much  the  same  image  in  Spenser,  but  not  so  bold,  "  Faer.  Qu."  i.  i.  14 :-  - 

A  little  glooming  light,  much  like  a  shade. 
Or,  after  all,  Milton  might  take  the  hint  from  his  own  "  II  Penseroso :" 
"WThere  (flowing  embers  throuj^h  the  room 
Teach  light  to  counterfeit  a  gloom. — Newton. 

o  Hope  never  comes, 
That  comes  to  all. 
See  Dante's  'Inferno,"  ch.  iii.  J>: — Lasciate  ogni  speranza,  voi  ch'intrate. 


118  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  i. 

Still  urges,  and  a  fiery  deluge,  fed 

With  ever-burning  sulphur  unconsumed  : 

Such  place  eternal  justice  had  prepared 

For  those  rebellious ;  here  their  prison  ordain'd 

In  utter  darkness  ;  and  their  portion  set 

As  far  removed  from  God  and  light  of  heaven, 

As  from  the  centre  thrice  to  the  utmost  pole.' 

0,  how  unlike  the  place  from  whence  they  fell  I 

There  the  companions  of  his  fall  o'erwhelm'd 

With  floods  and  whirlwinds  of  tempestuous  fire,« 

He  soon  discerns ;  and  weltering  by  his  side. 

One  next  himself  in»power,  and  next  in  crime, 

Long  after  known  in  Palestine,  and  named 

Beelzebub  :  to  whom  the  arch-enemy,*" 

And  thence  in  heaven  call'd  Satan,' — with  bold  words 

Breaking  the  horrid  silence,  thus  began  : — 

If  thou  beest  he — But  0,  how  fallen !  how  changed 
From  him,  who  in  the  happy  realms  of  light, 

P  A»  from  the  centre  thrice  to  the  utmost  pole. 
Thrice  as  far  as  it  is  from  the  centre  of  the  earth,  which  is  the  centre  of  the  world, 
according  to  Milton's  system,  b.  ix.  103,  and  b,  x.  671,  to  the  pole  of  the  world;  foi 
U  is  the  pole  of  the  universe,  far  beyond  the  pole  of  the  earth,  which  is  here  called  the 
utmost  pole.  Homer  makes  the  seat  of  hell  as  far  beneath  the  deepest  pit  of  eaith  as 
the  heaven  is  above  the  earth,  Iliad,  viii.  16.  Virgil  makes  it  twice  as  far,  ^neid,  vi. 
678:  and  Milton  thrice  as  far;  as  if  these  three  great  poets  had  stretched  their  utmost 
genius,  and  vied  with  each  other,  who  should  extend  his  idea  of  the  depth  of  hell 
farthest  But  Milton's  whole  description  of  hell  as  much  exceeds  theirs,  as  in  this 
single  circumstance  of  the  depth  of  it  And  how  cool  and  unaffecting  is  the  Taprapot. 
'ttpSevra  the  oiifipeiai  re  triyai  Koi  xa^xcos  oiSSs  of  Homer, — the  "lugentes  carapi,"  the 
"ferrea  turris,"  and  "horrisono  stridentes  cardine  portiE,"  of  Vigil,  in  comparison  with 
this  description  by  Milton,  concluding  with  that  artful  contrast,  "  0,  how  unlike  the 
place  from  whence  they  fell !" — Newton. 

<J  Tempestuoiu  fire. 

Psalm  xi.  6 : — "  Upon  the  wicked  the  Lord  will  rain  fire  and  brimstone,  and  an  horri- 
ble tempest" — Dunster. 

'  To  whom  the  arch  enemy. 

The  thoughts  in  the  first  speech  and  description  of  Satan,  who  is  one  of  the  principal 
actors  in  this  poem,  are  wonderfully  proper  to  give  us  a  full  idea  of  him :  his  pride, 
envy,  and  revenge,  obstinacy,  despair,  and  impenitence,  are  all  of  them  very  artfully 
interwoven.  In  short,  his  first  speech  is  a  complication  of  all  those  passions  which  dis- 
cover themselves  separately  in  several  other  of  his  speeches  in  the  poem.  The 
'vhole  part  of  this  great  enemy  of  mankind  is  filled  with  such  incidents  as  are  very 
apt  to  raise  and  terrify  the  reader's  imagination.  Of  this  nature,  in  the  book  now 
before  us,  is  his  being  the  first  that  awakens  out  of  the  general  trance,  with  his  posturo 
on  the  burning  lake,  his  rising  from  it,  and  the  description  of  his  shield  and  spear :  to 
which  we  may  add  his  call  to  the  fallen  angels,  that  lay  plunged  and  stupefied  in  the 
ica  of  fire. 

Amidst  those  impieties  which  this  enraged  spirit  utters  in  other  places  of  this  poem, 
the  author  has  taken  care  to  introduce  none  that  is  not  big  with  absurdity,  and  inca- 
pable of  shocking  a  religious  reader :  his  words,  as  the  poet  himself  describes  them, 
bearing  only  "a  semblance  of  worth,  not  substance."  He  is  also  with  great  art 
described  as  owning  his  adversary  to  be  Almighty.  Whatever  perverse  interpretation 
he  puts  on  the  justice,  mercy,  and  other  attributes  of  the  Supreme  Being,  he  frequently 
confesses  his  omnipotence ;  that  being  the  perfection  he  was  forced  to  allow  him,  and 
the  only  consideration  which  could  support  his  pride  nnder  the  shame  of  his  defeat — 

&.DDI80N. 

» And  thence  in  heaven  call'd  Satan. 
For  the  word  Satan,  in  Hebrew,  signifies  an  enemy :  he  is  the  enemt  by  way  of  emi- 
nence, the  chief  enemy  of  God  and  Man. — Newton. 


BOOK  I.]  PARADISE  LOST.  119 

Clothed  with  transcendent  brightness,  didst  outshine 
Myriads,  though  bright !     If  he,  whom  mutual  league, 
United  thoughts  and  counsels,  equal  hope 
And  hazard  in  the  glorious  enterprise, 
Join'd  with  me  once,  now  misery  hath  join'd 
In  equal  ruin  :  into  what  pit  thou  seest, 
From  what  highth  fallen  :  so  much  the  stronger  proved 
He  with  his  thunder ;  and  till  then  who  knew 
The  force  of  those  dire  arms  ?  yet  not  for  those, 
Nor  what  the  potent  Victor  in  his  rage 
Can  else  inflict,  do  I  repent,  or  change, 
Though  changed  in  outward  lustre,  that  fix'd  mind 
And  high  disdain  from  sense  of  injured  merit, 
That  with  the  Mightiest  raised  me  to  contend. 
And  to  the  fierce  contention  brought  along 
Innumerable  force  of  spirits  arm'd. 
That  durst  dislike  his  reign  ;  and,  me  preferring. 
His  utmost  power  with  adverse  power  opposed 
In  dubious  battel  on  the  plains  of  heaven, 
And  shook  his  throne.     What  though  the  field  be  lost  ? 
All  is  not  lost;*   the  unconquerable  will 
And  study  of  revenge,  immortal  hate. 
And  courage  never  to  submit  or  yield. 
And  what  is  else  not  to  be  overcome ; 
That  glory  never  shall  his  wrath  or  might 
Extort  from  me :  to  bow  and  sue  for  grace 
With  suppliant  knee,  and  deify  his  power, 
Who  from  the  terrour  of  this  arm  so  late 
Doubted  his  empire  ;  that  were  low  indeed ; 
That  were  an  ignominy  and  shame  beneath 
This  downfall;  since,  by  fate,  the  strength  of  gods" 
And  this  empyreal  substance  cannot  fail  j 
Since,  through  experience  of  this  great  event. 
In  arms  not  worse,  in  foresight  much  advanced. 
We  may  with  more  successful  hope  resolve 
To  wage  by  force  or  guile  eternal  war, 
Irreconcileable  to  our  grand  Foe, 
Who  now  triumphs,  and  in  the  excess  of  joy 
Sole  reigning  holds  the  tyranny  of  heaven. 
So  spake  the  apostate  angel,  though  in  pain, 

t  What  though  the  field  be  lo»t  t 
All  t«  not  lost. 

This  passage  is  an  excellent  improvement  upon  Satan's  speech  to  the  infernal  spirita 
hi  Tasso,  c.  iv.  st.  15 ;  but  sterns  to  be  expressed  from  Fairfax's  translation,  rather  thp,n 
from  the  original : — 

We  lost  the  field,  yet  lost  we  not  our  heart.— Newton. 

0  Since,  hy  fate,  the  strength  of  Gods. 

For  Satan  supposes  the  angels  to  subsist  by  fate  and  necessity ;  and  he  represonts  thetn 
of  an  empyreal,  that  is,  a  fiery  substance,  as  the  Scripture  itself  does,  Psalm  civ.  4 : — 
*He  maketh  his  angels  spirits,  and  his  ministers  a  Jlamr.  of  fire." — Nbwton. 


120  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  i. 

Vaunting  aloud/  but  rack'd  with  deep  despair  : 
And  him  thus  answer'd  soon  his  bold  compeer  :— 

0  prince,  0  chief  of  many  throned  powers, 
That  led  the  imbattel'd  seraphim  to  war 
Under  thy  conduct,  and,  in  dreadful  deeds 
Fearless,  endanger'd  heaven's  perpetual  King; 
And  put  to  proof  his  high  supremacy, 
Whether  upheld  by  strength,  or  chance,  or  fate  : 
Too  well  I  see  and  rue  the  dire  event, 
That  with  sad  overthrow  and  foul  defeat 
Hath  lost  us  heaven,  and  all  this  mighty  host 
In  horrible  destruction  laid  thus  low; 
As  far  as  gods  and  heavenly  essences 
Can  perish  :  for  the  mind  and  spirit  remains 
Invincible,  and  vigour  soon  returns ; 
Though  all  our  glory  extinct,"  and  happy  state 
Here  swallow'd  up  in  endless  misery. 
But  what  if  he  our  Conquerour,  whom  I  now 
Of  force  believe  Almighty,  since  no  less 
Than  such  could  have  o'erpower'd  such  force  as  curs- 
Have  left  us  this  our  spirit  and  strength  entire, 
Strongly  to  suffer  and  support  our  pains  ? 
That  we  may  so  suffice  his  vengeful  ire ; 
Or  do  him  mightier  service,  as  his  thralls 
By  right  of  war,  whate'er  his  business  be, 
Here  in  the  heart  of  hell  to  work  in  fire, 
Or  do  his  errands  in  the  gloomy  deep : 
What  can  it  then  avail,  though  yet  we  feel 
Strength  undiminish'd,  or  eternal  being, 
To  undergo  eternal  punishment  ? 
Whereto  with  speedy  words  the  arch-fiend  replied : — 

Fallen  cherub,  to  be  weak  is  miserable. 
Doing  or  suffering;*  but  of  this  be  sure, 

V  Vaunting  aloud. 
This  speech  is  remarkable  for  brevity  and  energy  of  expression,  and  justness  of  the 
thought  arising  from  the  nature  of  the  foregoing  speech,  and  Satan's  present  misery. — 
Callander. 

w  Though  all  our  glory  extinct. 
As  a  flame  put  out  and  extinguished  for  ever.     This  word  is  very  properly  applied  to 
their  irrecoverable  loss  of  that  angelic  beauty  which  accompanied  them  when  in  a  state 
of  innocence.     The  Latins  have  used  the  word  "  extinctus"  in  the  same  metaphorical 
sense.     Thus  Virgil,  ^n.  iv.  322  :— 

te  propter  eundem 
Extinctus  pudor,  et,  qua  sola  sidera  adibam, 
Fama  prior.  Callandbb. 

»  To  be  weak  it  miterable, 
Doing  or  tuffering. 
Satan  having  in  bis  speech  boasted  that  the  "strength  of  gods  could  not  fail,"  r. 
116,  and  Beelzebub  having  said,  v.  146,  "  If  God  has  lefl  us  this  our  strength  entire, 
to  suffer  p.iin  strongly,  or  to  do  him  mightier  service  as  his  thralls,  what  then  can  out 
strength  rvail  us?"  Satan  here  replies  very  properly,  whether  we  are  to  suffer  or  to 
work,  yet  still  it  is  some  comfort  to  have  our  strength  undiminished :  for  it  is  a  miser- 
able  thing,  says  he,  to  be  weak  and  without  strength,  whether  we  are  doing  or  suffering, 
This  is  tbo  nense  of  the  place ;  and  this  is  farther  confirmed  by  what  Belial  says,  b.  ii. 
199:— 


BOOK  Lj  PARADISE  LOST.  121 

To  do  aught  good  never  will  be  our  task, 

But  ever  to  do  ill  our  sole  delight ; 

As  being  the  contrary  to  his  high  will, 

Whom  we  resist.     If  then  his  providence 

Out  of  our  evil  seek  to  bring  forth  good, 

Our  labour  must  be  to  pervert  that  end, 

And  out  of  good  still  to  find  means  of  evil : 

Which  oft-times  may  succeed,  so  as  perhaps 

Shall  grieve  him,  if  I  fail  not,  and  disturb 

His  inmost  counsels  from  their  destined  aim. 

But  see  !  the  angry  Victor  hath  recall'd'' 

His  ministers  of  vengeance  and  pursuit 

Back  to  the  gates  of  heaven  :  the  sulphurous  bail, 

Shot  after  us  in  storm,  o'erblown  hath  laid 

The  fiery  surge,  that  from  the  precipice 

Of  heaven  received  us  falling;  and  the  thunder, 

To  aufTer,  as  to  do, 
Our  strength  is  equal.  Pbabcb. 

y  But  see  !  the  angry  Victor  hath  recall'd. 
Dr.  Bentley  has  really  made  a  very  material  objection  to  this  and  some  other  passage* 
of  the  poem,  wherein  the  good  angels  are  represented  as  pursuing  the  rebel  host  with 
fire  and  thunderbolts  down  through  Chaos,  even  to  the  gates  of  hell,  as  being  contrary 
to  the  accounts  which  the  angel  Raphael  gives  to  Adam  in  the  sixth  book;  and  it  ia 
certain  that  there  the  good  angels  are  ordered  to  "  stand  still  only  and  behold,"  and  the 
Messiah  alone  expels  them  out  of  heaven ;  and  after  he  has  expelled  them,  and  hell 
haa  closed  upon  them,  b.  vi.  880  : — 

Sole  victor  from  the  expulsion  of  his  foes, 

Messiah  his  triumphal  chariot  turn'd: 

Tn  meet  him  all  his  saints,  who  silent  stood 

Eye-witnesses  of  his  almighty  acts, 

With  jubilee  advanced. 

These  accounts  are  plainly  contrary  the  one  to  the  other;  but  the  author  does  not 
therefore  contradict  himself,  nor  is  one  part  of  his  scheme  inconsistent  with  another: 
for  it  should  be  considered  who  are  the  persons  that  give  these  different  accounts,  in 
book  vi.  the  angel  Raphael  is  the  speaker,  and  therefore  his  account  may  be  depended 
upon  as  the  genuine  and  exact  truth  of  the  matter :  but  in  the  other  passages  Satan 
himself,  or  some  of  his  angels,  are  the  speakers ;  and  they  were  too  proud  and  obstinate 
ever  to  acknowledge  the  Messiah  for  their  conqueror:  as  their  rebellion  was  raised  on 
his  account,  they  would  never  own  his  superiority;  they  would  rather  ascribe  theii 
defeat  to  the  whole  host  of  heaven  than  to  him  alone;  or,  if  they  did  indeed  imagine 
their  pursuers  to  be  so  many  in  number,  their  fears  multiplied  them,  and  it  serves 
admirably  to  express  how  much  they  were  terrified  and  confounded.  In  book  vii.  8.30, 
the  noise  of  his  chariot  is  compared  to  "  the  sound  of  a  numerous  host ;"  and  perhaps 
they  might  think  that  a  numerous  host  were  really  pursuing.  In  one  place,  indeed,  wo 
have  Chaos  speaking  thus,  b.  ii.  996 : — 

and  heaven  gates 

Pour'd  out  by  millions  her  victorious  bands 

Pursuing. 

But  what  a  condition  was  Chaos  in  during  the  fall  of  the  rebel  angels  !  See  b.  vi.  871 : — 
Nine  days  they  fell ;  confounded  Chaos  roar'd 
And  felt  tenfold  confusion  in  their  fall 
Through  his  wild  anarchy:  so  huge  a  rout 
IncuiAher'd  him  with  ruin. 

We  must  suppose  him  therefore  to  spiiak  according  to  his  own  fruitful  and  disturbed 
imagination ;  he  might  conceive  that  so  much 

Kuin  upon  ruin,  rout  on  rout, 
could  not  all  be  effected  by  a  single  hand :  and  what  a  sublime  idea  must  it  give  us  of 
the  terrors  of  the  Messiah,  that  he  alone  should  be  as  formidable  as  if  the  whole  host 
of  heaven  were  pursuing !  So  that  the  seeming  contradiction,  upon  examination  proves 
rather  a  beauty  than  any  blemish  to  the  poem, — Newton. 
16 


122  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  i. 

Wing'd  with  red  lightning  and  impetuous  rage 

Perhaps  hath  spent  his  shafts,  and  ceases  now 

To  bellow  through  the  vast  and  boundless  deep." 

Let  us  not  slip  the  occasion,  whether  scorn 

Or  satiate  fury  yield  it  from  our  foe. 

Scest  thou  yon  dreary  plain  forlorn  and  wild, 

The  seat  of  desolation,  void  of  light, 

Save  what  the  glimmering  of  these  livid  flames 

Casts  pale  and  dreadful  ?  thither  let  us  tend 

From  ofl^  the  tossing  of  these  fiery  waves; 

There  rest,  if  any  rest  can  harbour  there ; 

And,  reassembling  our  afflicted  powers, 

Consult  how  we  may  henceforth  most  offend 

Our  enemy ;  our  own  loss  how  repair ; 

How  overcome  this  dire  calamity ; 

What  reinforcement  we  may  gain  from  hope ; 

If  not,  what  resolution,  from  despair.* 

Thus  Satan,  talking  to  his  nearest  mate, 
With  head  uplift  above  the  wave,  and  eyes 
That  sparkling  blazed ;  his  other  parts  besides 
Prone  on  the  flood,  extended  long  and  large, 
Lay  floating  many  a  rood ;  in  bulk  as  huge 
As  whom  the  fables  name  of  monstrous  size, 
Titanian,  or  Earth-born,  that  warr'd  on  Jove,* 
Briareos,  or  Typhon,  whom  the  den 
By  ancient  Tarsus  held ;  or  that  sea-beast 
Leviathan,  which  God  of  all  his  works 
Created  hugest  that  swim  the  ocean  stream  : 
Him,  haply,  slumbering  on  the  Norway  foam. 
The  pilot  of  some  small  night-foundered  skiff," 
Deeming  some  island,  oft,  as  seamen  tell, 
With  fixed  anchor  in  his  scaly  rind 
Moors  by  his  side  under  the  lee,  while  night 
Invests  the  sea,*  and  wished  morn  delays. 

*  To  bellow  through  the  vast  and  houndless  deep. 
4  truly  magnificent  line. 

»  If  not,  what  resolution  from  despair. 
The  sentiment  in  this  verse  may  be  referred  to  Seneca's  Medea,  ver.  163 ; — 
"Qui  nihil  potest  sperare,  niliil  desperet." — Uunster. 
b  Titanian,  or  Earth-born,  that  warr'd  on  Jove. 
Here  Milton  commences  that  train  of  learned  allusions  which  was  among  his  pecu- 
liarities, and  which  he  always  makes  poetical  by  some  picturesque  epithet,  or  s'ra'le. 

c  The  pilot  of  some  small  nig  fit  foundered  skiff. 

(5ome  little  boat,  whose  pilot  dares  not  proceed  in  his  course  for  fear  of  the  dark 
night:  a  metaphor  taken  from  a.  foundered  horse  that  can  go  no  farther;  or  night-foun- 
dered, in  danger  of  sinking  at  night,  from  the  term,  foundering  at  sea.  I  prefer  the 
former,  as  being  Milton's  aim. — Hume. 

Surely  Hume  is  wrong :  the  whole  of  this  imagery  is  beautiful. 

^  Invests  the  sea. 
A  phrase  often  used  by  the  poets,  who  call  darkness  the  mantle  of  the  night,  with 
which  he  invests  the  earth.     Milton,  in  another  place,  has  another  such  beautiful  figure, 
and  truly  poetical,  when  speaking  of  the  moon,  b.  iv.  609 : — 


BOOK  I.]  PARADISE  LOST.  123 

So  stretch'd  out  huge  in  length  the  arch-fiend  lay, 

Ch{*in'd  on  the  burning  lake ;  nor  ever  thence 

Had  risen  or  heaved  his  head,  but  that  the  will* 

And  high  permission  of  all-ruling  Heaven 

Left  him  at  large  to  his  own  dark  designs; 

That  with  reiterated  crimes  he  might 

Heap  on  himself  damnation,  while  he  sought 

Evil  to  others ;  and  enraged  might  see 

How  all  his  malice  served  but  to  bring  forth 

Infinite  goodness,  grace,  and  mercy  shown 

On  man  by  him  seduced :  but  on  himself 

Treble  confusion,  wrath,  and  vengeance  pour'd. 

Forthwith  upright  he  rears  from  off  the  pool 

His  mighty  stature ;  on  each  hand  the  flames, 

Driven  backward,'  slope  their  pointing  spires,  and,  rolled 

In  billows,  leave  in  the  midst  a  horrid  vale. 

Then  with  expanded  wings  he  steers  his  flight 

Aloft,  incumbent  on  the  dusky  air 

That  ielt  unusual  weight,*  till  on  dry  land 

And  o'er  the  dark  her  silver  mantle  threw. 
And  in  another  place,  b.  ix.  52 : — 

Night's  hemisphere  had  veil'd  the  horizon  round. 
Thus  the  epithet  KvavdwcnXoi  is  given  to  the  night  by  Musaeus.    Statins  has  a  similar 
expression  to  that  of  Milton,  Theb.,  v.  51 : 

ingenti  tellurum  proximus  umbra 

VestitAthoB,&c  Callandbr. 

•  But  that  the  will. 
This  is  a  material  part  of  the  poem ;  and  the  management  of  it  is  admirable.     The 
poet  has  nowhere  shown  his  judgment  more,  than  in  the  reasons  assigned,  on  accoun! 
of  which  we  find  this  rebel  released  from  his  adamantine  chains,  and  at  liberty  to  be- 
come the  great,  though  bad  agent  of  the  poem.     We  may  also  notice  the  finely  plaic 
but  majestic  language  in  which  these  reasons  are  assigned. — Dunster. 
f  On  each  hand  theflameg, 
Driven  backward,  &c. 
See  the  achievement  of  Britomart  in  Spenser,  Faer.  Qu.  ni.  xi.  25.     The  circum- 
stance of  the  fire,  mixed  with  a  most  noisome  smoke,  which  prevents  her  from  entering 
into  the  house  of  Busyrane,  is,  I  think,  an  obstacle  which  we  meet  with  in  "  The  Seven 
Champions  of  Christendom."    And  there  are  many  instances  in  this  achievement  paral- 
lel to  those  in  the  adventure  of  the  Black  Castle,  and  the  Enchanted  Fcuntain :-  - 

Therewith  resolved  to  prove  her  utmost  might, 
Her  ample  shield  she  threw  before  her  face, 
And  her  sword's  point  directing  forward  right 
Assayl'd  the  flame  ;  the  which  efle  soones  gave  place, 
And  did  itselfe  divide  with  equall  space, 
That  through  she  passed  ;  as  a  thonder-bolt 
Perceth  the  yielding  ay  re,  &c. 

Milton,  who  tempered  and  exalted  the  extravagance  of  romance  with  the  dignity  of 
Hcmer,  has  here  given  us  a  noble  image,  which,  like  Spenser's,  seems  to  have  had  it* 
foundation  in  some  description  which  he  had  met  with  in  books  of  chivalry.— 
T.  Warton. 

e  Inctimhent  on  the  du»ky  air 
That  felt  unusual  weight. 
The  conceit  of  the  air's  feeling  unusual  weight  is  borrowed  from  Spenser's  doserip 
tion  of  the  old  dragon,  Faer.  Qu.  i.  xi.  18  : — 

Then  with  his  waving  wings  displayed  weyd, 

Himselfo  up  high  he  lifted  from  the  ground; 

And  with  strong  flight  did  forcibly  divydo 

The  yielding  ayre,  w^hich  nigli  toofeebit  found 

Her  flitting  parts,  and  element  unsound. 

To  heart  so  great  a  weight.  ThtBR. 


124  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  i. 

He  lights ;  if  it  were  land,  that  ever  burn'd 

With  solid,  as  the  lake  with  liquid  fire ; 

And  such  appear'd  in  hue,  as  when  the  force 

Of  subterranean  wind  transports  a  hill 

Torn  from  Pelorus,*"  or  the  shatter'd  side 

Of  thundering  ^tna,  whose  combustible 

And  fuel'd  entrails  thence  conceiving  fire, 

Sublimed  with  mineral  fury,  aid  the  winds, 

And  leave  a  singed  bottom  all  involved 

With  stench  and  smoke :  such  resting  found  the  sole 

Of  unblest  feet.     Him  follow'd  his  next  mate ; 

Both  glorying  to  have  'scaped  the  Stygian  flood, 

As  gods,  and  by  their  own  recover'd  strength, 

Not  by  the  suflFerance  of  supernal  Power. 

Is  this  the  region,  this  the  soil,  the  clime. 
Said  then  the  lost  archangel,  this  the  seat, 
That  we  must  change  for  heaven  ?  this  mournful  gloom 
For  that  celestial  light  ?  Be  it  so,  since  he, 
Who  now  is  Sovran,  can  dispose  and  bid 
What  shall  be  right :  farthest  from  him  is  best. 
Whom  reason  hath  equal'd,  force  hath  made  supreme 
Above  his  equals.     Farewell,  happy  fields. 
Where  joy  for  ever  dwells  ! '    Hail,  horrours ;  hail, 
Infernal  world !  and  thou,  profoundest  hell. 
Receive  thy  new  possessour;  one  who  brings 
A  mind  not  to  be  changed  by  place  or  time. 
The  mind  is  its  own  place,'  and  in  itself 
Can  make  a  heaven  of  hell,  a  hell  of  heaven. 
What  matter  where,  if  I  be  still  the  same, 
And  what  I  should  be ;  all  but  less  than  he 
Whom  thunder  hath  made  greater  ?  Here  at  least 
We  shall  be  free ;  the  Almighty  hath  not  built 
Here  for  his  envy;  will  not  drive  us  hence : 
Here  we  may  reign  secure ;  and  in  my  choice 
To  reign  is  worth  ambition,  though  in  hell : 

The  superiority  of  Milton  in  nerve  and  compression  is  striking.  Spenser  breaks  his 
descriptions  into  too  many  parts,  by  which  he  distracts  his  pictures ;  and  I  must  advo- 
sate  the  dignity  of  blank  verse  over  the  diffuseness  of  Spenser's  stanza. 

•>  Tom  from  Pelorus. 

Here  again  Milton  brings  in  his  learned  allusions  and  illustrations :  the  picture  'm 
highly  poetical  and  sublime. 

'  Farewell,  happy  fields, 
Where  joy  /or  ever  dwells. 

The  pathos  in  this  passage  is  exquisite. 

i  The  mind  is  its  own  place,  dkc. 

These  are  some  of  the  extravagances  of  the  Stoics,  and  could  not  be  better  ridicnled 
thnn  they  are  here,  by  being  put  in  the  mouth  of  Satan  in  his  present  &itnatiua. — 
Thtkr. 

Shakspearo  says  in  Hamlet, — 

There  is  nothing  either  good  or  baa,  but 
Thinking  makes  it  so.  Tods. 


BOOK  I.]  PARADISE  LOST.  125 

Better  to  reign  in  hell  than  serve  in  heaven> 
I3ut  wherefore  let  we  then  our  faithful  friends. 
The  associates  and  copartners  of  our  loss, 
Lie  thus  astonish'd  on  the  oblivious  pool ; 
And  call  them  not  to  share  with  us  their  part 
In  this  unhappy  mansion ;  or  once  more 
With  rallied  arms  to  try  what  may  be  yet 
Regain'd  in  heaven,  or  what  more  lost  in  hell  ? 

So  Satan  spake,  and  him  Beelzebub 
Thus  auswer'd  :  Leader  of  those  armies  bright, 
Which  but  the  Omnipotent  none  could  have  foil'd, 
If  once  they  hear  that  voice,  their  liveliest  pledge 
Of  hope  in  fears  and  dangers,  heard  so  oft 
In  worst  extremes,  and  on  the  perilous  edge 
Of  battel  when  it  raged,  in  all  assaults 
Their  surest  signal,  they  will  soon  resume 
New  courage,  arid  revive,  though  now  they  lie 
Groveling  and  prostrate  on  yon  lake  of  fire, 
As  we  erewhile,  astounded  and  amazed  :  * 

No  wonder,  fallen  such  a  pernicious  highth. 

lie  scarce  had  ceased,  when  the  superior  fiend 
Was  moving  toward  the  shore;  his  ponderous  shield, 
Ethereal  temper,  massy,  large,  and  round. 
Behind  him  cast;  the  broad  circumference 
Hung  on  his  shoulders,  like  the  moon,'  whose  orb 
Through  optic  glass  the  Tuscan  artist  views 
At  evening,  from  the  top  of  Fesol6, 
Or  in  Valdarno,"'  to  descry  new  lands. 
Rivers  or  mountains  in  her  spotty  globe. 
His  spear,  to  equal  which  the  tallest  pine, 
Hewn  on  Norwegian  hills"  to  be  thcMnast 
Of  some  great  ammiral,  were  but  a  wand, 
He  walk'd  with  to  support  uneasy  steps 
Over  the  burning  marie ;  not  like  those  steps 
On  heaven's  azure  :  and  the  torrid  clime 

k  Better  to  reign  in  hell  than  serve  in  heaven. 
Dr.  Newton  observes  that  this  line  is  a  very  fine  improvement  upon  Promethens's 
arswer  to  Mercury  in  ^scbyius.     Prom.  Vinct  966,  967.     Compare  also  P.  Fletcher's 
"  Locusts,"  1627,  p.  37. 

'  TTie  hrond  circumference 
Hung  on  his  shoulders,  like  the  moon. 
Sse  th?  shield  of  Radegund.  Faer.  Qu.  v.  v.  3.     Here  Milton  shines  in  all  his  majestic 
splendour :  his  mighty  imagination  almost  excels  itself.     There  is  indescribable  magic 
In  iLis  picture. 

«n  At  evening,  from  the  top  of  Fe*ol6, 
Or  in  Valdarno. 
There  is  a  spell  sometimes  even  in  the  poet's  selection  of  proper  namea :  their  very 
sound  has  a  charm. 

n  Norwegian  hills. 
The  hills  of  Norway,  barren  and  rocky,  but  abounding  in  vast  woods,  from  whence 
are  brought  masts  of  the  largest  sii,e  — Hume. 

The  annotators  leave  unnoticed  the  marvellous  grandeur  of  this  description,  while 
they  babble  on  petty  technicalities.  The  "  walking  over  the  burning  marie"  is  aston- 
ishing and  tremendous. 


126  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  i. 

Smote  on  him  sore  besides,  vaulted  with  fire. 

.Nathless  he  so  endured,  till  on  the  beach 

Of  that  inflamed  sea  he  stood,  and  call'd 

His  legions,  angel  forms,  who  lay  intranced, 

Thick  as  autumnal  leaves"  that  strow  the  brooks 

In  Vallombrosa,  where  the  Etrurian  shades 

High  overarch'd  irabower;  or  scatter'd  sedge 

Afloat,  when  with  fierce  winds  Orion  arm'd"" 

Hath  vex'd  the  Red-sea  coast,'  whose  waves  o'erthrew 

Busiris""  and  his  Memphian  chivalry. 

While  with  perfidious  hatred*  they  pursued 

The  sojourners  of  Goshen,  who  beheld 

From  the  safe  shore*  their  floating  carcases 

And  broken  chariot-wheels:  so  thick  bestrown, 

Abject  and  lost,  lay  these,  covering  the  flood, 

Under  amazement  of  their  hideous  change. 

He  call'd  so  loud,  that  all  the  hollow  deep 

Of  hell  resounded  : "  Princes,  potentates, 

Warriors,  the  flower  of  heaven,  once  yours,  now  lost, 

If  such  astonishment  as  this  can  seize 

Eternal  spirits :  or  have  ye  chosen  this  place 

After  the  toil  of  battel  to  repose 

Tour  wearied  virtue,  for  the  ease  you  find 

To  slumber  here,  as  in  the  vales  of  heaven? 

Or  in  this  abject  posture  have  ye  sworn 

o  Thick  as  autumnal  halves. 
Here  we  see  the  impression  of  scenery  made  upon  Milton's  mind  in  his  yonth,  when 
he  was  at  Florence.     This  is  a  favourite  passage  with  all  readers  of  descriptive  poetry. 
The  account  of  Valljmbrosa  may  be  found  in  the  volumes  of  numerous  travellers. 

p  With  fierce  winds  Orion  arm'd. 
Orion  is  a  constellation  represented  in  the  figure  of  un  armed  man,  and  supposed  to 
be  attended  with  stormy  weather: — "  Assurgens  Huctu  nimbosus  Orion."    Virg.  ^n.  L 
639. — Newton. 

Here  the  poet  again  introduces  his  learned  historical  allusions  with  a  magnificent 
picture. 

q  Hath  vex'd  the  Bed-sea  coast. 
The  Red-sea  abounds  so  much  with  sodge,  that  in  the  Hebrew  scriptures  it  is  called 
the  "Sjdgy  Sea."     And  Milton  says  "  Hath  vex'i  the  Red-sea  coast,"  particularly 
because  the  wind  usually  drives  the  sedge  in  great  quantities  towards  the  shore. — 
Newton. 

'  Busiris. 
Pharaoh  is  called  by  some  writers  Busiris. 

•  Perfidious  hatred. 
Because  Pharaoh,  after  leave  given  to  the  Israelites  to  depart,  followed  after  them  as 
fugitives. — HcuE. 

»  From  the  safe  shore. 
Much  has  been  said  of  the  long  similitudes  of  Homer,  Virgil,  and  Milton,  wherein 
they  fetch  a  compass,  as  it  were,  to  draw  in  new  images,  besides  those  in  which  the 
direct  point  of  likeness  consists.  I  think  they  have  been  suflSeiently  justified  in  the  gene, 
ral;  but  in  this  before  us,  while  the  poet  is  digressing,  he  raises  a  new  similitude  from 
the  floating  carcasos  of  the  Egyptians. — Heylin. 

»  The  hollow  deep 
Of  hell  resounded. 
This  magnificent  &\11  of  Satan  to  hit  prostrate  host  could  have  boon  written  by 
aobody  but  Milton. 


BOOK  I.]  PARADISE  LOST.  12'r 

To  adore  the  Conqueror?  who  now  beholds 
Cherub  and  seraph  rolling  in  the  flood, 
With  scatter'd  arms  and  ensigns,  till  anon 
His  swift  pursuers  from  heaven  gates  discern 
The  advantage,  and  descending  tread  us  down 
Thus  drooping,  or  with  linked  thunderbolts 
Transfix  us  to  the  bottom  of  this  gulf. 
Awake,  arise ;  or  be  for  ever  fallen  ! 

They  heard,  and  were  abash' d,  and  up  they  sprung 
Upon  the  wing ;  as  when  men  wont  to  watch 
On  duty,  sleeping  found  by  whom  they  dread. 
Rouse  and  bestir  themselves  ere  well  awake. 
Nor  did  they  not  perceive  the  evil  plight 
In  which  they  were,  or  the  tierce  pains  not  feel ; 
Yet  to  their  general's  voice  they  soon  obey'd, 
Innumerable.     As  when  the  potent  rod 
Of  Amram's  son,  in  ^Egypt's  evil  day. 
Waved  round  the  coast,  up  call'd  a  pitchy  cloud 
Of  locusts,  warping  on  the  eastern  wind. 
That  o'er  the  realm  of  impious  Pharaoh  hung 
Like  night,  and  darken'd  all  the  land  of  Nile :  '^ 
So  numberless  were  those  bad  angels  seen, 
Hovering  on  wing  under  the  cope  of  hell, 
'Twixt  upper,  nether,  and  surrounding  fires : 
Till,  as  a  signal  given,  the  uplifted  spear 
Of  their  great  pultan  waving  to  direct 
Their  course,  in  even  balance  down  they  light 
On  the  firm  brimstone,  and  fill  all  the  plain. 
A  multitude,  like  which  the  populous  north 
Pour'd  never''  from  her  frozen  loins,  to  pass 

»  Darken'd  all  the  land  of  Nile. 
The  devils,  at  the  command  of  their  infernal  monarch,  flying  abroad  over  the  irorld 
to  injure  the  Christian  cause,  are  similarly  compared  by  Tasso  to  black  storms  obscur- 
ing the  face  of  day  (Gier.  Lib.  ir.  18).    And,  where  they  are  all  driven  back  by  Michael, 
U  is  said,  ix.  66 : — 

Liberato  di  lor  quella  si  negra 

i^accia  depone  il  OTondo.  Dunstkb. 

w  A  multitude-,  like  which  the  populous  north 
Pour'd  never. 

This  comparison  doth  not  fall  below  the  rest,  as  some  have  imagined.  Thsy  were 
thick  as  the  leaves,  and  numberless  as  the  locusts ;  but  such  a  multitude  the  north 
never  poured  forth.  The  subject  of  this  comparison  rises  very  much  above  the  others, 
— the  leaves  and  locusts.  The  northern  parts  of  the  world  are  observed  to  be  more 
fruitful  of  people  than  the  hotter  countries :  hence  "  the  populous  north,"  which  8ii 
William  Temple  calls  "the  northern  hive." — Newton. 

Dr.  Newton  does  not  seem  to  be  aware  that  the  three  comparisons  which  he  refers  to, 
relate  to  the  three  different  states  in  which  these  fallen  angels  are  represented.  When 
bject  they  lie  supine  on  the  lake,  they  are  in  the  situation  compared,  in  point  of  num- 
ber, to  vast  heaps  of  leaves  which  in  autumn  the  poet  himself  had  observed  to  bestrew 
the  water-courses  and  bottoms  of  Vallombrosa.  When  roused  by  their  great  leader's 
objurgatory  summons,  and  on  wing,  they  are  in  this  second  situation  again  comparod, 
in  point  of  number,  to  the  locusts  wTiich  were  sent  as  a  divine  vengeance  or  plague  on 
the  land  of  Egypt,  when  Pharaoh  refused  to  let  the  Israelites  depart :  these  two  similea 
ire  admirable,  and  in  their  place  could  not,  I  believe,  well  be  surpassed.  That  of  the 
locusts,  independently  of  its  being  taken  from  Scripture,  far  surpasses  in  every  respect 


128  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  i. 

Rhene  or  the  Danaw,  when  her  barbarous  sons* 

Came  like  a  dehige  on  the  south,  and  spread 

Beneath  Gibraltar  to  the  Libyan  sands. 

Forthwith  from  every  squadron  and  each  band 

The  heads  and  leaders  thither  baste,  where  stood 

Their  great  commander ;  godlike  shapes  and  forma 

Excelling  human,  princely  dignities. 

And  powers,  that  erst  in  heaven  sat  on  thrones  j 

Though  of  their  names  ^  in  heavenly  records  now 

Be  no  memorial,  blotted  out  and  razed 

By  their  rebellion  from  the  Book  of  Life. 

Nor  had  they  yet  among  the  sons  of  Eve 

Got  them  new  names ;  till,  wandering  o'er  the  earth, 

Through  God's  high  sufferance  for  the  trial  of  man, 

By  falsities  and  lies*  the  greatest  part 

Of  maukind  they  corrupted  to  forsake 

God  their  Creator,  and  the  invisible 

Glory  of  him  that  made  them  to  transform,* 

Oft  to  the  image  of  a  brute,  adorn'd 

With  gay  religions  full  of  pomp  and  gold, 

And  devils  to  adore  for  deities  :^ 

Then  were  they  known  to  men  by  various  names 

And  various  idols  .through  the  heathen  world. 

that  of  the  birds  of  passage  in  Virgil  and  Tasso,  which  both  poeta  have  joined  to  the- 
of  leaves  falling,  to  represent  the  numerous' ghosts  crowding  on  the  banks  of  Styx,  and 
the  multitude  of  devils  driven  back  by  Michael  to  the  infernal  regions.  The  object  of 
the  third  comparison  is  to  illustrate  the  number  of  the  fallen  angels,  when  alighted  on 
the  firm  brimstone ;  and,  like  soldiers,  forming  into  bands-  under  their  respective 
leaders  In  this  situation,  I  doubt  if  he  could  well  have  found  anything  so  proper  to 
compare  them  with,  as  the  most  numerous  of  troops  which  history  records  ever  to  have 
marched  out  upon  any  military  expedition.  But  it  must  be  allowed  that  the  comparing 
one  band  of  troops  to  another,  where,  though  different  in  their  nature,  the  description 
of  them  when  embodied  is  so  nearly  similar,  is  rather  an  exemplification  than  a  simile. 
Besides,  comparing  the  numerous  infernal  legions  to  a  circumstance  of  real  undeco- 
rated  history,  is  no  very  lucid  or  poetical  illustration;  and  in  this  respect  I  much 
prefer  the  reference  to  the  legends  of  romance  and  the  fabulous  ages,  ver.  676,  &c.-- 

DUNSTEB. 

*  When  her  barbarovt  sons. 
They  were  truly  barbarotu  ;  for  besides  exercising  several  cruelties,  they  destroyed 
all  the  monuments  of  learning  and  politeness  wherever  they  came.  They  were  the 
Ooths,  and  Huns,  and  Vandals,  who  overran  all  the  southern  provinces  of  Europe ;  and, 
crossing  the  Mediterranean  beneath  Gibraltar,  landed  in  Africa,  and  spread  themselves 
as  far  as  Libya.  Beneath  Gibraltar  means,  more  southward,  the  north  being  uppermost 
in  the  globe. — Newton 

T  Though  of  their  names. 
Psalm  ix.  5,  6 : — "  Thou  hast  put  out  their  name  for  ever  and  ever  :  their  memorial  is 
perished  with  them."    And  Rev.  iii.  6. — "  I  will  not  blot  his  name  out  of  the  book  of 
life."— Gillies. 

*  By  fahitiea  and  lies. 
That  is,  as  Mr.  Upton  observes,  hy  false  idols,  under  a  corporeal  representation  bely- 
ing the  true  God.    The  poet  plainly  alludes  to  Kom.  i.  22. — Newtom. 

*  And  the  invisible 
Olory  of  him  that  made  them  to  transform,  &e. 
Alluding  to  Rom.  L  23. — Newton. 

•>  And  devils  to  adore  for  deities. 
Levit.  xvii.  7 : — "  They  shall  no  more  offer  their  sacrifices  unto  devils."    And  BM  also 
Ps.  ovi.  37.— Todd. 


BOOK  I.  PARADISE  LOST.  129 


Say,  Muse,  their  names  then  known,"  who  first,  who  last, 
Roused  from  the  slumber  on  that  fiery  couch 
At  tlieir  great  emperour's  call ;  as  next  in  worth 
Came  singly  where  he  stood  on  the  bare  strand ; 
While  the  promiscuous  crowd  stood  yet  aloof. 
The  chief  were  those,  who,  from  the  pit  of  hell 
Roaming  to  seek  their  prey  on  earth,  durst  fix 
Their  seats  long  after  next  the  seat  of  God, 
Their  altars  by  his  altar,  gods  adored 
Among  the  nations  round ;  and  durst  abide 
Jehovah  thundering  out  of  Sion,  throned 
Between  the  cherubim  :  yea,  often  placed 
Within  his  sanctuary  itself,  their  shrines, 
Abominations;  and  with  cursed  things 
His  holy  rites  and  solemn  feasts  profaned. 
And  with  their  darkness  durst  affront  his  light. 
First  Moloch,**  horrid  king,  besmear'd  with  blood 
Of  human  sacrifice,  and  parents'  tears ; 
Though  for  the  noise  of  drums  and  timbrels  loud 

c  Hay,  Mtue,  tlieir  namea  then  known. 

For  the  enumeration  of  the  Syrian  and  Arabian  deities,  it  may  be  observed,  that 
Milton  has  comprised  in  one  hundred  and  thirty  very  beautiful  lines,  the  two  learned 
syntagmas,  whioh  Selden  had  composed  on  that  abstruse  subject. — Gibbon.  Rom.  Emp. 
vol.  i.  p.  539  note,  4to.  edit  The  exordium  to  this  enumeration,  "who  first,  wh'  last," 
is  froiu  Homer,  II.  v.  703 : 

'EvOa  r(va  rptorov,  riva  ff  voraroy.  TODD. 

i  First  Moloch,  horrid  king. 

First,  after  Satan  and  Beelzebub.  Moloch  signifies  king,  and  he  is  called  "horrid 
king,"  because  of  the  human  sacrifices  which  were  made  to  him :  the  expression, 
"passed  through  fire,"  is  taken  from  Leviticus,  xviii.  21;  or  2  Kings,  xxiii.  10.  Hie 
idol  was  of  brass,  sitting  on  a  throne,  and  wearing  a  crown  ;  having  the  head  of  a  calf, 
and  his  arms  extended  to  receive  the  miserable  victims  which  were  to  be  sacrificed  ; 
and  therefore  it  is  here  probably  styled  "his  grim  fdol."  He  was  the  God  of  the 
Ammonites,  1  Kings,  xi.  7,  and  was  worshipped  in  Rabba,  their  capital  city,  called  the 
■*  city  of  waters,"  2  Sam.  xi.  27 ;  and  in  the  neighbouring  countries  as  far  as  to  the  river 
Arnon,  the  boundary  of  their  country  on  the  south. — Newton. 

Dr.  Newton  also  says  that  Moloch  was  supposed  to  be  the  same  as  Saturn  :  but  Milton 
did  not  suppose  it,  or  at  least  did  not  attend  to  the  supposition ;  as  Saturn  himself  is 
afterwards  mentioned,  verse  519.  But  Moloch  has  also  been  supposed  to  be  Mars;  with 
a  view  to  which,  Milton  seems  to  have  drawn  his  character  in  the  second  book.  That 
the  planet  Mars  was  named  Moloch  by  the  Egyptians  is  mentioned  by  Beyer,  in  his 
"Additamenta  to  Selden's  Syntagma  de  Diis  Syr." — Dunster. 

The  part  of  Moloch  is,  in  all  its  circumstances,  full  of  that  fire  and  fury  which  dis- 
tinguish this  spirit  from  the  rest  of  the  fallen  angels.  He  is  described  in  the  first  book 
as  besmeared  with  the  blood  of  human  sacrifices,  and  delighted  with  the  tears  of 
^jarents  and  the  cries  of  children  :  in  the  second  book,  he  is  marked  out  as  the  fiercest 
spirit  that  fought  in  heaven  :  and  if  we  consider  the  figure  which  he  makes  in  the  sixth 
book,  where  the  battle  of  the  angels  is  described,  we  find  it  every  way  answerable  to 
the  same  furious,  enraged  character. 

It  may  be  worth  while  to  observe,  that  Milton  has  represented  this  violent  impetuous 
spirit,  who  is  hurried  on  by  such  precipitate  passions,  as  the  fir»t  that  rises  in  that 
assembly  to  give  ffis  opinion  on  their  present  posture  of  affairs ;  accordingly,  he  declares 
himself  abruptly  for  war;  and  appears  incensed  at  his  companions  for  losing  so  much 
time  as  even  to  deliberate  upon  it.  All  his  sentiments  are  rash,  audacious,  and  despe- 
rate :  such  is  that  of  arming  themselves  with  their  tortures,  and  turning  their  punish- 
ments upon  him  who  inflicted  them.  His  preferring  annihilation  to  shame  or  misery  is 
also  highly  suitable  to  his  character;  as  the  comfort  he  draws  from  disturbing  the  peace 
of  heaven,  that,  if  it  be  not  victory,  it  is  reeenge,  is  a  sentiment  truly  diabolical,  and 
becominj?  the  bitterness  of  this  implacable  spirit. — Addtsok. 
17 


130  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  i. 

Their  children's  cries  unheard,  that  pass'd  through  fire 

To  his  grim  idol.     Him  the  Ammonite 

Worshipp'd  in  Rabba  and  her  watery  plain, 

In  Argob,  and  in  Basan,  to  the  stream 

Of  utmost  Arnon.     Nor  content  with  such 

Au  lacious  neighbourhood,  the  wisest  heart 

Of  Solomon  he  led '  by  fraud  to  build 

His  temple  right  against  the  temple  of  God, 

On  that  opprobrious  hill ;  and  made  his  grove 

The  pleasant  valley  of  Hinnom,'  Tophet  thence 

And  black  Gehenna  call'd,  the  type  of  hell. 

Next  Chemos,B  the  obscene  dread  of  Moab's  sons, 

From  Aroer  to  Nebo,  and  the  wild 

Of  southmost  Abarim ;  in  Hesebon 

And  Horondim,  Seon's  realm,  beyond 

The  jBiowery  dale  of  Sibma  clad  with  vines, 

And  Eleale  to  the  asphaltic  pool : 

Peor  his  other  name,  when  he  enticed 

Israel  in  Sittim,  on  their  march  from  Nile, 

To  do  him  wanton  rites,  which  cost  them  woe 

Yet  thence  his  lustful  orgies  he  enlarged 

Ev'n  to  that  hill  of  scandal,  by  the  grove 

Of  Moloch  homicide,  lust  hard  by  hate ;  •» 

Till  good  Josiah  drove  them  thence  to  hell. 

With  these  came  they,  who,  from  the  bordering  flood 

Of  old  Euphrates'  to  the  brook  that  parts 

^gypt  from  Syrian  ground,  had  general  names 

Of  Baalim  and  Ashtaroth,J  those  male, 

e  TTie  xBxaest  heart 
Of  Solomon  he  led. 
Solomon  built  a  temple  to  Moloch  on  the  Mount  of  Olives,  1  Kings,  xL  7,  which  Is 
therefore  called  "  thai  opprobrious  hill." — Newton. 

f  The  pleasant  valley  of  Hinnom. 
See  Jer.  vii.  31.  It  was  called  also  Tophet,  from  the  Hebrew  toph,  a  drum ;  druma 
and  such  like  noisy  instruments  being  used  to  drown  the  cries  of  the  miserable  chiklren 
who  were  ofiered  to  this  idol:  and  Gehenna,  or  the  valley  of  Hinnom,  is  in  several 
places  of  the  New  Testament,  and  by  our  Saviour  himself,  made  the  name  and  type  of 
hell. — Newton. 

g  Next  Chemoa. 
Moloch  and  Chemos  are  joined  together,  1  Kings,  xi.  7.    And  it  was  a  natural  tmnsi- 
Uon  from  the  god  of  the  Ammonites  to  the  god  of  their  neighbours  of  the  Moobites. 
See  a  long  geographical  note  by  Newton. 

•>  Ltist  hard  by  hate. 

What  a  fine  moral  sentiment  has  Milton  here  introduced  and  couched  in  half  a  verse  ! 
He  might  perhaps  have  in  view  Spenser's  "  Mask  of  Cupid,"  where  anger,  strife,  ic, 
are  represented  as  immediately  following  Cupid  in  the  procession. — Thyeb. 

The  poet's  moral  is  exactly  verified  in  the  incestuous  and  cruel  conduct  of  Amnor. 
towards  Tamar,  2  Sam.  xiii.  15 : — "  Then  Amnon  hated  her  exceedingly ;  so  that  the 
hatred,  wherewith  he  hated  her,  was  greater  than  the  love,  wherewith  he  had  lo  red 
licr."    The  hemistich  is  a  fine  commentary  on  the  passage. — Todd. 

'  Old  Euphrates. 
Oen.  IL  14.    It  bordered  eastward  on  the  Promised  Land.    See  Nkwtok. 

Bdalam  and  Ashtaroth. 
They  are  frequently  named  together  in  Scripture.    They  were  the  general  names  of 


BOOK  I.]  PARADISE  LOST.  131 

TLese  feminine  :  for  spirits,  when  they  please," 

Can  either  sex  assume,  or  both ;  so  soft 

A  nd  uncompounded  is  their  essence  pure  j 

Not  tied  or  manacled  with  joint  or  limb, 

Nor  founded  on  the  brittle  strength  of  bones, 

Like  cumbrous  flesh ;  but  in  what  shape  they  choose^ 

Dilated  or  condensed,  bright  or  obscure, 

Can  execute  their  aery  purposes, 

And  works  of  love  or  enmity  fulfil. 

For  those  the  race  of  Israel  oft  forsook 

Their  Living  Strength,  and  unfrequented  left 

His  righteous  altar,  bowing  lowly  down 

To  bestial  gods ;  for  which  their  heads  as  low 

Bow'd  down  in  battel,  sunk  before  the  spear 

Of  despicable  foes.     With  these  in  troop 

Came  Astoreth,'  whom  the  Phoenicians  call'd 

Aatarte,  queen  of  heaven,  with  crescent  horns ; 

To  whose  bright  image  nightly  by  the  moon 

Sidonian  virgins  paid  their  vows  and  songs ; 

In  Sion  also  not  unsung,  where  stood 

Her  temple  on  the  offensive  mountain,  built 

By  that  uxorious  king,  whose  heart,  though  large,"* 

Beguiled  by  fair  Idolatresses,  fell 

To  idols  foul.     Thammuz "  came  next  behind, 

Whose  annual  wound  in  Lebanon  allured 

The  Syrian  damsels  to  lament  his  fate 

In  amorous  ditties,  all  a  summer's  day ; 

W^hile  smooth  Adonis  from  his  native  rock 

Kan  purple  to  the  sea,  supposed  with  blood 

Of  Thammuz  yearly  wounded :  the  love-tale 

Infected  Sion's  daughters  with  like  beat; 

Whose  wanton  passions  in  the  sacred  porch 

Ezekiel  saw,"  when,  by  the  vision  led, 

the  gods  and  goddesses  of  Syria  and  Palestine :  they  are  supposed  to  mean  the  sun  and 
the  host  of  heaven. — Newton. 

k  For  spirit*,  when  they  please. 

See  Michael  Psellus's  Dialogue,  published  in  Oreek  and  Latin,  at  Paris,  in  1615,  ccn- 
cerning  the  Operations  of  Demons.  See  also  Wierus,  "De  Prsestigiis  Dsemonum," 
1682. — Newton  and  Todd. 

The  passage  in  the  catalogue,  explaining  the  manner  how  spirits  transform  them- 
selves by  contraction  or  enlargement  of  their  dimensions,  is  introduced  with  great 
judgment,  to  make  way  for  several  accidents  in  the  sequel  of  the  poem. — Addison. 

•  With  these  in  troop 
Came  Attc-reth. 
The  goddess  of  the  Phoenicians,  under  which  name  the  moon  was  adored.    Solomon 
built  her  a  temple  on  the  Mount  of  Olives. — Newton. 

>n  Whose  heart,  thotigh  large. 
1  Kings,  iv.  29 :—  "  And  God  gave  Solomon  largeness  of  heart." — ToDD. 

n  Jliammuz. 
He  was  the  god  of  the  Syrians,  the  same  with  Adonis. — Nbwtoh. 

0  Etekiel  saw. 
See  Esekiel,  yiii.  12.— Todd. 


132  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  i. 

His  eye  survey'd  the  dark  idolatries 

Of  alienated  Judah.     Next  came  one 

Who  mourn'd  in  earnest,  when  the  captive  ark 

Maim'd  his  brute  image,  head  and  hands  lopp'd  oflF 

In  his  own  temple,  on  the  grunsel  edge, 

Where  he  fell  flat,  and  shamed  his  worshippers : 

Dagon  his  name  j  p  sea  monster,  upward  man 

And  downward  fish :  yet  had  his  temple  high 

Rear'd  in  Azotus,  dreaded  through  the  coast 

Of  Palestine,  in  Gath,  and  Ascalon, 

And  Accaron  and  Gaza's  frontier  bounds. 

Him  followed  Himmou,'  whose  delightful  seat 

Was  fair  Damascus,  on  the  fertile  banks 

Of  Abbana  and  Pharphar,  lucid  streams. 

He  also  against  the  house  of  God  was  bold : 

A  leper  once  he  lost,  and  gained  a  king ; 

Ahaz  his  sottish  conquerour,  whom  he  drew 

God's  altar  to  disparage,'  and  displace 

For  one  of  Syrian  mode,  whereon  to  burn 

His  odious  offerings,  and  adore  the  gods 

Whom  he  had  vanquish'd.     After  these  appeared 

A  crew,  who  under  names  of  old  renown, 

Osiris,  Isjs,  Orus,*  and  their  train, 

With  monstrous  shapes  and  sorceries  abused 

Fanatic  ^gypt  and  her  priests,  to  seek 

Their  wandering  gods  disguised  in  brutish  forms 

Hather  than  human.     Nor  did  Israel  'scape 

The  infection,*  when  their  bcrrow'd  gold  composed 

The  calf  in  Oreb ;  and  the  rebel  king 

Doubled  that  sin  in  Bethel  and  in  Dan, 

Likening  his  Maker  to  the  grazed  ox ; 

Jehovah,  who  in  one  night,  when  he  passed" 

From  JEgypt  marching,  equal'd  with  one  stroke 

Both  her  first-born  and  all  her  bleating  gods. 

p  Dagon  hit  name. 
See  1  Sam.  t.  4. — Newton. 

q  Rimmon, 
BimmoD  was  a  god  of  the  Syrians. — Newtok. 

r  Qod^i  altar  to  ditparage. 
See  2  Kings,  xyL  10;  and  2  Chron.  xxviii.  23.— Newtow, 

•  Orus,  dbe, 
Orus  was  the  son  of  Osiris  and  Isis. — Nbwton. 

t  Nor  did  Israel  'scape 
The  infection. 
The  Israelites,  by  dwelling  so  long  in  Egypt,  were  infected  with  the  roperstitions  ol 
the  Egyptians. — Newton. 

■  Who  in  one  night,  when  he  pass'd. 
See  Exod.  xii.  12,  and  Numb,  xxxiii.  3,  4.     See  also  Virg.  iEn.  viiL  698  :— 
Omnigen^mque  DeQm  monstra,  ot  latrator  Arubis. — ^Nbwtox. 


BOOK  I.]  PARADISE  LOST.  133 

Belial  came  last/  than  whom  a  spirit  more  lewd 
Fell  Bfot  from  heaven,  or  more  gross  to  love 
Vice  for  itself:  to  him  no  temple  stood 
Or  altar  smoked ;  yet  who  more  oft  than  he 
In  temples  and  at  altars,  when  the  priest 
Turns  atheist,  as  did  Eli's  sons,  who  fill'd 
With  lust  and  violence  the  house  of  God  ? 
In  courts  and  palaces  he  also  reigns. 
And  in  luxurious  cities,  where  the  noise 
Of  riot  ascends  above  their  loftiest  towers, 
And  injury,  and  outrage :  and  when  night 
Darkens  the  streets,  then  wander  forth  the  sons 
Of  Belial,  flown  with  insolence  and  wine. 
Witness  the  streets  of  Sodom,  and  that  night 
In  Gibeah,  when  the  hospitable  door 
Exposed  a  matron  to  avoid  worse  rape. 

These  were  the  prime*  in  order  and  in  might; 
The  rest  were  long  to  tell,  though  far  renown'd, 
The  Ionian  gods,*  of  Javan's  issue,  held 
Gods,  yet  confess'd  later  ^  than  heaven  and  earth, 
Their  boasted  parents.     Titan,  heaven's  first  born, 
With  his  enormous  brood,  and  birthright  seized 
By  younger  Saturn  :  he  from  mightier  Jove, 

»  Belial  came  last. 

Belial  is  described  in  the  first  book  as  the  idol  of  the  lewd  and  the  luxurious :  he  ij 
in  the  second  book,  pursuant  to  that  description,  characterized  as  timorous  and  slothful  j 
and,  if  we  look  into  the  sixth  book,  we  find  him  celebrated  in  the  battle  of  angels  for 
nothing  but  that  scoffing  speech  which  he  makes  to  Satan,  on  their  supposed  advantage 
over  the  enemy.  As  his  appearance  is  uniform,  and  of  a  piece,  in  these  three  several 
views,  we  find  his  sentiments  in  the  infernal  assembly  every  way  conformable  to  his 
character.  Such  are  his  apprehensions  of  a  second  battle,  his  horrors  of  annihilation, 
his  preferring  to  be  miserable  rather  than  not  to  be.  »I  need  not  observe,  that  the  con- 
trast of  thought  in  this  speech,  and  that  which  precedes  it,  gives  an  agreeable  variety 
to  the  debate. 

Mammon's  character  is  so  fully  drawn  in  the  first  book,  that  the  poet  adds  nothing  to 
It  in  the  second.  We  were  told  that  he  was  the  first  who  taught  mankind  to  ransack 
the  earth  for  gold  and  silver,  and  that  he  was  the  architect  of  Pandaemonium,  or  the 
infernal  palace,  where  the  evil  spirits  were  to  meet  to  counsel.  His  speech  in  the 
second  book  is  every  way  suitable  to  so  depraved  a  character.  How  proper  is  that 
reflection,  of  their  being  unable  to  taste  the  happiness  of  heaven,  were  they  actually 
there,  in  the  mouth  of  one,  who,  while  he  was  in  heaven,  is  said  to  have  had  his  mind 
dazzled  with  the  outward  pomps  and  glories  of  the  place,  and  to  have  been  more 
intent  on  the  riches  of  the  pavement,  than  on  the  beatific  vision !  I  shall  a^so  leave 
the  reader  to  judge  how  agreeable  the  sentiments  are  to  the  same  character,  b.  ii. 
262,  Ac. 

Beelzebub,  who  is  reckoned  the  second  in  dignity  that  fell,  and  is,  in  the  fir«t  l)ook, 
the  second  that  awakens  out  of  tho  trance,  and  confers  with  Satan  on  the  situation  of 
their  affairs,  maintains  his  rank  in  the  second  book. — Addison. 

w  These  were  the  prime. 
Because  these  are  the  idols  who  are  mentioned  in  the  most  ancient  records,  viz.  by 
the  sacred  text — Callander. 

«  The  Ionian  godt. 
Javan,  the  fourth  son  of  Japhet,  is  supposed  to  haV .  settled  in  the  south-west  part 
of  Asia  Minor,  about  Ionia. — Nbwton. 

T  Yet  eon/esa'd  later. 
fie«  Dent  zzzii.  17. — Todd. 


134 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[book  I. 


His  own  and  Rhea's  son,  like  measure  found; 
So  Jove  usurping  reign'd  :  these  first  in  Crete 
And  Ida  known  ;  thence  on  the  snowy  top 
Of  cold  Olympus  ruled  the  middle  air, 
Their  highest  heaven ;  or  on  the  Delphian  cliff,' 
Or  in  Dodona,  and  through  all  the  bounds 
Of  Doric  land;*  or  who  with  Saturn  old 
Fled  over  Adria  to  the  Hesperian  fields, 
And  o'er  the  Celtic  roam'd  the  utmost  isles.* 

All  these  and  more  came  flocking,  but  with  looks 
Downcast  and  damp ;  yet  such  wherein  appear'd 
Obscure  some  glimpse  of  joy,  to  have  found  their  chief 
Not  in  despair,  to  have  found  themselves  not  lost 
In  loss  itself;  which  on  his  countenance  cast 
Like  doubtful  hue:  but  he,  his  wonted  pride 
Soon  recollecting,  with  high  words,  that  bore 
Semblance  of  worth,  not  substance,*'  gently  raised 
Their  fainted  courage,  and  dispell'd  their  fears : 
Then  straight  commands,  that  at  the  warlike  sound 
Of  trumpets  loud  and  clarions,  be  uprear'd 
His  mighty  standard  :  that  proud  honour  claim'd 
AzazeH  as  his  right,  a  cherub  tall; 
Who  forthwith  from  the  glittering  staff  unfurl'd 
The  imperial  ensign,  which,  full  high  advanced, 
Shone  like  a  meteor^  streaming  to  the  wind. 
With  gems  and  golden  lustre  rich  imblazed, 
Seraphic  arms  and  trophies;  all  the  while 
Sonorous  metal  blowing  martial  sounds : 
At  which  the  universal  host '  up  sent 
A  shout  that  tore  hell's  concave,  and  beyond 
Frighted  the  reign  of  Chaos  and  old  Night. 
All  in  a  moment  through  the  gloom  were  seen 

«  The  Delphian  cliff. 
The  famous  oracle  of  Apollo  at  Delphos,*  and  Dodona,  the  oracle  of  Jupiter.— CaIp 

LANDER. 

»  Doric  land. 
Greece ;  the  Hetpe'ran  fields,  Italy  5  and  o'er  the  Celtic,  France  and  the  other  coua« 
tries  overrun  by  the  C>ilt8. — Newton. 

b  Utmost  isles. 
Britain,  Ireland,  and  the  adjacent  islands. — Callander. 

e  Semblance  of  worth,  not  substance. 
Spensor,  Faer.  Qu.  11.  ix.  2 : — 

Full  lively  is  the  temblaunt,  thoa^rh  the  tubstanee  dead. — ^Trtbb. 

d  Azazel. 
This  name  is  used  for  some  demon  or  devil  by  several  ancient  authors,  Jewish  and 
Chriatian. — Newton. 

e  Shone  like  a  meteor. 
This  line  has  been  borrowed  by  Gray,  and  applied  to  the  description  of  bis  Bard,  but 
with  less  grandeur  and  propriety. 

t  At  which  the  universal  host, 
A  most  magnificent  and  inimitable  passage. 


BOOK  I.]  PARADISE  LOST.  135 

Ten  thousand  banners  rise  into  the  air 
With  orient  colours  waving  :  with  them  rose 
A  forest  huge  of  spears ;  and  thronging  helms 
Appear'd.  and  serried  shields  in  thick  array 
Of  depth  immeasurable :  anon  they  move 
In  perfecv  phalanx  to  the  Dorian  mood* 
Of  flutes  and  soft  recorders ;  such  as  raised 
To  highth  of  noblest  temper  heroes  old 
Arming  to  battel ;  and,  instead  of  rage, 
Deliberate  valor  breathed,  firm,  and  unmoved 
With  dread  of  death  to  flight  or  foul  retreat ; 
Nor  wanting  power  to  mitigate  and  'suage 
With  solemn  touches  troubled  thoughts,  and  chase 
Anguish,  and  doubt,  and  fear,  and  sorrow,  and  pain, 
From  mortal  or  immortal  minds.     Thus  they, 
Breathing  united  force,  with  fixed  thought, 
.Moved  on  in  silence  to  soft  pipes,  that  charm'd 
Their  painful  steps  o'er  the  burnt  soil :  and  now 
Advanced  in  view  they  stand,  a  horrid  front 
Of  dreadful  length  and  dazzling  arms,  in  guise 
Of  warriours  old  with  order'd  spear  and  shield, 
Awaiting  what  command  their  mighty  chief 
Had  to  impose  :  he  through  the  armed  files 
Darts  his  experienced  eye,  and  soon  traverse 
The  whole  battalion  views ;  their  order  due. 
Their  visages  and  stature  as  of  gods ; 
Their  number  last  he  sums.     And  now  his  heart 
Distends  with  pride,  and,  hardening  in  his  strength,"" 
Glories ;  for  never,  since  created  man. 
Met  such  imbodied  force,  as  named  with  these 
Could  merit  more  than  that  small  infantry 
Warr'd  on  by  cranes ;  though  all  the  giant  brood 
Of  Phlegra  with  the  heroic  race  were  join'd 
That  fought  at  Thebes  and  Ilium,  on  each  side 
Mix'd  with  auxiliar  gods  ; '  and  what  resounds 
In  fable  or  romance  of  Uther's  son,-) 
Begirt  with  British  and  Armoric  knights; 
And  all  who  since,  baptized  or  infidel. 
Jousted  in  Aspramont  or  Montalban, 
Damasco,  or  Morocco,  or  Trebisond, 
Or  whom  Biserta  sent  from  Afric  shore, 

s  Dorian  mood. 
Exciting  to  cool  and  deliberate  courage. — Newton. 

l»  Hardening  in  his  strength- 
8eo  Dan.  v.  20 : — His  heart  was  lifted  up,  and  his  mind  hardened  in  pride." — Gillies. 

'  Mix'd  with  atixiliar  gods. 
In  the  war  between  the  sons  of  CEdipus  at  Thebes,  and  between  the  Greeks  and 
Trojans  at  Ilium,  the   heroes  were   assisted  by  the  gods,  who   are   therefore   called 
atixiliar  gods. — Newton. 

i  Uther's  son. 
King  Arthur,  whose  exploitf  Milton  once  intended  to  celebrate  in  an  epic  poem. — Todd. 


136  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  i. 

When  Charlemain  with  all  his  peerage  fell 
By  Fontarabia."     Thus  far  these  beyond 
Compare  of  mortal  prowess,  yet  observed 
Their  dread  commander  :  he,  above  the  rest* 
In  shape  and  gesture  proudly  eminent, 
Stood  like  a  tower :  his  form  had  yet  not  lost 
All  her  original  brightness,  nor  appear'd 
Less  than  archangel  ruin'd,  and  the  excess 
Of  glory  obscured  :  as  when  the  sun  new-risen " 
Looks  through  the  horizontal  misty  air, 
Shorn  of  his  beams ;  or  from  behind  the  moon, 
In  dim  eclipse,  disastrous  twilight  sheds 
On  half  the  nations,  and  with  fear  of  change 
Perplexes  monarchs  :  darken'd  so,  yet  shone 
Above  them  all  the  archangel :  but  his  face 
Deep  scars  of  thunder  had  intrench'd,  and  care 
Sat  on  his  faded  cheek ;  but  under  brows 
Of  dauntless  courage,  and  considerate  pride 
Waiting  revenge  :  cruel  his  eye,  but  cast 
Signs  of  remorse  and  passion,  to  behold 
The  fellows  of  his  crime,  the  followers  rather; 
(Far  other  once  beheld  in  bliss)  condemn'd 
For  ever  now  to  have  their  lot  in  pain ; 
Millions  of  spirits  for  his  fault  amerced" 

k  By  Fontardhia, 
fiorrowed  ftoxa.  Dante.    See  Gary's  Dante. 

1  He,  above  the  rest. 

The  greatest  masters  in  painting  had  not  such  sublime  ideas  as  Milton  ;  and,  among 
all  their  devils,  have  drawn  no  portrait  comparable  to  this;  as  everybody  must  allow 
who  has  seen  the  pictures  or  the  prints  of  "  JVl^chael  and  the  Devil,"  by  Raphael;  or  of 
the  same  by  Guido;  and  of  the  "Last  Judgment,"  by  Michael  Angelo. — Newton. 

And  in  what  does  this  poetical  picture  consist?  In  images  of  a  tower;  an  archangel, 
the  sun  rising  through  mists,  or  in  an  eclipse;  the  ruin  of  monarchs;  and  the  revo- 
lutions of  kingdoms.  The  mind  is  hurried  out  of  itself,  by  a  crowd  of  great  and  con- 
fused images,  which  affect  because  they  are  crowded  and  confused:  for,  separate  them, 
and  you  lose  much  of  the  greatness;  and  join  them,  and  you  infallibly  lose  the 
clearness. — Burke. 

I  can  find  neither  confusion  nor  obscurity  in  this  p.issage.  The  firmness  of  the 
devil's  station  or  posture  is  here  compared  to  that  o\  a  tower,  and  his  faded  or 
diminished  splendour  to  that  of  the  sun  seen  through  a  morning  haze,  or  from  behind 
the  moon  during  an  eclipse;  all  which  is  perfectly  clear;  the  objects  of  comparison 
being  at  once  grand  and  illustrative;  and  the  description  of  them,  as  far  as  they  ?.re 
described,  distinct,  correct,  and  circumstantial.  The  properties  of  solidity  and  firmness 
only,  in  the  tower,  being  the  objects  of  comparison,  to  have  described  its  form  or  magni- 
tude would  have  been  silly  and  impertinent ;  but  the  diminution  of  brightness  is  an 
occasional  effect ;  and  when  an  occasional  effect  is  made  the  object  of  poetical  com- 
parison or  description,  it  is  always  necessary  to  state  its  causes  and  circumstances, — 
which  the  poet  has  here  done  with  equal  conciseness,  precision,  perspicuity,  and  energy; 
and  it  is  to  this  that  its  sublimity  is,  in  a  great  degree,  owing. — R.  P.  Kmght. 

m  As  wlien  the  sun  new-risen. 
Few  poetical  images  can  be  finer  than  this,  or  more  beautifully  expressed.    The 
precision  with  which  the  image  is  delineated  is  incomparable. 

"Millions  of  spirits  for  his  fault  amerced. 
I  mnst  not  here  omit  that  beautiful  circumstance  of  Satan's  bursting  into  tears  npoa 
his  iurvey  of  those  innumerable  spirits  whom  he  had  involved  in  the  same  guilt und 
ruin  with  himself. 


BOOK  I.]  PARADISE  LOST.  137 

Of  heaven,  and  from  eternal  splendours  flung 
For  his  revolt ;  yet  faithful  how  they  stood, 
Their  glory  wither'd.     As  when  heaven's  fire 
Hath  scathed"  the  forest  oaks  or  mountain  pines, 
With  singed  top  their  stately  growth,  though  bare, 
Stands  on  the  blasted  heath.     He  now  prepared 
To  spiak ;  whereat  their  doubled  ranks  they  bend 
FroiP  wing  to  wing,  and  half  inclose  him  round 
With  all  his  peers :  attention  held  them  mute. 
Thrice  he  assay'd,  and  thrice,  in  spite  of  scorn. 
Tears,  such  as  angels  weep,  burst  forth ;  p  at  last 
Words  interwove  with  sighs  found  out  their  way. 

0  myriads  of  immortal  spirits  !     0  powers 
Matchless,  but  with  the  Almighty ;  and  that  strife 
Was  not  inglorious,  though  the  event  was  dire, 
As  this  place  testifies,  and  this  dire  change 
Hateful  to  utter  :  but  what  power  of  mind. 
Foreseeing  or  presaging,  from  the  depth 
Of  knowledge  past  or  present,  could  have  fear'd. 

There  is  no  single  passage  in  the  whole  poem  worked  up  to  a  greater  sublimity  than 
that  wherein  his  person  is  described,  ver.  589,  Ac.  His  sentiments  are  every  way 
answerable  to  his  character,  and  suitable  to  a  created  being  of  the  most  exalted  and 
most  depraved  nature.  Such  is  that  in  which  he  takes  possession  of  the  place  of 
torments,  ver.  250,  Ac,  and  afterwards,  ver.  258,  Ac. 

The  catalogue  of  evil  spirits  has  abundance  of  learning  in  it,  and  a  very  agreeable 
hi'"n  of  poetry ;  which  rises  in  a  great  cieasure  from  its  describing  the  places  where 
they  were  worshipped,  by  those  beautiful  marks  of  rivers  so  frequent  among  the  ancient 
poets.  The  author  had  doubtless  in  this  place  Homer's  catalogue  of  ships,  and  Virgil'a 
list  of  warriors,  in  his  view.  The  characters  of  Moloch  and  Belial  prepare  the  reader'* 
mind  for  their  respective  speeches  and  behaviour  in  the  second  and  sixth  books.  The 
account  of  Thammuz  is  finely  romantic,  and  suitable  to  what  we  read  among  the  ancienta 
of  the  worship  which  was  paid  to  that  idol. 

The  description  of  Azazel's  stature,  and  the  infernal  standard  which  he  unfurls,  as 
also  of  that  ghastly  light  by  which  the  fiends  appea»  to  one  another  in  their  places  of 
torments,  are  wonderfully  poetical.  Such  are  the  shout  of  the  whole  host  of  fallen 
angels  when  drawn  up  in  battle  array;  the  review  which  the  leader  makes  of  his 
infernal  army ;  the  flash  of  light  which  appeared  upon  the  drawing  of  their  swordsi 
the  sudden  production  of  the  Pandsemonium ;  the  artificial  illumination  made  in  it. — 
Addison. 

o  Aa  when  heaven' »  fire 
Hath  scathed. 

This  is  a  very  beautiful  and  close  simile :  it  represents  the  majestic  stature  and 
withered  glory  of  the  angels;  and  the  last  with  great  propriety,  since  their  lustre  waa 
impaired  by  thunder,  as  well  as  that  of  the  trees  in  the  simile :  and  besides,  the  blasted 
heath  gives  us  some  idea  of  that  singed,  burning  soil  on  which  the  angels  were  stand- 
ing. Homer  and  Virgil  frequently  use  comparisons  from  trees,  to  express  the  statnre 
or  falling  of  a  hero ;  but  none  of  them  are  applied  with  such  variety  and  propriety  of 
circumstances  as  this  of  Milton.  See  "An  Essay  upon  Milton's  Imitation  of  the 
Ancients,"  p.  24. — NEWTOif. 

P  Thrice  he  a»»ay'd,  and  thrice,  in  epite  of  acorn, 
Tears,  such  as  angels  weep,  hurst  forth. 

He  had  Ovid  in  his  thought,  Met  xi.  419 : — 

Tor  eonata  loqui^  tor  flctibns  ora  rigavit. — ^Bentlbt. 

The  turn  of  the  words  bears  a  near  resemblance  to  Spenser,  Faer.  Qu.  i.  xi.  41: — ■ 

Thnce  he  assaid  it  from  his  foote  to  draw, 
And  thrice  in  vain  to  draw  it  did  assny. 

As  also  to  Sackville,  "Induction,  Mirror  for  Magistrates,"  st.  last: — 

Thryse  he  began  to  tell  his  doleful  tale, 
And  thryse  the  sighs  did  swallow  up  his  voyce. — Bowlb. 
18 


138  PARADISE  LOST,  [book  i. 

flow  such  united  force  of  gods,  how  such 

As  stood  like  tliese,  could  ever  know  repulse  ? 

For  who  can  yet  believe,  though  after  loss, 

That  all  these  puissant  legions,  whose  exile 

Hath  emptied  heaven,«  shall  fail  to  reascend 

Self-raised,  and  repossess  their  native  seat  ? 

For  me,  be  witness  all  the  host  of  heaven, 

If  counsels  diflferent  or  dangers  shunn'd 

By  me  have  lost  our  hopes :  but  he,  who  reigns 

Monarch  in  heaven,  till  then  as  one  secure 

Sat  on  his  throne,  upheld  by  old  repute. 

Consent,  or  custom ;  and  his  regal  state 

Put  forth  at  full ;  but  still  his  strength  conceal'd, 

Which  tempted  our  attempt,  and  wrought  our  fall. 

Henceforth  his  might  we  know,  and  know  our  own  ^ 

So  as  not  either  to  provoke,  or  dread 

New  war,  provoked  :  our  better  part  remains 

To  work  in  close  design,  by  fraud  or  guile, 

What  force  eflFected  not ;  that  he  no  less 

At  length  from  us  may  find.  Who  overcomes 

By  force,  hath  overcome  but  half  his  foe. 

Space  may  produce  new  worlds,  whereof  so  rife 

There  went  a  fame  in  heaven,""  that  he  ere  long 

Intended  to  create,  and  therein  plant 

A  generation,  whom  his  choice  regard 

Should  fiivour  equal  to  the  sons  of  heaven. 

Thither,  if  but  to  pry,  shall  be  perhaps 

Our  first  eruption ;  thither  or  elsewhere ;  • 

For  this  infernal  pit  shall  never  hold 

Celestial  spirits  in  bondage,  nor  the  abyss 

Long  under  darkness  cover.     But  these  thoughts 

Full  counsel  must  mature  :  peace  is  despair'd ; 

For  who  can  think  submission  ?  war  then,  war, 

Open  or  understood,  must  be  resolved. 

He  spake  ;  and,  to  confirm  his  words,  outflew 
Millions  of  flaming  swords,  drawn  from  the  thighs 
Of  mighty  cherubim  j  the  sudden  blaze 
Far  round  illumined  hell :  •  highly  they  raged 

1  Hath  emptied  heaven. 
It  18  conceived  that  a  third  part  of  the  angels  fell  with  Satan,  according  to  Rev  xii. 
4.— Newtom. 

»■  There  toent  a  fame  in  heaven. 
There  is  sooiething  wonderfully  beautiful,  and  very  apt  to  affect  the  reader's  imagi- 
nation, in  this  ancient  prophecy  or  report  in  heaven  concerning  the  creation  oi  man. 
Nothing  could  show  more  the  dignity  of  the  species  than  this  tradition,  which  ran  of 
them  before  their  existence :  they  are  represented  to  have  been  the  talk  of  heaven 
before  they  were  created.  Virgil,  in  compliment  to  the  Roman  commonwealth,  makes 
the  heroes  of  it  appear  in  their  state  of  pre-existence ;  but  Milton  does  a  far  greator 
honour  to  mankind  in  general,  as  he  gives  us  a  glimpse  of  them  even  before  they  art 
la  being.— -Ajy>isoN. 

•  The  sudden  blaze 
Far  round  illumined  hell, 
Anothor  trae  Miltonio  picture. 


Against  the  Highest,  and  fierce  with  grasped  arms 
Clash'd  en  their  sounding  shields  the  din  of  war, 
Hurling  defiance  toward  the  vault  of  heaven. 
There  stood  a  hill  not  far,  whose  grisly  top 
Belch'd  fire  and  rolling  smoke ;  the  rest  entire 
Shone  with  a  glossy  scurf;  undoubted  sign 
That  in  his  womb  was  hid  metallic  ore, 
The  work  of  sulphur.     Thither,  wing'd  with  speed, 
A  numerous  brigad  hasten'd ;  as  when  bands 
Of  pioneers,  with  spade  and  pickaxe  arm'd. 
Forerun  the  royal  caujp,  to  trench  a  field, 
Or  cast  a  rampart.     Mammon  led  them  on;* 
Mammon,  the  least  erected  spirit  that  fell 
From  heaven;  for  ev'n  in  heaven  his  looks  and  thoughts 
Were  always  downward  bent :  admiring  more 
The  riches  of  heaven's  pavement,  trodden  gold, 
Than  aught  divine  or  holy  else  enjoy'd 
In  vision  beatific:  by  him  first 
Men  also,  and  by  his  suggestion  taught, 
Ransack'd  the  centre,  and  with  impious  hands 
Rifled  the  bowels  of  their  mother  earth 
For  treasures  better  hid.     Soon  had  his  crew 
Opcn'd  into  the  hill  a  spacious  wound, 
And  digg'd  out  ribs  of  gold.     Let  none  admire 
That  riches  grow  in  hell ;  that  soil  may  best 
Deserve  the  precious  bane.     And  here  let  those 
Who  boast  in  mortal  things,  and  wondering  tell 
Of  Babel,  and  the  works  of  Memphian  kings. 
Learn  how  the  greatest  monuments  of  fame. 
And  strength,  and  art,  are  easily  outdone 
By  spirits  reprobate ;  and  in  an  hour 
What  in  an  age  they  with  incessant  toil 
And  hands  innumerable  scarce  perform." 
Nigh  on  the  plain,  in  many  cells  prepared. 
That  underneath  had  veins  of  liquid  fire 
Sluiced  from  the  lake,  a  second  multitude 
With  wondrous  art  founded  the  massy  ore, 
Severing  each  kind,  and  scumm'd  the  bullion  dross : 
A  third  as  soon  had  form'd  within  the  ground 
A  various  mould,  and  from  the  boiling  cells 
By  strange  conveyance  fill'd  each  hollow  nook : 
As  in  an  organ,^  from  one  blast  of  wind, 

t  Mammon  led  them  on. 
This  name  is  Syriac,  an  J  signifies  riches.     "  Ye  cannot  serve  God  and  Mammon,' 
Matt.  vi.  24.    Mammon  is  by  some  supposed  to  be  the  God  of  riches,  and  is  accordingly 
personified  by  Milton,  and  had  been  before  by  Spenser;  whose  description  of  Mummoo 
and  his  cave,  Milton  seems  to  have  had  his  eye  upon  in  several  places. — Newton. 
»  And  hands  innumerable  scarce  perform. 
There  were  360,000  men  employed  for  near  twenty  years  upon  one  of  the  Pyramida 
according  to  Diodorus  Siculus,  lib.  i.,  and  Pliny,  lib.  xxxvl,  12. — Newton. 

»  As  in  an  organ, 
Thb  simile  is  as  exact  as  it  is  new :  and  we  may  observe,  that  Milton  frequently 


140  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  1. 

To  many  a  row  of  pipes  the  sound-board  breathes. 
Anon  out  of  the  earth  a  fabric  huge 
Rose,  like  an  exhalation,*  with  the  sound 
Of  dulcet  symphonies  and  voices  sweet; 
Built  like  a  temple,  where  pilasters  round 
Were  set,  and  Doric  pillars  overlaid 
With  golden  architrave :  nor  did  there  want 
Cornice  or  frieze  with  bossy  sculptures  graven; 
The  roof  was  fretted  gold.     Not  Babylon, 
Nor  great  Alcairo  suyh  raagiiificence  - 
Equal'd  in  all  their  glories,  to  inshrine 
Belus  or  Serapis,  their  gods ;  or  seat 
Iheir  kings,  when  -/Egypt  with  Assyria  strove 
In  wealth  and  luxury.     The  ascending  pile 
Stood  fix'd  her  stately  highth  :  and  straight  the  doors, 
Opening  their  brazen  folds,  discover  wide 
Within  her  ample  spaces  o'er  the  smooth 
And  level  pavement :  from  the  arched  roof, 
Pendent  by  subtle  magic,  many  a  row 
Of  starry  lamps  and  blazing  cressets,  fed 
With  naphtha  and  asphaltus,  yielded  light 
As  from  a  sky.     The  hasty  multitude 
Admiring  enter'd,  and  the  work  some  praise. 
And  some  the  architect :  his  hand  was  known 
In  heaven  by  many  a  tower'd  structure  high, 
Where  sceptred  angels  held  their  residence, 
And  sat  as  princes ;  whom  the  supreme  King 
*  Exalted  to  such  power,  and  gave  to  rule. 

Each  in  his  hierarchy,  the  orders  bright. 
Nor  was  his  name  unheard  or  unadored 
In  ancient  Greece;  and  in  Ausonian  land 
Men  called  him  Mulciber;  and  how  befell  , 

From  heaven"  they  fabled,  thrown  by  angry  Jove 
Sheer  o'er  the  crystal  battlements :  from  morn 
To  noon  he  fell,  from  noon  to  dewy  eve, 
A  summer's  day;  and  with  the  setting  sun 
Dropp'd  from  the  zenith  like  a  falling  star, 
On  Lemnos,  the  ^gean  isle ;  thus  they  relate, 
Erring ;  for  he  with  this  rebellious  rout 
Fell  long  before;  nor  aught  avail'd  him  now 
To  have  built  in  heaven  high  towers ;  nor  did  he  'scape 

fetches  Lis  images  from  music,  more  than  any  other  English  poet;  as  he  was  very  fond 
of  it,tiii<l  was  himself  a  performer  upon  the  organ  and  other  instruments. — Newtok. 

"  Rose,  like  an  exhalation. 
Peck  supposes  that  this  hint  is  taken  from  some  of  the  moving  scenes  and  machines 
invented  by  Inigo  Jones,  for  Charles  the  First's  masques. 

*  And  how  he  fell 
From  heqven,  d;e. 
Alluding  to  Homer,  II.  i.  590,  Ac.     It  is  worth  observing  how  Milton  lengthens  out 
the  time  of  Vulcan's  fall.     He  not  only  says  with  Homer,  that  it  was  all  day  long;  but 
we  are  led  through  the  parts  of  the  day,  from  mom  to  noon,  from  noon  to  evening,  and 
this  a  eummer's  day.    See  also  Odjss.  vii.  288. — Nswton. 


BOOK  i.j  PARADISE  LOST.  141 

!By  all  his  engines ;  but  was  headlong  sent 
With  his  industrious  crew  to  build  in  hell. 

Meanwhile  the  winged  heralds,  by  command 
Of  sovran  power,  with  awful  ceremony 
And  trumpet's  sound,  throughout  the  host  proclaim 
A  solemn  council  forthwith  to  be  held 
At  Pandaemonium,  the  high  capital 
Of  Satan  and  his  peers  :  their  summons  call'd 
From  every  band  and  squared  regiment 
Uy  place  or  choice  the  worthiest ;  they  anon 
With  hundreds  and  with  thousands  trooping  came 
Attended  :  all  access  was  throng'd  ;  the  gates 
And  porches  wide,  but  chief  the  spacious  hall, 
(Though  like  a  cover'd  field,  where  chaiiipiotis  bold 
Wont  ride  in  arm'd,  and  at  the  soldan's  chair 
Defied  the  best  of  Panim  chivalry 
To  mortal  combat,  or  career  with  lance)' 
Thick  swarm'd,  both  on  the  ground  and  in  the  air, 
Brush'd  with  the  hiss  of  rustling  wings.     As  bees" 
In  spring  time,  when  the  sun  with  Taurus  rides, 
Pour  forth  their  populous  youth  about  the  hive 
In  clusters:  they  among  fresh  dews  and  flowers* 
Fly  to  and  fro,  or  on  the  smoothed  plank, 
The  suburb  of  their  straw-built  citadel. 
New  rubb'd  with  balm,  expatiate  and  confer 
Their  state  affairs  :  so  thick  the  aery  crowd 
Swarm'd  and  were  straiten'd  ;  till,  the  signal  given. 
Behold  a  wonder !  they,  but  now  who  seem'd 
In  bigness  to  surpass  earth's  giant  sons, 
Now  less  than  smallest  dwarfs,"  in  narrow  room 

y  To  mortal  combat,  or  ivireer  icn'th  lance. 

Milton  has  carefully  distinguished  the  two  difiFerent  methods  of  combat  in  the  cJiamp 
Clois — Callander. 

'■At  Jiee». 

An  imitation  of  Homer,  who  compares  the  (Irecians  crowding  to  a  nwarir  ojf  bees, 
n.  ii.  87.  Thpre  are  such  similes  also  in  Virg.  JEn.  i.  4tW,  vi.  707.  But  Milton  carries 
the  similitude  farther  than  either  of  his  great  master?;  and  mentions  the  bees  "cou- 
ferring  their  state  affairs,"  as  he  is  going  to  give  an  account  of  the  consultation  of  tne 
de^ilis. — Nbwton. 

If  we  look  into  the  conduct  of  Homer,  Virgil,  and  Milton;  as  the  great  fable  is  the 
goul  of  each  poem,  so,  to  give  their  works  an  agreeable  variety,  their  episodes  are  as  an 
many  short  fal)les,  and  their  similes  so  many  short  episodes ;  to  which  you  may  add, 
if  you  please,  that  their  metaphors  are  so  many  short  similes.  If  the  r-iader  considrre 
the  •..imparisons  in  the  first  book  of  Milton, — of  the  sun  in  an  eclipse,— of  the  sleeping 
leviathan,— of  the  bees  swarming  alxmt  their  hive, — of  the  fairy  dance, — in  the  vifw 
wherein  I  have  here  placed  them,  he  will  easily  discover  the  great  beauties  that  are  in 
each  of  those  passages. — Aduison. 

»  They  among /renh  dews  and  Jlowert. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  enlarge  upon  the  poetry  of  this  beautiful  passage, 
b  Now  lesH  than  mnollent  dwar/a. 

As  soon  as  the  infernal  palace  is  finished,  we  are  told,  the  multitude  and  rabble  ol 
spirits  immediately  shr._K  themselves  into  a  small  compass,  that  there  might  be  roott 
for  such  a  numberless  assembly  in  this  capacious  hall :  but  it  is  the  poet's  refinement 
Dpon  this  thought  which  I  most  admire,  and  which  is  indeed  very  noble  in  itself;  for 
he  tells  us,  that  notwithstanding  the  vulgar,  among  the  fallen  spirits,  contraoted  their 


142  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  i. 

Throng  numberless,  like  that  Pygmean  race 

Beyond  the  Indian  mount ;  or  faery  elves, 

Whose  midnight  revels,'  by  a  forest  side, 

Or  fountain,  some  belated,  peasant  sees, 

Or  dreams  he  sees,""  while  over-head  the  moon 

Sits  arbitress,*  and  nearer  to  the  earth' 

Wheels  her  pale  course  :  they,  on  their  mirth  and  danoe 

Intent,e  with  jocund  music  charm  his  ear  : 

At  once  with  joy  and  fear  his  heart  rebounds. 

Thus  incorporeal  spirits  to  smallest  forms 

Reduced  their  shapes  immense,  and  were  at  large, 

Though  without  number  still,  amidst  the  hail 

Of  that  infernal  court.     But  far  within, 

And  in  their  own  dimensions,  like  themselves. 

The  great  seraphic  lords  and  cherubim 

In  close  recess  and  secret  conclave  sat;"' 

A  thousand  demi-gods  on  golden  seats. 

Frequent  and  full.     After  short  silence  then. 

And  summons  read,  the  great  consult  began. 

forms,  those  of  the  first  rank  and  dignity  still  preserved  their  natural  dimensions. — 
Addison. 

e  Whoae  midnight  revels. 
Olaus  Magnus,  treating  of  the  night-dancea  of  the  fairies  and  ghosts,  relates  that 
travclUra  in  the  night,  and  such  as  watch  the  flocks  and  herds,  are  wont  to  be  com- 
passod  about  with  many  strange  apparitions  of  this  kind.     See  b.  iii.  ch.  x.  EngL  ed. 
fol.  1658.— Todd. 

<•  Sees, 
Or  dreamt  he  tees. 
From  Apollonius  Rhodius,  one  of  his  favourite  authors.  Argonaut  iv.  1479. — Todd. 

0  Site  arbitresa. 
Witness,  spectatress.    So  Horace,  Epod.  v.  49 : — 

O,  rebus  meis 

Non  infideles  arbilTee 

Nox  et  Diana. — Hbylin. 

'  Nearer  to  the  earth. 
This  is  said  in  allusion  to  the  superstitious  notion  of  witches  and  fairies  having  great 
power  over  the  moon.    Virg.  Eclog.  viii.  69 : — 

Carmina  vol  coeio  poBsant  deducore  lunam.— Nxwtor. 

B  They,  on  their  mirth  and  d<">c» 
Intent. 
One  of  those  picturesque  pastoral  passages,  with  which  Milton's  early  poetry  so 
abounds. 

l>  Secret  conclave  »at. 
An  erident  allasion  to  the  eonelavet  of  the  cai  linals  on  the  death  of  a  pope. 


BOOK  n.]  PARADISE  LOST.  143 


BOOK  n. 

INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 

In  tracing  the  progress  of  this  poem  by  deliberate  and  minute  steps,  our  wonder  and 
admiration  increase.  The  inexhaustible  invention  continues  to  grow  upon  us;  each 
page,  each  line,  is  pregnant  with  something  new,  picturesque,  and  great :  the  conden- 
sity  cf  the  matter  is  without  any  parallel:  the  imagination  often  contained  in  a  single 
passage  is  more  than  equal  to  all  that  secondary  poets  have  produced :  the  fable  of  the 
voyage  through  Chaos  is  alone  a  sublime  poem.  Milton's  descriptions  of  materiality 
have  always  touches  of  the  spiritual,  the  lofty,  and  the  empyreal. 

Milton  has  too  much  condensation  to  be  fluent:  a  line  or  two  often  conveys  a  world 
of  images  and  ideas  :  he  expatiates  over  all  time,  all  space,  all  possibilities  :  he  unites 
earth  with  heaven,  with  hell,  with  all  intermediate  existences,  animate  and  inanimate ! 
and  his  illustrations  are  drawn  from  all  learning,  historical,  natural,  and  speculative. 
In  him,  almost  always,  "  more  is  meant  than  meets  the  ear."  An  image,  an  epithet, 
conveys  a  rich  picture. 

What  is  the  subject  of  observation  may  be  told  without  genius ;  but  the  wonder  and 
the  greatness  lie  in  invention,  if  the  invention  be  noble,  and  according  to  the  principles 
of  possibility. 

Who  could  have  conceived, — or,  if  conceived,  who  could  have  expressed, — the  voyage 
of  Satan  through  Chaos,  but  Milton  ?  Who  could  have  invented  so  many  distinct  and 
grand  obstacles  in  his  way?  and  all  picturesque,  all  poetical,  and  all  the  topics  of 
intellectual  meditation  and  reflection,  or  of  spiritual  sentiment  ? 

All  the  faculties  of  the  mind  are  exercised,  stretched,  and  elevated  at  once  by  every 
page  of  "  Paradise  Lost" 

Invention  is  the  first  and  most  indispensable  essential  of  true  poetry ;  but  not  the 
only  one :  the  invention  must  have  certain  high,  moral,  sound,  wise  qualities ;  and,  in 
addition  to  these,  such  as  are  picturesque  or  spiritual.  It  is  easy  to  invent  what  is 
improbable  or  unnatural.     Nothing  will  do  which  can'hot  command  our  belief. 

Inventions  either  of  character,  imagery,  or  sentiment,  taken  separately  in  small 
fragments,  may  still  have  force  and  merit :  but  when  they  form  an  integral  and  appro- 
priate part  of  a  long  whole,  how  infinitely  their  power,  depth,  and  bearings,  are 
increased ! 

In  poetry,  we  must  consider  both  the  original  conceptions  and  the  illustrations :  each 
derives  interest  and  strength  from  the  other:  a  mere  copy  of  an  image  drawn  from 
nature  may  have  some  beauty;  but  the  invention  and  the  essential  poetry  lie  in  their 
complex  use,  when  applied  as  an  embodiment  to  something  intellectual.  Imagery  is 
almost  always  so  used  by  Milton;  and  so  it  was  used  by  Homer  and  Virgil.  This  gives 
a  new  light  id  tha  mind  of  the  reader,  and  creates  combinations  which  perhaps  did  not 
before  exist;  the  poet  thus  spiritualizes  matter,  and  materializes  spirit.  When  what  is 
presented  is  merely  such  scenery  of  nature  as  the  painter  can  give  by  lines  and 
colours,  it  falls  far  short  of  the  poet's  power  and  charm.  Poetry,  purely  descriptive,  Is 
not  of  the  first  order. 

There  are  lines  in  the  "Paradise  Lost,"  which  would  seem  to  be  mere  abstract 
jpinions ;  but  they  are  not  so ;  inset  as  they  are  into  the  course  of  a  sublime,  dense 
wove  narrative,  they  derive  colour  and  character  from  the  position  which  they  occupy. 
So  placed,  their  plainness  is  their  strength  and  their  spell :  ornamented  language  would 
have  weakened  them.     Of  all  styles,  the  uniformly  florid  is  the  most  fatiguing. 

That  Milton  could  bring  so  much  learning,  as  well  as  so  much  imaginative  inven- 
tion, to  bear  on  every  part  of  his  infinitely-extended,  yet  thick-compacted  fable,  is 
truly  miraculous.    Were  the  learning  superficial  and  loosely  applied,  the  wonder 


144  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  n. 

would  not  be  great,  or  not  nearly  so  great;  but  it  is  always  profound,  solid,  conscien- 
tious ;  and  in  its  combinations  original. 

Bi:jbop  Atterbury  has  said,  in  opposition  to  the  general  opinion,  that  the  allegory 
of  Sin  and  Death  is  one  of  the  finest  indentions  of  the  poem.  I  agree  with  him  most 
sincerely.  The  portress  of  the  gates  of  hell  sits  there  in  a  character,  and  with  a  tre- 
mendous figure  and  attributes,  which  no  imagination  less  gigantic  than  Milton's  could 
have  drawn.  Is  it  to  be  objected  that  Sin  and  Death  are  imaginary  persons,  when  all 
the  persons  of  the  poem,  except  Adam  and  Eve,  are  imaginary  ?  Realities,  in  the  strict 
sense,  do  not  make  the  most  essential  parts  of  poetry. 


ARGUMENT. 

The  consultation  begun,  Satan  debates  whether  another  battle  be  to  be  hazarded  for  the  reco- 
very of  heaven :  some  advise  it,  others  dissuade.  A  third  proposal  is  preferred,  men- 
tioned before  by  Satan,  to  search  the  truth  of  that  prophecy  or  tradition  in  heaven 
concerning  another  world,  and  another  kind  of  creature,  equal,  or  not  muoh  inferior,  to 
themselves,  about  this  lime  to  be  created  :  their  doubt  who  sliall  be  sent  on  this  difficult 
search:  Satan  their  chief  undertakes  alone  the  voyage,  is  honoured  and  applauded.  The 
council  thus  ended,  the  rest  betake  them  several  ways,  and  to  several  employments,  as 
their  inclinations  lead  them,  to  entertain  the  time  till  Satan  return.  He  passes  on  his 
journey  to  hell  gates:  finds  them  shut,  and  who  sat  there  to  guard  them;  by  whom  at 
length  they  are  opened,  and  discover  to  him  the  great  gulf  between  hell  and  heaven  ;  with 
what  difficulty  he  passes  through,  directed  by  Chaos,  the  Power  of  that  place,  to  the  sight 
of  this  new  world  which  he  sought.  4 

High  on  a  throne*  of  royal  state,  which  far 

Outshone  the  wealth  of  Ormus  and  of  Ind, 

Or  where  the  gorgeous  east*  with  richest  hand 

Showers  on  her  kings  Barbaric  pearl  and  gold," 

Satan  exalted  sat,  by  merit  raised 

To  that  bad  eminence :  and,  from  despair 

Thus  high  uplifted  beyond  hope,  aspires 

Beyond  thus  high  ;  insatiate  to  pursue 

Vain  war  with  heaven,  and,  by  success  untaught 

His  proud  imaginations  thus  display'd  : — 

Powers  and  Dominions,  Deities  of  heaven, 
For  since  no  deep  within  her  gulf  can  hold 
Immortal  vigor,  though  oppress'd  and  fallen, 
I  give  not  heaven  for  lost ;  from  this  descent 

»  High  on  a  throne. 

See  Spenser,  Faery  Queen,  i.  iv.  8 : — 

High  above  all  a  cloth  of  state  was  spred, 
And  a  rich  throne,  as  bright  as  sunny  day. 
On  which  there  sate,  tec.  Stillinotlzxt. 

t>  Or  where  the  gorgeous  east.  ■ 

See  Spenser,  Faery  Queen,  111.  iv.  23 : — 

It  did  passe 
The  wealth  of  the  East,  and  pomp  of  Persian  kings. — Nkwton 

e  Showert  on  her  king*  Barbaric  pearl  and  gold. 
It  wag  the  eastern  ceremony,  at  the  coronation  of  their  kings,  to  powder  them  with 
fold-Jtut  and  seed-pearl.  In  the  "  Life  of  Timur-bec,  or  Tamerlane,"  written  by  a  Per- 
sian contemporary  author,  are  the  following  words,  as  translated  by  Mons.  Petit  de  la 
Croix,  in  the  account  there  given  of  his  coronation,  h.  11.  c.  i. : — "  Les  princes  du  sang- 
royal  et  les  emirs  r^pandirent  a  pleines  mains,"  with  liberal  hand,  "sur  sa  tete  quantity 
d'or  et  de  pierreries  selon  la  coutume." — Warburton. 
See  Virgil,  Mn.  ii.  504  :— 

Barbarieo  postes  auro  spoliisque  superU. 


BOOK  II.]  PARADISE  LOST.  '  145 

Celestial  virtues  rising,  will  appear 

More  glorious  and  more  dread  than  from  no  fall, 

And  trust  themselves  to  fear  no  second  fate. 

Me  though  just  right  and  the  fix'd  laws  of  heaven 

Did  first  create  your  leader;  next  free  choice, 

With  what  besides,  in  council  or  in  fight, 

Hath  been  achieved  of  merit;  yet  this  loss, 

Thus  far  at  least  recovered,  hath  much  more 

Establish'd  in  a  safe  unenvied  throne, 

Yielded  with  full  consent.     The  happier  state 

In  heaven,  which  follows  dignity,  might  draw 

Envy  from  each  inferiour ;  but  who  here 

Will  envy  whom  the  highest  place  exposes 

Foremost  to  stand  against  the  Thunderer's  aim 

Your  bulwark,  and  condemns  to  greatest  share 

Of  endless  pain  ?     Where  there  is  then  no  good 

For  which  to  strive,  no  strife  can  grow  up  there 

From  faction ;  for  none  sure  will  claim  in  hell 

Precedence ;  none,  whose  portion  "•  is  so  small 

Of  present  pain,  that  with  ambitious  mind 

Will  covet  more.     With  this  advantage  then 

To  union,  and  firm  faith,  and  firm  accord, 

More  than  can  be  in  heaven,  we  now  return  , 

To  claim  our  just  inheritance  of  old; 

Surer  to  prosper  than  prosperity 

Could  have  assured  us :  and  by  what  best  way," 

Whether  of  open  war  or  covert  guile. 

We  now  debate.     Who  can  advise,  may  speak. 

He  ceased ;  and  next  him  Moloch,  sceptred  king, 
Stood  up,  the  strongest  and  the  fiercest  spirit 
That  fought  in  heaven,  now  fiercer  bydespair : 
His  trust  was  with  the  Eternal  to  be  deem'd 
Equal  in  strength,  and  rather  than  be  less 
Cared  not  to  be  at  all :  with  that  care  lost 
Went  all  his  fear :  of  God,  or  hell,  or  worse, 
He  reck'd  not ;  and  these  words  thereafter  spake.— 

My  sentence  is  for  open  war  :  of  wiles, 
More  unexpert,  I  boast  not :  them  let  those 
Contrive  who  need,  or  when  they  need,  not  now. 
For  while  they  sit  contriving,  shall  the  rest, 
Millions  that  stand  in  arms,  and  longing  wait 
The  signal  to  ascend,  sit  lingering  here 
Heaven's  fugitives,  and  for  their  dwelling  place 
Accept  this  dark  opprobrious  den  of  shame, 
The  prison  of  his  tyranny  who  reigns 

<>  None,  whose  portion. 
The  sense  and  syntax  are  plain  enough.     There  is  noone,  whose  portion  of  present 
pain  is  so  small,  that  he  will  be  ambitious  to  coret  more. 

e  By  what  beat  way. 
See  Spenser,  F.  Q.  vn.  vi.  21. — ^Todd. 
19 


146  PARADISK  LOST.  [book  II. 

By  our  delay?  no;  let  us  rather  choose, 

Arm'd  with  hell  flames  and  fury,  all  at  once 

O'er  heaven's  high  towers  to  force  resistless  way, 

Turning  our  tortures  into  horrid  arms 

Against  the  Torturer ;  when  to  meet  the  noise 

Of  his  almighty  engine  he  shall  hear 

Infernal  thunder ;  and  for  lightning  see 

Black  fire  and  horror  shot  with  equal  rage 

Among  his  angels;  and  his  throne  itself 

Mix'd  with  Tartarean  sulphur  and  strange  fire, 

His  own  invented  torments.     But  perhaps 

The  way  seems  difficult  and  steep,  to  scale 

With  upright  wing  against  a  higher  foe. 

Let  such  bethink  them,  if  the  sleepy  drench 

Of  that  forgetful  lake  benumm  not  still, 

That  in  our  proper  motion  we  ascend 

Up  to  our  native  seat :  descent  and  fall 

To  us  is  adverse.     Who  but  felt  of  late, 

When  the  fierce  Foe  hung  on  our  broken  rear 

Insulting,  and  pursued  us  through  the  deep, 

With  what  compulsion  and  laborious  flight 

We  sunk  thus  low  ?  the  ascent  is  easy  then  : — 

The  event  is  fear'd;  should  we  again  provoke 

Our  stronger,  some  worse  way  his  wrath  may  find 

To  our  destruction  ;  if  there  be  in  hell 

Fear  to  be  worse  destroy'd ;  what  can  be  worse 

Than  to  dwell  here,  driven  out  from  bliss,  condemn'd 

In  this  abhorred  deep  to  utter  woe ; 

Where  pain  of  unextinguishable  fire 

Must  exercise  us  without  hope  of  end. 

The  vassals  of  his  anger,  when  the  scourge 

Inexorably,  and  the  torturing  hour ' 

Calls  us  to  penance  ?  more  destroy'd  than  thus. 

We  should  be  quite  abolish'd,  and  expire. 

What  fear  we  then  ?  what  doubt  we  to  incense 

His  utmost  ire  ?  which,  to  the  highth  enraged. 

Will  either  quite  consume  us,  and  reduce 

To  nothing  this  essential ;  happier  far 

Than  miserable  to  have  eternal  being ; — 

Or  if  our  substance  be  indeed  divine, 

And  cannot  cease  to  be,  we  are  at  worst 

On  this  side  nothing :  and  by  proof  we  feel 

Our  power  sufficient  to  disturb  his  heaven, 

And  with  perpetual  inroads  to  alarm, 

Though  inaccessible,  his  fatal  throne  :« 

Which,  if  not  victory,  is  yet  revenge. 

'  The  torturing  hour. 
9ray  has  borrowed  these  words  at  the  opening  of  his  "  Hymn  to  Adversity." 

s  Fatal  throne. 
Thftt  is,  upheld  ly  fate,  as  he  expresses  it,  b.  i.  133. — Newton. 


BOOK  II.]  PARADISE  LOST.  14*? 

He  ended  frowning,''  and  his  look  denounced 
Desperate  revenge  and  battel  dangerous 
To  less  than  gods.     On  the  other  side  up  rose 
Belial,  in  act  more  graceful  and  humane  : 
A  fairer  person  lost  not  heaven ;  he  seem'd 
For  dignity  composed  and  high  exploit : 
But  all  was  false  and  hollow ;  though  his  tongue 
Dropp'd  manna,  and  could  make  the  worse  appear* 
The  better  reason,  to  perplex  and  dash 
Maturest  counsels ;  for  his  thoughts  were  low  j 
To  vice  industrious,  but  to  nobler  deeds 
Timorous  and  slothful :  yet  he  pleased  the  ear, 
And  with  persuasive  accent  thus  began : — 

I  should  be  much  for  open  war,  O  Peers, 
As  not  behind  in  hate,  if  what  was  urged, 
Main  reason  to  persuade  immediate  war, 
Did  not  dissuade  me  most,  and  seem  to  cast 
Ominous  conjecture  on  the  whole  success : 
When  he,  who  most  excels  in  fact  of  arms. 
In  what  he  counsels  and  in  what  excels 
Mistrustful,  grounds  his  courage  on  despair 
And  utter  dissolution,  as  the  scope 
Of  all  his  aim,  after  some  dire  revenge. 
First,  what  revenge  ?  the  towers  of  heaven  are  fiU'd 
"With  armed  watch,  that  render  all  access 
Impregnable  ;  oft  on  the  bordering  deep 
Encamp  their  legions,  or  with  obscure  wing 
Scout  far  and  wide  into  the  realm  of  night. 
Scorning  surprise.     Or  could  we  break  our  way 
By  force,  and  at  our  heels  all  hell  should  rise 
VVith  blackest  insurrection,  to  confound 
Heaven's  purest  light ;  yet  our  great  Enemy 
All  incorruptible  would  on  his  throne 
Sit  unpolluted, J  and  the  ethereal  mould 
Incapable  of  stain  would  soon  expel 
Her  mischief,  and  purge  off  the  baser  fire, 
Victorious.     Thus  repulsed,  our  final  hope 
Is  flat  despair :  we  must  exasperate 
The  Almighty  Victor  to  spend  all  his  rage, 

••  He  ended  frowning. 
Nobody  of  any  taste  or  understanding  will  deny  the  beauty  of  the  following  jiara- 
graph;  in  the  whole  of  which  there  is  not  one  metaphorical  or  figurative  word.  In 
what  then  does  the  beauty  of  it  consist?  In  the  justness  of  "the  thought,  in  the  pro- 
priety of  the  expression,  in  the  art  of  the  composition,  and  in  the  variety  of  the  versi- 
Gcation. — Monboddo. 

•  And  could  make  the  worse  appear. 
Word  for  word  from  the  known  profession  of  the  ancient  sophists,  Tdv  'XSyov  rdv  8rT« 
tpttrrca  wotTv. — Bentlet. 

J  Would  on  hit  throne 
Sit  unpolluted. 
This  is  a  reply  to  that  part  of  Moloch's  speech,  where  he  had  threatened  to  mix  the 
throne  itself  of  God  with  infernal  sulphur  and  strange  fire. — Newton. 


148  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  ii. 

And  that  must  end  ns  :  that  must  be  our  cure, 
To  be  no  more :  sad  cure !  for  who  would  lose, 
Though  full  of  pain,  this  intellectual  being,'' 
Those  thoughts  that  wander  through  eternity, 
To  perish  rather,  swallow'd  up  and  lost 
In  the  wide  womb  of  uncreated  night, 
Devoid  of  sense  and  motion  ?  and  who  knows, 
Let  this  be  good,  whether  our  angry  Foe 
Can  give  it,  or  will  ever  ?  how  he  can. 
Is  doubtful !  that  he  never  will,  is  sure. 
Will  he,  so  wise,  let  loose  at  once  his  ire 
Belike  through  impotence,'  or  unaware. 
To  give  his  enemies  their  wish,  and  end 
Them  in  his  anger,  whom  his  anger  saves 
To  punish  endless  ?     Wherefore  cease  we  then  ? 
Say  they  who  counsel  war; — we  are  decreed, 
Reserved,  and  destined  to  eternal  woe ; 
W^hatever  doing,  what  can  we  suffer  more, 
What  can  we  suffer  worse  ? — Is  this  then  worst, 
Thus  sitting,  thus  consulting,  thus  in  arms  ? 
What !  when  we  fled  amain,  pursued  and  struck 
With  heaven's  afflicting  thunder,  and  besought 
The  deep  to  shelter  us  ?  this  hell  then  seem'd 
A  refuge  from  those  wounds :  or  when  we  lay 
Chain'd  on  the  burning  lake  ?  that  sure  was  worse. 
What,  if  the  breath,  that  kindled  "  those  grim  fires, 
Awaked,  should  blow  them  into  sevenfold  rage, 
And  plunge  us  in  the  flames  ?  or  from  above 
Should  intermitted  vengeance  arm  again 
His  red  right  hand  to  plague  us  ?  what,  if  all 
Her  stores  were  open'd,  and  this  firmament 
Of  hell  should  spout  her  cataracts  of  fire. 
Impendent  horrours,  threatening  hideous  fall 
One  day  upon  our  heads  ?  while  we,  perhaps 
Designing  or  exhorting  glorious  war. 
Caught  in  a  fiery  tempest,  shall  be  hurl'd. 
Each  on  his  rock  transfix'd,  the  sport  and  prey 
Of  racking  whirlwinds;  or  for  ever  sunk 
Under  yon  boiling  ocean,  wrapp'd  in  chains : 
There  to  converse  with  everlasting  groans, 
Unrespited,  unpitied,  unreprieved. 
Ages  of  hopeless  end  ?  this  would  be  worse. 

k  For  who  would  lote, 
Thotigli  full  of  pain,  this  intellectual  being. 
S«e  Oray's  celebrated  stanza  in  his  Elegy, 

For  who,  to  dumb  forgetfulness  a  prey,  &c.  , 

^  Through  impotence. 
Weakness  of  Mind. — Piabob. 

°» Breath  that  lindled. 
See  Isaiah,  xxx.  33.— Newton. 


BOOK  II.]  PARADISE  LOST.  149 

War  therefore,  open  or  conceal'd,  alike 

My  voice  dissuades ;  for  what  can  force  or  guile 

With  him,  or  who  deceive  his  mind,  whose  eye 

Views  all  things  at  one  view  ?     He  from  heaven's  highth 

All  these  our  motions  vain  sees  and  derides, 

Not  more  almighty  to  resist  our  might, 

Than  wise  to  frustrate  all  our  plots  and  wiles. 

Shall  we  then  live  thus  vile,  the  race  of  heaven, 

Thus  trampled,  thus  expell'd,  to  suffer  here 

Chains  and  these  torments?  better  these  than  worse, 

By  my  advice ;  since  fate  inevitable 

Subdues  us,  and  omnipotent  decree. 

The  Victor's  will.     To  suffer,  as  to  do, 

Our  strength  is  equal ;  nor  the  law  unjust 

That  so  ordains.     This  was  at  first  resolved, 

If  we  were  wise,  against  so  great  a  Foe 

Contending,  and  so  doubtful  what  might  fall. 

I  laugh,  when  those,  who  at  the  spear  are  bold 

And  venturous,  if  that  fail  them,  shrink  and  fear 

What  yet  they  know  must  follow,  to  endure 

Exile,  or  ignominy,  or  bonds,  or  pain. 

The  sentence  of  their  Couquerour.     This  is  now 

Our  doom ;  which  if  we  can  sustain  and  bear. 

Our  Supreme  Foe  may  in  time  much  remit 

His  anger ;  and  perhaps  thus  far  removed 

Not  mind  us  not  offending,  satisfied 

With  what  is  punished :  whence  these  raging  fires 

Will  slacken,  if  his  breath  stir  not  their  flames. 

Our  purer  essence  then  will  overcome 

Their  noxious  vapour;  or,  inured,  not  feel ; 

Or  changed  at  length,  and  to  the  plaoe  conform'd 

In  temper  and  in  nature,  will  receive 

Familiar  the  fierce  heat,  and  void  of  pain ; 

This  horrour  will  grow  mild,  this  darkness  light : 

Besides  what  hopes  the  never-ending  flight 

Of  future  days  may  bring,  what  chance,  what  change 

Worth  waiting :  since  our  present  lot  appears 

For  happy  though  but  ill,  for  ill  not  worst, 

If  we  procure  not  to  ourselves  more  woe. 

Thus  Belial,  with  words  clothed  in  reason's  garb 
Counsell'd  ignoble  ease  and  peaceful  sloth. 
Not  peace  :  and  after  him  thus  Mammon  spake : — 

Either  to  disenthrone  the  King  of  heaven 
We  war,  if  war  be  best ;  or  to  regain 
Our  own  right  lost.     Him  to  unthrone  we  then 
May  hope,  when  everlasting  Fate  shall  yield 
To  fickle  Chance,  and  Chaos  judge  the  strife: 
The  former,  vain  to  hope,  argues  as  vain 
The  latter  :  for  what  place  can  be  for  us 
Within  heaven's  bound,  unless  heaven's  Lord  supremo 
We  overpower  ?   Suppose  he  should  relent 


150  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  li. 

And  publish  grace  to  all,  on  promise  made 
Of  new  subjection ;  with  what  eyes  could  we 
Stand  in  his  presence  humble,  and  receive 
Strict  laws  imposed  to  celebrate  his  throne 
With  warbled  hymns,  and  to  his  Godhead  sing 
Forced  halleluiahs;  while  he  lordly  sits 
Our  envied  Sovran,  and  his  altar  breathes 
Ambrosial  odours,  and  ambrosial  flowers, 
Our  servile  offerings  ?     This  must  be  our  task  . 
In  heaven,  this  our  delight :  how  wearisome 
Eternity  so  spent  in  worship  paid 
To  whom  we  hate !     Let  us  not  then  pursue. 
By  force  impossible,  by  leave  obtain'd 
Unacceptable,  though  in  heaven,  our  state 
Of  splendid  vassalage  :  but  rather  seek 
Our  own  good  from  ourselves ;  and  from  our  own 
Live  to  ourselves ; "  though  in  this  vast  recess, 
Free,  and  to  none  accountable;  preferring 
Hard  liberty  before  the  easy  yoke 
Of  servile  pomp.     Our  greatness  will  appear 
Then  most  conspicuous,  when  great  things  of  small. 
Useful  of  hurtful,  prosperous  of  adverse, 
We  can  create ;  and  in  what  place  soe'cr 
Thrive  under  evil,  and  work  ease  out  of  pain 
Through  labour  and  endurance.     This  deep  world 
Of  darkness  do  we  dread  ?  how  oft  amidst 
Thick  clouds  and  dark »  doth  heaven's  all-ruling  Sire 
Choose  to  reside,  his  glory  unobscured, 
And  with  the  majesty  of  darkness  round 
Covers  his  throne  :  from  whence  deep  thunders  roar 
Mustering  their  rage,  and  heaven  resembles  hell  I 
As  he  our  darkness,  cannot  we  his  light 
•   Imitate  when  we  please  ?  this  desert  soil 
Wants  not  her  hidden  lustre,  gems  and  gold; 
Nor  want  we  skill  or  art,  from  whence  to  raise 
Magnificence ;  and  what  can  heaven  show  more  ? 
Our  torments  also  may  in  length  of  time 
Become  our  elements ;  these  piercing  fires 
As  soft  as  now  severe;  our  temper  changed 
Into  their  temper ;  which  must  needs  remove 
The  sensible  of  pain.     All  things  invite 
To  peaceful  counsels,^  and  the  settled  state 

»  Live  to  ourselves. 
Horace,  Epist  i.  xriii.  107  : — 

Ut  mihi  vivam, 
Qaod  raperest  sevi. — ^Nswton. 

o  How  oft  amidst 
Thick  clouds  and  dark. 
Imitated  from  PsaLxviii.  11,  13 :  and  xcvii.  2. — Newton  :  and  from  1  Kings,  viii.  12. 
—Todd. 

P  To  peaceful  counsels. 
These  speeches  are  ■wonderfully  fine ;  but  the  question  is  changed  in  the  course  of 
the  debate. — ^Newton 


BOOK  II.]  PARADISE  LOST.  151 

Of  order ;  how  in  safety  best  we  may 
Compose  our  present  evils,  with  regard 
Of  what  we  are,  and  where ;  dismissing  quite 
All  thoughts  of  war.     Ye  have  what  I  advise. 

He  scarce  had  finish'd,  when  such  murmur  fill'd 
The  assembly  as  when  hollow  rocks  retain' 
The  sound  of  blustering  winds,  which  all  night  long 
Had  roused  the  sea,  now  with  hoarse  cadence  lull 
Sea-faring  men  o'er-watchM,'  whose  bark  by  chance, 
Or  pinnace  anchors  in  a  craggy  bay 
After  the  tempest :  such  applause  was  heard 
As  Mammon  ended;  and  his  sentence  pleased, 
Advising  peace  :  for  such  another  field  ' 
They  dreaded  worse  than  hell :  so  much  the  fear 
Of  thunder  and  the  sword  of  Michael 
Wrought  still  within  them :  and  no  less  desire 
To  found  this  nether  empire ;  which  might  rise, 
By  policy  and  long  process  of  time, 
In  emulation  opposite  to  heaven. 
Which  when  Beelzebub'  perceived,  than  whom 
Satan  except,  none  higher  sat,  with  grave 
Aspect  he  rose,  and  in  his  rising  seem'd 
A  pillar  of  state  :  deep  on  his  front  engraven 
Deliberation  sat  and  public  care ; 
And  princely  counsel  in  his  face  yet  shone, 
Majestic  though  in  ruin  :  sage  he  stood. 
With  Atlantean  shoulders  fit  to  bear 
The  weight  of  mightiest  monarchies  :  hi.s  look 
Drew  audience  and  attention  still  as  night 
Or  summer's  noontide  air,  while  thus  he  spake  :— 

Thrones  and  imperial  Powers,  offspring  of  heaven. 
Ethereal  Virtues ;  or  these  titles  now 
Must  we  renounce,  and,  changing  style,  be  call'd 
Princes  of  hell  ?  for  so  the  popular  vote 
Inclines,  here  to  continue,  and  build  up  here 
A  growing  empire.     Doubtless ;  while  we  dream, 
And  know  not  that  the  King  of  Heaven  hath  doom'd 

q  At  when  hollow  rocks  retain. 
Virgil  compares  the  ascent  given  by  the  assembly  of  the  gods  to  Juno's  speech,  ^n.  x. 
96,  to  the  rising  wind,  which  our  author  assimilates  to  its  decreasing  murmurs. — Hcmb 
Newton    observes  that  this  was  equally  proper j  as   Juno's   speech   was   to   rouse; 
Mammon's  to  quiet. 

■"  Now  with  hoarse  cadence  lull 
Sea-faring  men  o'er  watch' d. 
A  noble  poetical  picture.  \ 

•  Which  when  Beelzebub. 
Beelzebub  maintains  his  rank  in  the  book  now  before  us.  There  is  a  wonderful 
majesty  described  in  his  rising  up  to  speak.  He  acts  as  a  kind  of  moderator  between 
the  two  opposite  parties,  and  proposes  a  third  undertiiking,  which  the  whole  assembly 
gives  in  to.  The  motion  he  makes  of  detaching  one  of  their  body  in  search  of  a  new 
world,  is  grounded  upon  a  project  devised  by  Satan,  and  cursorily  proposed  by  him  in 
the  first  book,  ver.  650,  et  seq.,  upon  which  project  Beelzebub  grounds  his  proposal  ia 
the  present  book,  ver.  344.  Ac. — Addison. 


152  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  il. 

This  place  our  dungeon,  not  our  safe  retreat 

Beyond  his  potent  arm,  to  live  exempt 

From  heaven's  high  jurisdiction,  in  new  league 

Banded  against  his  throne ;  but  to  remain 

In  strictest  bondage,  though  thus  far  removed, 

Under  the  inevitable  curb,  reserved 

His  captive  multitude  :  for  he,  be  sure. 

In  highth  or  depth,  still  first  and  last  will  reign 

Sole  king,  and  of  his  kingdom  lose  no  part 

By  our  revolt ;  but  over  hell  extend 

His  empire,  and  with  iron  sceptre  rule 

Us  here,  as  with  his  golden  those  in  heaven. 

What  sit  we  then  projecting  peace  and  war? 

War  hath  determined  us,  and  foil'd  with  loss 

Irreparable ;  terms  of  peace  yet  none 

Vouchsafed  or  sought :  for  what  peace  will  be  given 

To  us  enslaved,  but  custody  severe. 

And  stripes  and  arbitrary  punishment 

Inflicted  ?  and  what  peace  can  we  return. 

But  to  our  power  hostility  and  hate. 

Untamed  reluctance,  and  revenge,  though  slow, 

Yet  ever  plotting  how  the  Conquerour  least 

May  reap  his  conquest,  and  may  least  rejoice 

In  doing  what  we  most  in  suffering  feel  ? 

Nor  will  occasion  want,  nor  shall  we  need 

With  dangerous  expedition  to  invade 

Heaven,  whose  high  walls  fear  no  assault,  or  siege, 

Or  ambush  from  the  deep.     What  if  we  find 

Some  easier  enterprise  ?     There  is  a  place, 

(If  ancient  and  prophetic  fame  in  heaven 

Err  not)  another  world,  the  happy  seat 

Of  some  new  race  call'd  Man,  about  this  time 

To  be  created  like  to  us,  though  less 

In  power  and  excellence  j  but  favour'd  more 

Of  Him  who  rules  above :  so  was  his  will 

Pronounced  among  the  gods,  and  by  an  oath. 

That  shook  heaven's  whole  circumference,  confirm'd. 

Thither  let  us  bend  all  our  thoughts  to  learn 

What  creatures  there  inhabit ;  of  what  mould, 

Or  substance :  how  endued,  and  what  their  power, 

And  where  their  weakness ;  how  attempted  best. 

By  force  or  subtlety.     Though  heaven  be  shut. 

And  heaven's  high  Arbitrator  sit  secure 

In  his  own  strength,  this  place  may  lie  exposed, 

The  utmost  border  of  his  kingdom,  left 

To  their  defence  who  hold  it :  here  perhaps 

Sonij  advantageous  act  may  be  achieved 

By  sudden  onset;  either  with  hell  fire 

To  waste  his  whole  creation,  or  possess 

All  as  our  own,  and  drive,  as  we  were  driven, 

The  puny  habitants ;  or  if  not  drive, 


BOOK  II.]  PARADISE  LOST.  153 

Seduce  them  to  our  party,  that  their  God 

May  prove  their  foe,  and  with  repenting  hand 

Abolish  his  own  works.     This  would  surpass 

Common  revenge,  and  interrupt  his  joy 

In  our  confusion ;  and  our  joy  upraise 

In  his  disturbahce  :  when  his  darling  sons, 

Hurl'd  headlong  to  partake  with  us,  shall  curse 

Their  frail  original  and  faded  bliss. 

Faded  so  soon.     Advise,  if  this  be  worth 

Attempting ;  or  to  sit  in  darkness  here 

Hatching  vain  empires. — Thus  Beelzebub 

Pleaded  his  devilish  counsel,  first  devised 

i3y  Satan,  and  in  part  proposed.     For  whence, 

But  from  the  authour  of  all  ill,  could  spring 

So  deep  a  malice,  to  confound  the  race 

Of  mankind  in  one  root,  and  earth  with  hell 

To  mingle  and  involve,  done  all  to  spite 

The  great  Creator  ?     But  their  spite  still  serves 

His  glovy  to  augment.     The  bold  design 

Pleased  highly  those  infernal  States,  and  joy 

Sparkled  in  all  their  eyes ;  with  full  assent 

They  vote  :  whereat  his  speech  he  thus  renews  :— 

Well  have  ye  judged,  well  ended  long  debate. 
Synod  of  gods  !  and,  like  to  what  ye  are. 
Great  things  resolved ;  which  from  the  lowest  deep 
Will  once  more  lift  us  up,  in  spite  of  fate, 
Nearer  our  ancient  seat;  perhaps  in  view 
Of  those  bright  confines,  whence,  with  neighbouring  arms 
And  opportune  excursion,  we  may  chance 
Re-enter  heaven ;  or  else  in  some  mild  zone 
Dwell,  not  unvisited  of  heaven's  fair  Jight, 
Secure  j  and  at  the  brightening  orient  beam 
Purge  ofi"  this  gloom  :  the  soft  delicious  air, 
To  heal  the  scar  of  these  corrosive  fires. 
Shall  breathe  her  balm.     But,  first,  whom  shall  we  send 
In  search  of  this  new  world  ?  whom  shall  we  find 
SuflGicient  ?  who  shall  tempt  with  wandering  feet 
The  dark  unbottom'd  infinite  abyss. 
And  through  the  palpable  obscure  find  out 
His  uncouth  way  r  or  spread  his  aery  flight, 
Upborne  with  undefatigable  wings. 
Over  the  vast  abrupt,  ere  he  arrive 
The  happy  isle ;  *  what  strength,  what  art  can  then 
Suffice,  or  what  evasion  bear  him  safe 
Through  the  strict  senteries  and  stations  thick 
Of  angels  watching  round  ?  here  he  had  need 
All  circumspection  J  and  we  now  no  less 

t  TTie  happy  isle. 
Tho  earth  hanging  in  the  sea  of  air.     So  Cicero  calls  the  earth,  De  Nat  Deor.  IL  66. 
— "  Quasi  magnam  quandam  intulam,  quam  nos  orbem  terrse  vooamus." — NawroJli 
SO 


154  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  ii. 

Choice  in  our  suffrage :  for  on  whom  we  send 
The  weight  of  all,  and  our  last  hope,  relies. 

This  said,  he  sat;  and  expectation  held 
His  look  suspense,  awaiting  who  appear'd 
To  second,  or  oppose,  or  undertake 
The  perilous  attempt :  but  all  sat  mute, 
Pondering  the  danger  with  deep  thoughts ;  and  each 
In  other's  countenance  road  his  own  dismay, 
Astonish'd  :  none  auioug  the  choice  and  prime 
Of  those  heaven-warring  champions  could  be  found, 
So  hardy,  as  tc  proffer  or  accept 
Alone  the  dreadful  voyage :  till  at  last, 
Satan,  whom  now  transcendent  glory  raised 
Above  his  fellows,  with  monarchal  pride, 
Conscious  of  highest  worth,  unmoved  thus  spake : — 

0  progeny  of  heaven,  empyreal  thrones, 
With  reason  hath  deep  silence  und  demur 
Seized  us,  though  undismay'd.     Long  is  the  way 
And  hard,  that  out  of  hell  leads  up  to  light : 
Our  prison  strong,  this  huge  convex  of  fire, 
Outrageous  to  devour,  immures  us  round 
Ninefold  ;  and  gates  of  burning  adamant 
Barr'd  over  us  prohibit  all  egress. 
These  pass'd,  if  any  pass,  the  void  profound 
Of  unessential  Night"  receives  him  next. 
Wide  gaping;  and  with  utter  loss  of  being 
Threatens  him,  plunged  in  that  abortive  gulf. 
If  thence  he  'scape  into  whatever  world, 
Or  unknown  region ;  what  remains  him  less 
Than  unknown  dangers  and  as  hard  escape  ? 
But  I  should  ill  become  this  throne,^  0  Peers, 
And  this  imperial  sovranty,  adorn'd 
With  splendour  arm'd,  with  power,  if  aught  proposed 
And  judged  of  public  moment,  in  the  shape 
Of  difficulty  or  danger,  could  deter 
Me  from  attempting.     Wherefore  do  I  assume 
These  royalties,  and  not  refuse  to  reign, 

0  Of  unessential  Night 
TJnoesential,  void  of  being ;  darkness  approaching  nearest  to,  and  being  the  best 
resemblance  of,  non  entity — Udmb 

»  But  I  should  HI  become  this  throne. 
The  whole  speech,  from  this  line,  is  wonderfully  beautiful  in  every  respect     But  the 
reason  why  I  have  quoted  it,  is,  to  show  how  the  poet  supports  Satan's 

Monarchal  prida,  conscious  of  highest  worth, 
as  he  expresses  it    In  the  line. 

But  I  should  ill  become  this  throne,  O  Peers, 
I  have  no  doubt  but  he  had  in  view  the  speech  of  Sarpedon  in  Homer;  in  which  indeed 
the  thought  is  Homer's,  "That  a  king,  being  most  honoured,  should  likewise  expose 
himself  most  to  danger."  Bat  Milton  has  given  it  so  much  of  the  rhetorical  cast,  and 
dressed  it  so  up  with  sentences  and  enthymemas,  after  the  manner  of  Demosthenoa, 
who,  as  I  have  said  elsewhere,  was  his  model  for  speeches,  that  Homer  is  hardly  to  bd 
fonnd  in  it  — Mokboddo. 


BOOK  II.]  PARADISE  LOST.  155 

Refusing  to  accept  as  great  a  share 
Of  hazard  as  of  honour,  due  alike 
To  him  who  reigns,  and  so  much  to  him  due 
Of  hazard  more,  as  he  above  the  rest 
High  honour'd  sits  ?     Qo,  therefore,  mighty  powers, 
Terrour  of  heaven,  though  fallen  !  intend  at  home, 
While  here  shall  be  our  home,  what  best  may  ease 
The  present  misery,  and  render  hell 
More  tolerable :  if  there  be  cure  or  charm 
To  respite,  or  deceive,  or  slack  the  pain 
Of  this  ill  mansion.     Intermit  no  watch 
Against  a  wakeful  Foe ;  while  I  abroad 
Through  all  the  coasts  of  dark  destruction  seek 
Deliverance  for  us  all  :  this  enterprize 
None  shall  partake  with  me.     Thus  saying  rose 
The  monarch,  and  prevented  all  reply; 
Prudent,  lest  from  his  resolution  raised 
Others  among  the  chief  might  offer  now, 
Certain  to  be  refused,  what  erst  they  fear'd ; 
And  so  refused  might  in  opinion  stand 
His  rivals ;  winning  cheap  the  high  reput^e, 
Which  he  through  hazard  huge  must  earn.     But  they 
Dreaded  not  more  the  adventure,  than  his  voice 
Forbidding ;  and  at  once  with  him  they  rose : 
"  Their  rising  all  at  once*  was  as  the  sound 
Of  thunder  heard  remote.     Towards  him  they  bend 
With  awful  reverence  prone ;  and  as  a  god 
Extol  him  equal  to  the  Highest  in  heaven. 
Nor  fail'd  they  to  express  how  much  they  praised, 
That  for  the  general  safety  he  despised 
His  own  :  for  neither  do  the  spirits»damn'd 
Lose  all  their  virtue ;  *  lest  bad  men  should  boast 
Their  specious  deeds  on  earth,  which  glory  excites. 
Or  close  ambition  varnish'd  o'er  with  zeal. 
Thus  they  their  doubtful  consultations  dark 
Ended,  rejoicing  in  their  matchless  chief: 
As  when  from  mountain  tops  the  dusky  clouds 
Ascending,  while  the  north  wind  sleeps,^  o'erspread 
Heaven's  cheerful  face ;  the  louring  element 
Scowls  o'er  the  darken' d  landskip  snow,  or, shower: 
If  chance  the  radiant  sun  with  farewell  sweet 

"  Their  rising  all  at  once. 
The  rising  of  this  great  assembly  is  described  in  a  very  sublime  and  poetical  manner. 
-Addison. 

'  Neither  do  the  spiritt  damn'd 
Lose  all  their  virtue. 
This  seems  to  have  been  a  sarcasm  on  the  bad  men  of  Milton's  time. 

y  While  the  north  wind  sleeps. 
A  simile  of  perfect  beauty :  it  illustrates  the  delightful  feeling  resulting  fW>m  the 
contrast  of  the  stormy  debate  with  the  light  that  seems  subsequeutly  to  break  in  upon 
the  assembly. 


156  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  ii, 

Extend  his  evening  beam,  the  fields  revive, 
The  birds  their  notes  renew,  and  bleating  herds 
Attest  their  joy,  that  hill  and  valley  rings. 
0  shame  to  men  !  devil  with  devil  damn'd 
Firm  concord  holds;  men  only  disagree* 
Of  creatures  rational,  though  under  hope 
Of  heavenly  grace  j  and,  God  proclaiming  peace, 
Yet  live  in  hatred,  enmity,  and  strife 
Among  themselves,  and  levy  cruel  wars. 
Wasting  the  earth,  each  other  to  destroy : 
As  if,  which  might  induce  us  to  accord, 
Man  had  not  hellish  foes  enow  besides. 
That  day  and  night  for  his  destruction  wait. 

The  Stygian  council  thus  dissolved ;  and  forth 
In  order  came  the  grand  infernal  peers : 
Midst  came  their  mighty  paramount,*  and  seem'd 
Alone  the  antagonist  of  Heaven ;  nor  less 
Than  hell's  dread  emperour,  with  pomp  supreme 
And  God-like  imitated  state  :  him  round 
A  globe  of  fiery  seraphim  inclosed. 
With  bright  emblazonry  and  horrent  arms. 
Then  of  their  session  ended  they  bid  cry 
With  trumpets'  regal  sound  the  great  result : 
Toward  the  four  winds  four  speedy  cherubim 
Put  to  their  mouths  the  sounding  alchymy, 
By  herald's  voice  explain'd  :  the  hollow  abyss 
Heard  far  and  wide  :  and  all  the  host  of  hell 
With  deafening  shout  return'd  them  loud  acclaim. 
Thence  more  at  ease  their  minds,  and  somewhat  raised 
By  false  presumptuous  hope,  the  ranged  powers 
Disband;  and,  wandering,  each  his  several  way 
Pursues,  as  inclination  or  sad  choice 
Leads  him  perplex'd ;  where  he  may  likeliest  find 
Truce  to  his  restless  thoughts,  and  entertain 
The  irksome  hours,  till  his  great  chief  return. 
Part,  on  the  plain,*  or  in  the  air  sublime, 
Upon  the  wing  or  in  swift  race  contend. 
As  at  the  Olympian  games,  or  Pythian  fields : 
Part  curb  their  fiery  steeds,  or  shun  the  goal 

«  '  *  Men  only  disagree. 

This  has  allusion  to  the  contentious  age  in  which  Milton  lived  and  wrote. — Thteb. 

»  Midat  came  their  mighty  paramount. 
Here  Satan's  pre-eminence  is  described  with  a  mighty  splendour. 

b  Part  on  the  plain. 
The  diversions  of  the  fallen  angels,  with  the  particular  acccant  of  their  place  of 
habitation,  are  described  with  great  pregnancy  of  thought  and  copiousness  of  invention 
The  diversions  are  every  way  suitable  to  beings  who  had  nothing  left  them  but  strength 
and  knowledge  misapplied.  Such  are  their  contentions  at  the  race,  and  in  feats  of 
anus,  with  their  entertainments  at  v.  5.S9,  Ac. 

Their  music  is  employed  in  celebrating  their  own  criminal  exploits ;  and  their  di» 
course,  in  sounding  the  unfathomable  depths  of  fate,  free  will,  and  foreknowledge.— 
Auuisoa. 


BOOK  II.]  PARADISE  LOST.  157 

With  rapid  wheels,  or  fronted  brigads  form. 

As  when  to  warn  proud  cities  war  appears 

Waged  in  the  troubled  sky,  and  armies  rush 

To  battel  in  the  clouds,"  before  each  van 

Prick  forth  the  aery  knights,  and  couch  their  spears 

Till  thickest  legions  close  :  with  feats  of  arms 

From  either  end  of  heaven  the  welkin  burns. 

Others,  with  vast  Typhoean  rage  more  fell. 

Rend  up  both  rocks  and  hills,  and  ride  the  air 

In  whirlwind  :  heH  scarce  holds  the  wild  uproar. 

As  when  Alcides,  from  (Echalia  crown'd 

With  conquest,  felt  the  envenom'd  robe,  and  tore 

Through  pain  up  by  the  roots  Thessalian  pines ; 

And  Lichas  from  the  top  of  (Eta  threw 

Into  the  Euboic  sea.     Others  more  mild, 

Retreated  in  a  silent  valley,  sing 

With  notes  angelical  to  many  a  harp 

Their  own  heroic  deeds,  and  hapless  fall 

By  doom  of  battel ;  and  complain  that  fate 

Free  virtue  should  inthral  to  force  or  chance. 

Their  song  was  partial ;  but  the  harmony. 

What  could  it  less  when  spirits  immortal  sing  ? 

Suspended  hell,**  and  took  with  ravishment 

The  thronging  audience.     In  discourse  more  sweet, 

(For  eloquence  the  soul,*  song  charms  the  sense) 

Others  apart  sat  on  a  hill  retired. 

In  thoughts  more  elevate,  and  reason'd  high 

Of  providence,  foreknowledge,  will,  and  fate;' 

Fix'd  fate,  free  will,  foreknowledge  absolute : 

And  found  no  end,  in  wandering  mazes  lost. 

Of  good  and  evil  much  they  argued  then, 

Of  happiness  and  final  misery, 

Passion  and  apathy,  and  glory  and  shame  j 

Vain  wisdom  all,  and  false  philosophy : 

Yet  with  a  pleasing  sorcery  could  charm 

Pain  for  a  while  or  anguish,  and  excite 

Fallacious  hope ;  or  arm  the  obdured  breast 

With  stubborn  patience  as  with  triple  steel. 

Another  part,  in  squadrons  and  gross  bands, 

e  Artniea  rtuh 
To  battel  in  the  clouds. 
Another  image  of  sublime  poetry. 

<•  Suspended  hell. 
The  effect  of  their  singing  is  somewhat  like  that  of  OrpheuB  in  hell,  Virg.  Qeorff, 
iv.  481. — Newtoit. 

•  For  eloquence  the  soul. 
Here  is  the  preference  given  to  intellect  above  the  pleasures  of  the  senses. 

f  Foreknowledge,  will,  and /ate. 
The  turn  of  the  words  here  is  admirable,  and  very  well  expresses  the  wanderings  and 
mazes  of  their  discourse:  and  the  turn  of  the  words  is  greatly  improved,  and  rendered 
still  more  beautiful,  by  the  addition  of  an  epithet  to  each  of  them. — Newton. 


158  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  il. 

On  bold  adventure  to  discover  wide, 

That  dismal  world,  if  any  clime  perhaps, 

Might  yield  them  easier  habitation,  bend 

Four  ways  their  flying  march,  along  tho  banks 

Of  four  infernal  rivers,*  that  disgorge 

Into  the  burning  lake  their  baleful  streams : 

Abhorred  Styx,  the  flood  of  deadly  hate ; 

Sad  Acheron,  of  sorrow,  black  and  deep; 

Cocytus,  named  of  lamentation  loud 

Heard  on  the  rueful  stream ;  fierce  Phlegethon, 

Whose  waves  of  torrent  fire  inflame  with  rage. 

Far  off  from  these  a  slow  and  silent  stream, 

Lethe,  the  river  of  oblivion,  rolls 

Her  watery  labyrinth;  whereof  who  drinks. 

Forthwith  his  former  state  and  being  forgets, 

Forgets  both  joy  and  grief,  pleasure  and  pain. 

Beyond  this  flood  a  frozen  continent 

Lies,  dark  and  wild,  beat  with  perpetual  storms 

Of  whirlwind,  and  dire  hail  which  on  firm  land 

Thaws  not ;  but  gathers  heap,  and  ruin  seems 

Of  ancient  pile  :  all  else  deep  snow  and  ice; 

A  gulf  profound  as  that  Scrbonian  bog 

Betwixt  Damiata  and  mount  Casius  old, 

Where  armies  whole  have  sunk :  the  parching  air 

Burns  frore,*"  and  cold  performs  the  eflfect  of  fire. 

Thither  by  harpy-footed  furies  haled. 

At  certain  revolutions  all  the  damn'd 

Are  brought;  and  feel  by  turns  the  bitter  change 

Of  fierce  extremes,  extremes  by  change  more  fierce : 

From  beds  of  raging  fire  to  starve  in  ice 

Their  soft  ethereal  warmth ;  and  there  to  pine 

Immovable,  infix'd,  and  frozen  round. 

Periods  of  time ;  thence  hurried  back  to  fire. 

They  ferry  over  this  Lethean  sound 

Both  to  and  fro,  their  sorrow  to  augment, 

And  wish  and  struggle,  as  they  pass,  to  reach 

The  tempting  stream,  with  one  small  drop  to  lose 

E  Along  the  hanks 
Of  four  infernal  rivers. 
The  several  circumstances  in  the  description  of  hell  are  finely  imagined;  as  the  four 
rivers  which  disgorge  themselves  into  the  sea  of  fire,  the  extremes  of  cold  and  heat,  an  1 
the  river  of  oblivion.  The  monstrous  animals  produced  in  that  infernal  world  are 
represented  by  a  single  line,  which  gives  us  a  more  horrid  idea  of  them  than  a  much 
longer  description  would  have  done  : — 

worse 
Than  fables  yet  have  foign'd,  or  fear  conceived. 

This  episode  of  the  fallen  spirits,  and  their  place  of  habitation,  comes  in  very  happily 
to  unbend  the  mind  of  the  reader  from  its  attention  to  the  debate.  An  ordinary  poet 
would  indeed  have  spun  out  so  many  circumstances  to  a  great  length,  and  by  that 
means  have  weakened,  instead  of  illustrated,  the  principal  fable. — Addison. 

h  Burns  f rare. 
See  Ecclus.  xlii.20,  21:  "When  the  cold  north-wind  bloweth,  itdevoureth  the  moun- 
tains, and  bumeih  the  wilderness,  and  consumeth  the  grass  as  fire." — Newtom. 


BOOK  ir.]  PARADISE  LOST.  159 

la  sweet  forgetfulness '  all  pain  and  woe, 

All  in  one  moment,  and  so  near  the  brink : 

But  Fate  withstands,  and  to  oppose  the  attempt 

Medusa  with  Grorgonian  terrour  guards 

The  ford,  and  of  itself  the  water  flies 

All  taste  of  living  wight,  as  once  it  fled 

The  lip  of  Tantalus.     Thus  roving  on 

In  confused  march  forlorn  the  adventurous  bands, 

With  shuddering  horrour  pale,  and  eyes  aghast, 

View'd  first  th^ir  lamentable  lot,  and  found 

No  rest ;  through  many  a  dark  and  dreary  vale 

They  pass'd,  and  many  a  region  dolorous, 

O'er  many  a  frozen,  many  a  fiery  Alp, 

Rocks,  caves,'  lakes,  fens,  bog?,  dens,  and  shades  of  death, 

A  universe  of  death,  which  Grod  by  curse 

Created  evil,  for  evil  only  good. 

Where  all  life  dies,  death  lives,  and  nature  breeds, 

Perverse,  all  monstrous,  all  prodigious  things, 

Abominable,  inutterable,  and  worse 

Than  fables  yet  have  feign'd,  or  fear  conceived, 

Gorgons,  and  hydras,  and  chimaeras  dire. 

Meanwhile  the  adversary  of  Grod  and  man, 
Satan,  with  thoughts  inflamed  of  highest  design, 
Puts  on  swift  wings,  and  toward  the  gates  of  hell'' 
Explores  his  solitary  flight :  sometimes 
He  scours  the  right-hand  coast,  sometimes  the  left; 
Now  shaves  with  level  wing  the  deep,  then  soars 
Up  to  the  fiery  concave  towering  high. 
As  when  far  off  at  sea*  a  fleet  descried 
Hangs  in  the  clouds,  by  equinoctial  winds 
Close  sailing  from  Bengala,  or  the  i»les 
Of  Ternate  and  Tidore,  whence  merchants  bring 
Their  spicy  drugs :  they  on  the  trading  flood 

i  In  sweet  forgetfulness. 
This  is  a  fine  allegory,  to  show  that  there  is  no  forgetfulness  in  hell.    Memory 
makes  a  part  of  the  pu  aishment  of  the  damned,  and  the  reflection  but  increases  their 

misery. — Newton. 

J  Hocks,  Caves,  &c. 
Milton's  are  the 

Eocks,  caves,  lakes,  fens,  bogs,  dens,  and  shades  of  death ! 
and  the  idea  caused  by  a  word,  which  nothing  but  a  word  could  annex  to  the  others, 
raises  a  very  great  degree  of  the  sublime ;  which  is  raised  yet  higher  by  what 

follows,  A  UNIVEKSE  OF  DEATH. — BuRKE. 

^  Toward  the  gates  of  hell. 

The  flight  of  Satan  to  the  gates  of  hell  is  finely  imagined.— Addison. 
'  As  when  far  off  at  sea. 

Satan  "  towering  high,"  is  here  compared  to  a  fleet  of  Indiamen  discovered  at  a 
distance,  as  it  were  '"hanging  in  the  clouds,"  as  a  fleet  at  a  distance  seems  to  do. 
This  is  the  whole  of  the  comparison  ;  but  as  Dr.  PeaTce  observes,  Milton  in  his  simil- 
itudes (as  is  the  practice  of  Homer  and  Virgil  too),  after  he  has  shown  the  common 
resemblance,  often  takes  the  liberty  of  wandering  into  some  unresembling  circum- 
stances ;  which  have  no  other  relation  to  the  comparison  than  that  it  gave  him  the 
hint,  and  as  it  were  set  fire  to  the  train  of  his  imagination.— Newton. 


160  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  il. 

Through  the  wide  Ethiopian  to  the  Cape 

Ply,  stemming  nightly  toward  the  pole :  so  seem'd 

Far  off  the  flying  fiend.     At  last  appear 

Hell  bounds,  high  reaching  to  the  horrid  roof, 

And  thrice  threefold  the  gates :  three  folds  were  brass, 

Three  iron,  three  of  adamantine  rock, 

Impenetrable,  impaled  with  cirling  fire," 

Yet  unconsumed.     Before  the  gates  there  sat" 

On  either  side  a  formidable  shape  ; 

The  one  seem'd  woman  to  the  waist,  and  fair, 

But  ended  foul  in  many  a  scaly  fold. 

Voluminous  and  vast,  a  serpent  arm'd 

With  mortal  sting  :  about  her  middle  round 

A  cry  of  hell  hounds  never  ceasing  bark'd 

With  wide  Cerberean  mouths,  full  loud,  and  rung 

A  hideous  peal :  yet  when  they  list,  would  creep, 

If  aught  disturb'd  their  noise,  into  her  womb, 

And  kennel  there ;  yet  there  still  bark'd  and  howl'd 

Within  unseen.     Far  less  abhorr'd  than  these 

Vex'd  Scylla  bathing,  in  the  sea  that  parts 

Calabria  from  the  hoarse  Trinacrian  shore : 

Nor  uglier  follow  the  night-hag,  when,  call'd 

In  secret,  riding  through  the  air  she  comes. 

Lured  with  the  smell  of  infant  blood,"  to  dance 

With  Lapland  witches,  while  the  labouring  moon' 

Eclipses  at  their  charms.     The  other  shape,' 

If  shape  it  might  be  call'd,  that  shape  had  none 

Distinguishable  in  member,  joint,  or  limb, 

Or  substance  might  be  call'd  that  shadow  seem'd. 

For  each  seem'd  either ;  black  it  stood  as  night, 

Fierce  as  ten  furies,  terrible  as  hell. 

And  shook  a  dreadful  dart ;  what  seem'd  his  head 

The  likeness  of  a  kingly  crown  had  on. 

™  Impaled  with  circling  fire. 

Perhaps  Milton  might  take  the  hint  of  this  circumstance  from  his  favourite  romances, 
where  we  frequently  meet  with  the  gates  of  enchanted  castles  thus  impaled  with  circling 
fire. — Thter. 

n  Be/ore  the  gates  there  gat. 

Here  hegins  the  famous  allegory  of  Milton,  which  is  a  sort  of  paraphrase  en  St 
James,  i.  15  : — "  Then,  when  Lust  hath  conceived,  it  bringeth  forth  Sin ;  and  Sin,  when 
it  is  finished,  bringeth  forth  Death."  The  first  part  of  the  allegory  says  only,  that 
Satan's  intended  voyage  was  dangerous  to  his  being,  and  that  he  resolved  however  to 
venture. — Ricbardson. 

o  Lured  with  the  imell  of  infant  blood. 
Here  is  a  mixture  of  classical  and  demonological   learning.     Compare  iEschylus, 
"  Eumenid."  246,  ed.  Schutz. ;  and  Wienis, "  De  Lamiis,"  4to.  1862,  coll.  240, 241.— Todd. 

P  The  labouring  moon. 
The  ancients  believed  the  moon  greatly  affected  by  magical  practices ;  and  the  Latin 
poets  call  the  eclipses  of  the  moon,  laboret  lunce.     The  three  foregoing  lines,  and  the 
former  part  of  this,  contain  a  short  account  of  what  was  once  believed,  and  in  Milton's 
time  not  so  ridiculous  as  now. — Richardson. 

q  The  other  $hape. 
See  Spenser,  F.  Q.  vn.  vii.  46. — Thteb. 


BOOK  ii]  PARADISE  LOST.  161 

Satan  was  now.  at  hand,  and  from  his  seat 
The  monster  moving  onward  came  as  fast. 
With  horrid  strides ;  hell  trembled  as  he  strode. 
The  undaunted  fiend  what  this  might  be  admired  j 
Admired,  not  fear'd :   God  and  his  Son  except, 
Created  thing'  nought  valued  he,  nor  shunn'dj 
And  with  disdainful  look  thus  first  began : — 

Whence  and  what  art  thou,»  execrable  shape, 
That  darest,  though  grim  and  terrible,  advance 
Thy  miscreated  front  athwart  my  way 
To  yonder  gates  ?  through  them  I  mean  to  pass. 
That  be  assured,  without  leave  ask'd  of  thee  : 
Retire,  or  taste  thy  folly;  and  learn  by  proof, 
Hell-born,  not  to  contend  with  spirits  of  heaven  ! 

To  whom  the  goblin  full  of  wrath  replied  : — 
Art  thou  that  traitor  angel,  art  thou  he, 
Who  first  broke  peace  in  heaven,  and  faith,  till  then 
Unbroken,  and  in  proud  rebellious  arms 
Drew  after  him  the  third  part  of  heaven's  sons 
Conjured  against  the  Highest ;  for  which  both  thou 

r  Ood  and  his  Son  except, 
Created  thing. 
The  commentators  try  in  vain  to  justify  this  nngrammatical  expression. 

•  Wlience  and  what  art  thou  f 

Milton  has  interwoven  in  the  texture  of  his  fable  some  particulars  wiiich  do  not  seem 
to  "have  probability  enough  for  an  epic  poem;  particularly  in  the  actions  which  lie 
ascribes  to  Sin  and  Death,  and  the  picture  which  he  draws  of  the  Limbo  of  Vanity,  with 
other  passages  in  the  second  book.  Such  allegories  rather  savour  of  the  spirit  of 
8j)enser  and  Ariosto,  than  of  Homer  and  Virgil. 

It  is,  however,  a  very  finished  piece  of  its  kind,  when  it  is  not  considered  as  a  part 
of  an  epic  poem.  The  genealogy  of  the  several  persons  is  contrived  with  great  deli- 
cacy :  Sin  is  the  daughter  of  Satan,  and  Death  the  offspring  of  Sin :  the  incestuous 
mixture  between  Sin  and  Death  produces  those  monsters  and  hell-hounds,  which  from 
time  to  time  enter  into  their  mother,  and  tear  the  bowels  of  her  who  gave  them  birth: 
these  are  the  terrors  of  an  evil  conscience,  and  tbe  proper  fruits  of  Sin,  which  naturally 
rise  from  the  apprehensions  of  death.  This  last  beautiful  moral  is,  I  think  clearly  inli- 
mated  in  the  speech  of  Sin,  where,  complaini::g  of  this  her  dreadful  issue,  she  adds: — 

Before  mine  eyes  in  opposition  sitg 
Grim  Death,  my  son  and  foe ;  who  sets  them  on, 
And  me,  his  parent,  would  full  soon  devour 
For  want  of  other  prey,  but  that  ho  knows 
His  end  with  mine  involved. 

I  need  not  mention  to  the  reader  the  beautiful  circumstance  in  the  last  part  of  this 
quotation :  he  will  likewise  observe  how  naturally  the  three  persons  concerned  in  this 
allegory  are  tempted,  by  one  common  interest,  to  come  into  a  confederacy  together: 
and  how  properly  Sin  is  made  the  portress  of  hell,  and  the  only  being  that  can  t  pen 
the  gates  of  that  world  of  tortures. 

The  descriptive  part  of  this  allegory  is  likewise  very  strong,  and  full  of  sublime  ideas. 
The  figure  of  Death,  the  regal  crown  upon  his  head,  the  menace  of  Satan,  his  advanc- 
ing to  the  combat,  the  outcry  St  his  birth,  are  circumstances  too  noble  to  be  passed  over 
in  silence,  and  extremely  suitable  to  this  king  of  terrors.  I  need  not  mention  the  just- 
ness of  thought  which  is  observed  in  the  generation  of  these  severpl  symbolical  per. 
sons ;  that  Sin  was  produced  upon  the  first  revolt  of  Satan,  that  Death  appeared  soon 
after  he  was  cast  into  hell,  and  that  the  terrors  of  conscience  were  conceived  at  the  gate 
of  this  place  of  torments.  The  description  of  the  gates  is  very  poetical,  as  the  opening 
of  them  is  full  of  Milton's  spirit — Addison. 

Addison  seems  to  have  been  strangely  nice  in  the  objection  to  the  introduction  of 
these  shadowy  beings  into  an  epic  poem;  and  so  thought  Dr.  Newton. 
21 


162  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  n. 

And  they,  outcast  from  God,  are  here  condemn'd 

To  waste  eternal  days  in  woe  and  pain  ? 

And  reckon'st  thou  thyself  with  spirits  of  heaven, 

Hell-doom'd,  and  breathest  defiance  here  and  scorn, 

Where  I  reign  king,  and,  to  enrage  thee  more, 

Thy  king  and  lord !     Back  to  thy  punishment, 

False  fugitive,  and  to  thy  speed  add  wings ; 

Lest  with  a  whip  of  scorpions  I  pursue 

Thy  lingering,  or  with  one  stroke  of  this  dart 

Strange  horrour  seize  thee,  and  pangs  unfelt  before. 

So  spake  the  grisly  terrour;  and  in  shape. 
So  speaking,  and  so  threatening,  grew  tenfold 
More  dreadful  and  deform  :  on  the  other  side. 
Incensed  with  indignation,  Satan  stood 
Unterrified,  and  like  a  comet  burn'd,* 
That  fires  the  length  of  Ophiuchus  hug^ 
In  the  arctic  sky,  and  from  his  horrid  hair 
Shakes  pestilence  and  war.     Each  at  the  head 
Level'd  his  deadly  aim ;  their  fatal  hands 
No  second  stroke  intend ;  and  such  a  frown 
Each  cast  at  the  other,  as  when  two  black  clouds, 
With  heaven's  artillery  fraught,  come  rattling  on 
Over  the  Caspian ;  °  then  stand  front  to  front, 
Hovering  a  space,  till  winds  the  signal  blow 
To  join  their  dark  encounter  in  mid  air; 
So  frown'd  the  mighty  combatants,  that  hell 
Grew  darker  at  their  frown ;  so  match'd  they  stood; 
For  never  but  once  more  was  either  like 
To  meet  so  great  a  Foe  :  ^  and  now  great  deeds 
Had  been  achieved,  whereof  all  hell  had  rung, 
Had  not  the  snaky  sorceress,  that  sat 
Fast  by  hell  gate,  and  kept  the  fatal  key, 
Kisen,  and  with  hideous  outcry  rush'd  between. 

0  father,  what  intends  thy  hand,  she  cried. 
Against  thy  only  son  ?     What  fury,  0  son. 
Possesses  thee  to  bend  that  mortal  dart 
Against  thy  father's  head  ?  and  know'st  for  whom  ? 
For  him  who  sits  above,  and  laughs  the  while 
At  thee,  ordain' d  his  drudge,  to  execute 
Whate'er  his  wrath,  which  he  calls  justice,  bids; 
His  wrath,  which  one  day  will  destroy  ye  both.  ^ 

t  And  like  a  comet  bum'd. 
Tho  ancient  poets  frequently  compare  a  hero  in  his  shining  armour  to  a  comet. 
Poetry  delights  in  omens,  prodigies,  and  such  wonderful  events  as  were  supposed  to 
follow  upon  the  appearance  of  comets,  eclipses,  and  the  like. — Newton. 

n  Over  the  Catpian. 
With  great  judgment  did  the  poet  take  this  simile  from  the  Caspian ;  for  that  sea  is 
rom?,rkably  tempestuous.     See  "  Purchas  his  Pilgrimes,"  part  liL  p.  241 :  and  Horace, 
Ode  II.  ix.  2. — Bowle. 

»  So  great  a  foe. 
JesuB  Christ,  who,  as  it  follows  v.  734,  will  one  day  destroy  both  Death,  and  "him 
that  his  the  power  of  death,  that  is,  the  devil."    Heb.  ii.  14. — Newton. 


BOOK  n.]  PARADISE  LOST.  163 

She  spake,  and  at  her  words  the  hellish  pest 
Forbore  ;  then  these  to  her  Satan  return'd  :— 

So  strange  thy  outcry,  and  thy  words  so  strange 
Thou  interposest,  that  my  sudden  hand 
Prevented  spares  to  tell  thee  yet  by  deeds 
What  it  intends;  till  first  I  know  of  thee, 
What  thing  thou  art,  thus  double  form'd ;  and  why, 
In  this  infernal  vale  first  met,  thou  call'st 
Me  father,  and  that  phantasm  call'st  my  son : 
I  know  thee  not,  nor  ever  saw  till  now 
Sight  more  detestable  than  him  and  thee. 

To  whom  thus  the  portress  of  hell  gate  replied : 
Hast  thou  forgot  me  then,  and  do  I  seem 
Now  in  thine  eye  so  foul,  once  deem'd  so  fair 
In  heaven  ?  when  at  the  assembly,  and  in  sight 
Of  all  the  seraphim  with  thee  combined 
In  bold  conspiracy  against  heaven's  King, 
All  on  a  sudden  miserable  pain 
Surprised  thee ;  dim  thine  eyes,  and  dizzy  swum 
In  darkness,  while  thy  head  flames  thick  and  fast 
Threw  forth ;  till  on  the  left  side  opening  wide, 
Likest  to  thee  in  shape  and  countenance  bright, 
Then  shining  heavenly  fair,  a  goddess  arm'd. 
Out  of  thy  head  I  sprung :  '^  amazement  seized 
All  the  host  of  heaven ;  back  they  recoil'd  afraid 
At  first,  and  call'd  me  Sin,  and  for  a  sign 
Portentous  held  me :  but,  familiar  grown, 
I  pleased,  and  with  attractive  graces  won 
The  most  averse ;  thee  chiefly ;  who  full  oft 
Thyself  in  me  thy  perfect  image  viewing 
Becamest  enamour'd;  and  such  joy  fhou  took' si 
With  me  in  secret,  that  my  womb  conceived 
A  growing  burden.     Meanwhile  war  arose. 
And  fields  were  fought  in  heaven ;  wherein  remain'd 
(For  what  could  else  ?)  to  our  Almighty  Foe 
Clear  victory,  to  our  part  loss  and  rout 
Through  all  the  empyrean  :  down  they  fell 
Driven  headlong  from  the  pitch  of  heaven,  down 
Into  this  deep,  and  in  the  general  fall 
I  also ;  at  which  time  this  powerful  key 
Into  my  hand  was  given,  with  charge  to  keep 
These  gates  for  ever  shut,  which  none  can  pass 
Without  my  opening.     Pensive  here  I  sat 
Alone,  but  long  .1  sat  not,  till  my  womb, 

^  Out  of  thy  head  I  sprung. 

Sin  is  rightly  made  to  spring  out  of  the  head  of  Satan,  as  Wisdom  or  Minerva  did 
out  of  Jupiter's;  and  Milton  describes  the  birth  of  the  One  very  much  in  the  same  man- 
ner as  the  ancient  poets  have  described  that  of  the  other,  particularly  the  author  of  tlie 
"  Hymn  to  Minerva,"  vulgarly  ascribed  to  Homer:  and  what  follows  seems  to  be  a  hint 
Improved  upon  Minerva's  being  ravished  soon  after  her  birth  by  Vulcan,  as  we  may 
ieam  from  Lucian,  "  Dial.  Vulcani  et  Jovis,"  et  "  de  Domo." — Nbwton. 


164  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  ii. 

Pregnant  by  thee  and  now  excessive  grown, 

Prodigious  motion  felt  and  rueful  throes. 

At  last  this  odious  offspring  whom  thou  seest,  * 

Thine  own  begotten,  breaking  violent  way, 

Tore  through  my  entrails,  that,  with  fear  and  pain 

Distorted,  all  my  nether  shape  thus  grew 

Transform'd  :  but  he,  my  inbred  enemy, 

Forth  issued,  brandishing  his  fatal  dart 

Made  to  destroy :  I  fled,  and  cried  out  Death ; 

Bell  trembled  at  the  hideous  name,  and  sigh'd 

From  all  her  caves,*  and  back  resounded,  Death. 

I  fled,  but  he  pursued,  though  more,  it  seems, 

[nflamed  with  lust  than  rage ;  and,  swifter  far, 

Me  overtook,  his  mother,  all  dismay'd ; 

And,  in  embraces  forcible  and  foul 

Ingendering  with  me,  of  that  rape  begot 

These  yelling  monsters,  that  with  ceaseless  cry 

Surround  me,  as  thou  saw'st;  hourly  conceived 

A.nd  hourly  born,  with  sorrow  infinite 

To  me :  for,  when  they  list,  into  the  womb 

That  bred  them  they  return,  and  howl  and  gnaw 

My  bowels,  their  repast ;  then  bursting  forth 

Afresh  with  conscious  terrours  vex  me  round, 

That  rest  or  intermission  none  I  find. 

Before  mine  eyes  in  opposition  sits 

Grim  Death,  my  son  and  foe,  who  sets  them  on  j 

And  me  his  parent  would  full  soon  devour 

For  want  of  other  prey,  but  that  he  knows 

His  end  with  mine  involved ;  and  knows  that  I 

Should  prove  a  bitter  morsel,  and  his  bane. 

Whenever  that  shall  be ;  so  Fate  pronounced. 

But  thou,  0  father,  I  forewarn  thee,'  shun 

His  deadly  arrow;  neither  vainly  hope 

To  be  invulnerable  in  those  bright  arms. 

Though  temper'd  heavenly ;  for  that  mortal  dint 

Save  he  who  reigns  above,  none  can  resist. 

She  finish'd,  and  the  subtle  fiend  his  lore 
Soon  learn'd,  now  milder,  and  thus  answer'd  smooth : — 
Dear  daughter,^  since  thou  claim'st  me  for  thy  sire. 
And  my  fair  son  here  show'st  me,  the  dear  pledge 
Of  dalliance  had  with  thee  in  heaven,  and  joys 

»  Front,  all  her  caves. 
Virgil,  Mn.  ii.  53. 

Insonuere  cavse,  gemitumque  dedere,  oavornae. — Humk. 

The  repetition  of  Death  here  is  a  beauty  of  the  same  liind  as  that  of  the  name  of 
Eurydice  in  Virgil,  Georg.  iv.  525,  and  of  Hylas,  Eel.  vi.  44. — Newton. 
But  how  infinitely  more  sublime ! 

y  Dear  dattghter. 
Satan  had  now  learned  his  lore  or  lesson ;  and  the  reader  will  obserre  how  artfully 
he  changes  his  language:  he  had  said  before  that  he  had  never  seen  "sight  more 
detestable ;"  but  now  it  is  dear  daughter,  and  fair  son. — Nbwtos. 


BOOK  II.]  PARADISE  LOST.  165 

Then  sweet,  now  sad  to  mention,  through  dire  change 

Befallen  us,  unforeseen,  un though*^,  of;  know, 

T  come  no  enemy,  but  to  set  free 

From  out  this  dark  and  dismal  house  of  pain. 

Both  him  and  thee,  and  all  the  heavenly  host 

Of  spirits,  that,  in  our  just  pretences  arm'd. 

Fell  with  us  from  on  high :  from  them  I  go 

This  uncouth  errand  sole,  and  one  for  all 

Myself  expose ;  with  lonely  steps  to  tread 

The  unfounded  deep,  and  through  the  void  immense 

To  search  with  wandering  quest  a  place  foretold 

Should  be,  and,  by  concurring  signs,  ere  now 

Created,  vast  and  round,  a  place  of  bliss 

In  the  purlieus  of  heaven,  and  therein  placed 

A  race  of  upstart  creatures,  to  supply 

Perhaps  our  vacant  room  ;  though  more  removed, 

Lest  heaven,  surcharged  with  potent  multitude. 

Might  hap  to  move  new  broils.     Be  this,  or  aught 

Than  this  more  secret,  now  design'd,  I  haste 

To  know ;  and,  this  once  known,  shall  soon  return, 

And  bring  ye  to  the  place  where  thou  and  Death 

Shall  dwell  at  ease,  and  up  and  down  unseen 

Wing  silently  the  buxom  air,  imbalm'd 

With  odours ;  there  ye  shall  be  fed  and  fill'd 

Immeasurably  ;  all  things  shall  be  your  prey. 

He  ceased,  for  both  seem'd  highly  pleased,  and  Death 
Grinn'd  horrible  a  ghastly  smile,  to  hear 
His  famine  should  be  fill'd,  and  bless'd  his  maw 
Destined  to  that  good  hour  :  no  less  rejoiced 
His  mother  bad,  and  thus  bespake  her  sire  : — 

The  key  of  this  infernal  pit  by  dua, 
And  by  command  of  heaven's  all-powerful  King, 
I  keep,  by  him  forbidden  to  unlock 
These  adamantine  gates  ;  against  all  force 
Death  ready  stands  to  interpose  his  dart, 
Fearless  to  be  o'ermatch'd  by  living  might. 
But  what  owe  I  to  his  commands  above, 
Who  hates  me,  and  hath  hither  thrust  me  down 
Into  this  gloom  of  Tartarus  profound, 
To  sit  in  hateful  office,  here  confined. 
Inhabitant  of  heaven  and  heavenly-born, 
Here,  in  perpetual  agony  and  pain, 
With  terrours  and  with  clamours  compass'd  round 
Of  mine  own  brood,  that  on  my  bowels  feed  ? 
Thou  art  my  father,  thou  my  authour,  thou 
My  being  gavest  me  ;  whom  should  I  obey 
But  thee  ?  whom  follow  ?  thou  wilt  bring  me  soon 
To  that -new  world  of  light  and  bliss,  among 
The  gods  who  live  at  case ;  where  I  shall  reign 
At  thy  right  hand  voluptuous,  as  beseems 
Thy  daughter  and  thy  darling,  without  end. 


166  •  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  ii. 

Thus  saying,  Irom  her  side  the  fatal  key," 
Sad  instrument  of  all  our  woe,  she  took ; 
And,  towards  the  gate  rolling  her  bestial  train, 
Forthwith  the  huge  portcullis  high  up  drew, 
Which  but  herself  not  all  the  Stygian  powers 
Could  once  have  moved :  then  in  the  keyhole  turns 
The  intricate  wards,  and  every  bolt  and  bar 
Of  massy  iron  or  solid  rock  with  ease 
Unfastens  :  on  a  sudden  open  fly 
With  impetuous  recoil  and  jarring  sound 
The  infernal  doors,  and  on  their  hinges  grate 
Harsh  thunder,  that  the  lowest  bottom  shook 
Of  Erebus.     She  open'd,  but  to  shut 
Excell'd  her  power  ;*  the  gates  wide  open  stood, 
That  with  extended  wings  a  banner'd  host, 
Under  spread  ensigns  marching,  might  pass  through 
With  horse  and  chariots  rank'd  in  loose  array ; 
So  wide  they  stood,  and  like  a  furnace  mouth 
Cast  forth  redounding  smoke  and  ruddy  flame. 
Before  their  eyes  in  sudden  view  appear 
The  secrets  of  the  hoary  deep  j*"  a  dark 
Illimitable  ocean,  without  bound. 
Without  dimension,  where  length,  breadth,  and  highth, 
And  time,  and  place,  are  lost ;  where  eldest  Night 
And  Chaos,*^  ancestors  of  Nature,  hold 
Eternal  anarchy,  amidst  the  noise 

»  Thus  saying,  from  her  side  the  fatal  key. 
It  is  one  great  part  of  the  poet's  art  to  know  when  to  describe  things  in  general,  and 
when  to  be  very  circumstantial  and  particular.  Milton  has  in  these  lines  showed  hia 
judgment  in  this  respect:  the  first  opening  of  the  gates  of  hell  by  Sin  is  an  incident 
of  that  importance,  that  if  I  can  guess  by  my  own,  every  reader's  attention  must  be 
greatly  excited,  and  consequently  as  highly  gratified,  by  the  minute  detail  of  p.ir- 
ticulars  our  author  has  given  us.  It  may  with  justice  be  farther  observed,  that  in  no 
part  of  the  poem  the  versification  is  better  accommodated  to  the  sense.  The  drawing 
up  of  the  portcullis,  the  turning  of  the  key,  the  sudden  shooting  of  the  bolts,  and  the 
flying  open  of  the  doors,  are  in  some  sort  described  by  the  very  break  and  sound  of  the 
verses. — Thyeb. 

»  She  open'd,  but  to  shut 
Excell'd  her  power. 
The  grandeur  here  both  of  the  thought  and  the  picture  is  incomparable. 

•>  The  secrets  of  a  hoary  deep. 

This  prospect,  as  the  gates  flew  open,  astonishes  the  imagination,  and  awakens  all 
its  curiosity. 

<  Where  eldest  Night 
And  Chaos. 

All  the  ancient  naturalists,  philosophers,  and  poets,  hold  that  Chaos  was  the  first 
principle  of  all  things ;  and  the  poets  particularly  make  Night  a  goddess,  and  represent 
Night  or  darkness,  and  Chaos  or  confusion,  as  exercising  uncontrolled  dominion  from 
the  beginning.  Thus  Orpheus,  in  the  beginning  of  his  Hymn  to  Night,  addressed  her 
as  the  motner  of  the  gods  and  men,  and  origin  of  all  things.  See  also  Spenser  in 
imitation  of  the  ancients,  P.  Q.  i.  v.  22.  And  Milton's  system  of  the  universe  is,  in 
short,  that  the  empyrean  heaven,  and  chaos,  and  darkness,  were  before  the  creation, 
heaven  above  and  chaos  beneath  ;  and  then,  upon  the  rebellion  of  the  angels ;  first,  hell 
was  formed  out  of  chaos,  stretching  far  and  wide  beneath  ;  and  afterwards  heaven  and 
earth,  another  world  hanging  over  the  realm  of  Chaos,  and  won  from  his  dominion.— 
Newton. 


BOOK  11.]  PARADISE  LOST.  167 

Of  endless  wars,  and  by  confusion  stand  : 

For  hot,  cold,**  moist,  and  dry,  four  champions  fierce, 

Strive  here  for  mastery,  and  to  battel  bring 

Their  embryon  atoms ;  they  around  the  flag 

Of  each  his  faction,  in  their  several  clans, 

Light-arm'd  or  heavy,  sharp,  smooth,  swift,  or  slow, 

Swarm  populous,  unnumber'd  as  the  sands 

Of  Barca  or  Gyrene's  torrid  soil. 

Levied  to  side  with  warring  winds,  and  poise 

Their  lighter  wings.     To  whom  these  most  adhere, 

He  rules  a  moment ;  *  Chaos  umpire  sits, 

And  by  decision  more  imbroils  the  fray. 

By  which  he  reigns :  next  him,  high  arbiter. 

Chance  governs  all.     Into  this  wild  abyss, 

The  womb  of  nature,  and  perhaps  her  grave,— 

Of  neither  sea,  nor  shore,  nor  air,  nor  fire. 

But  all  these  in  their  pregnant  causes  mix'd 

Confusedly,  and  which  thus  must  ever  fight. 

Unless  the  Almighty  Maker  them  ordain 

His  dark  materials  to  create  more  worlds ; — 

Into  this  wild  abyss  the  wary  fiend 

Stood  on  the  brink  of  hell,'  and  look'd  a  while. 

Pondering  his  voyage ;  for  no  narrow  frith 

He  had  to  cross.     Nor  was  his  ear  less  peal'd 

With  noises  loud  and  ruinous,  (to  compare 

Great  things  with  small)  than  when  Bellona  storms. 

With  all  her  battering  engines  bent  to  rase 

Some  capital  city ;  or  less  than  if  this  frame 

Of  heaven  were  falling,  and  these  elements 

In  mutiny  had  from  her  axle  torn 

The  stedfast  earth.     At  last  his  sail-broad  vans 

He  spreads  for  flight,  and  in  the  surging  smoke 

Uplifted  spurns  the  ground ;  thence  many  a  league, 

As  in  a  cloudy  chair,  ascending  rides 

Audacious ;  but,  that  seat  soon  failing,  meets 

A  vast  vacuity  :  all  unawares 

Fluttering  his  pennons  vain,  plumb  down  he  drops 

Ten  thousand  fathom  deep;  and  to  this  hour 

Down  had  been  falling,  had  not  by  ill  chance 

d  For  hot,  cold,  &c. 
Ovid.  Met.  i.  19  :— 

Frigida  pugnabant  calidis,  hutnentia  siccis, 
Mollia  cum  duris,  sine  pondere  hubcntia  pondus. 

The  reader  may  compare  this  whole  description  of  Chaos  with  Ovid's,  and  he  will 
easily  see  how  the  Roman  poet  has  lessened  the  grandeur  of  his  by  puerile  conceits  and 
quaint  antitheses  j  everything  in  Milton  is  great  and  masterly. — Newton. 

•  To  whom  these  most  adhere. 
He  rides  a  moment. 
To  whatever  side  the  atoms  temporarily  adhere,  that  side  rules  for  the  moment. 

f  Stood  on  the  brink  of  hell. 
Satan  pauses  for  a  moment,  terrified  at  the  danger  of  his  enterprise. 


168  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  n. 

The  strong  rebuff  of  some  tumultuous  cloud, 

Instinct  with  fire  and  nitre,  hurried  him  , 

As  many  miles  aloft :  that  fury  stay'd, 

Quench' d  in  a  boggy  Syrtis,  neither  sea, 

Nor  good  dry  land :  nigh  founder'd  on  he  fares, 

Treading  the  crude  consistence,  half  on  foot, 

Half  flying ;  s  behoves  him  now  both  oar  and  sail.* 

As  when  a  gryphon,  through  the  wilderness 

With  winged  course,  o'er  hill  or  moory  dale, 

Pursues  the  Arimaspian,  who  by  stealth, 

Had  from  his  wakeful  custody  purloin'd 

The  guarded  gold  ;  so  eagerly  the  fiend 

O'er  bog  or  steep,  through  strait,  rough,  dense,  or  rare,' 

With  head,  hands,  wings,  or  feet,  pursues  his  way, 

And  swims,  or  sinks,  or  wades,  or  creeps,  or  flies. 

At  length  a  universal  hubbub  wild 

Of  stunning  sounds  and  voices  all  confused. 

Borne  through  the  hollow  dark,  assaults  his  ear 

With  loudest  vehemence  :  thither  he  plies. 

Undaunted  to  meet  there  whatever  power 

Or  spirit  of  the  nethermost  abyssJ 

Might  in  that  noise  reside,  of  whom  to  ask 

Which  way  the  nearest  coast  of  darkness  lies. 

Bordering  on  light  j  when  straight  behold  the  throne 

Of  Chaos,  and  his  dark  pavilion  spread  "^ 

Wide  on  the  wasteful  deep  :  with  him  enthroned 

Sat  sable-vested  Night,  eldest  of  things. 

The  consort  of  his  reign ;  and  by  them  stood 

Orcus  and  Ades,'  and  the  dreaded  name 

K  Half  on  foot, 
Half  flying. 
Spenser,  Faer.  Qu.  i.  xi.  8 : — 

Half  flying,  and  half  footing  in  his  hasto. — Newton. 

h  Behoves  him  now  both  oar  and  sail. 
It  behoveth  him  now  to  use  both  his  oars  and  his  sails,  as  galleys  do,  according  to  th* 
proverb, — remia  veliaque,  with  might  and  main. — Hume. 

i  O'er  bog,  or  steep,  through  strait,  rough,  dense,  or  rare. 
The  diflBiculty  of  Satan's  voyage  is  very  well  expressed  by  so  many  monosyllables  ai 
follow,  which  cannot  be  pronounced  but  slowly,  and  with  frequent  pauses. — Newton. 

J  The  nethermost  abyss. 
Though  the  throne  of  Chaos  was  above  hell,  and  consequently  a  part  of  the  abvss 
was  80,  yet  a  part  of  that  abyss  was  at  the  same  time  below  hell ;  so  far  below,  as  that 
when  Satan  went  from  hell  on  las  voyage,  he  fell  in  that  abyss  ten  thousand  fathom 
deep  ;  and  the  poet  there  adds,  that  if  it  had  not  been  for  an  accident,  he  had  been 
falling  down  there  to  this  hour :  nay,  it  was  so  deep,  as  to  be  illimitable,  and  where 
MgJithis  lost.     The  abyss  then,  considered  altogether,  was  nethermost  in  respect  of 
hell,  below  which  it  was  so  endlessly  extended. — Pearce. 
^  And  his  dark  pavilion,  spread. 
Psalm  xviii.  11 : — "  lie  made  darkness  his  secret  place,  hia  pavilion  round  about 
him." — DuNSTEB. 

1  Orcus  and  Ades. 
Orcus  for  Pluto  and  Ades  for  any  dark  place. — Eichabdson. 


BOOK  11.] 


PARADISE  LOST, 


169 


Of  Demogorgon ;  ■»  Rumour  next,  and  Chance, 
And  Tumult  and  Confusion  all  imbroil'd ; 
And  Discord  with  a  thousand  various  mouths. 

To  whom  Satan  turning  boldly,  thus  : — Ye  powers, 
And  spirits  of  this  nethermost  abyss, 
Chaos  and  ancient  Night,  I  come  no  spy, 
With  purpose  to  explore  or  to  disturb 
The  secrets  of  your  realm ;  but  by  constraint 
Wandering  this  darksome  desert, — as  my  way 
Lies  through  your  spacious  empire  up  to  light,— 
Alone,  and  without  guide,  half  lost,  I  seek 
What  readiest  path  leads  where  your  gloomy  bound 
Confine  with  heaven  ;  or  if  some  other  place, 
From  your  dominion  won,  the  ethereal  King 
Possesses  lately,  thither  to  arrive 
I  travel  this  profound  :  direct  my  course ; 
Directed,  no  mean  recompense  it  brings, 
To  your  behoof,  if  I  that  region  lost, 
All  usurpation  thence  expell'd,  reduce 
To  her  original  darkness  and  your  sway, 
Which  is  my  present  journey,  and  once  more 
Erect  the  standard  there  of  ancient  Night : 
Yours  be  the  advantage  all,  mine  the  revenge. 

Thus  Satan ;  and  him  thus  the  anarch  old, 
With  faltering  speech  and  visage  incomposed, 
Answer' d: — I  know  thee,  stranger,  who  thou  art ; 
That  mighty  leading  angel,  who  of  late 
Made  head  against  heaven's  King,  though  overthrown 
I  saw  and  heard ;  for  such  a  numerous  host 
Fled  not  in  silence  through  the  frighted  deep. 
With  ruin  upon  ruin,  rout  on  rout,    » 
Confusion  worse  confounded ;  and  heaven  gates 
Poured  out  by  millions  her  victorious  bands 
Pursuing.     I  upon  my  frontiers  here 
Keep  residence ;  if  all  I  can  will  serve, 
That  little  which  is  left  so  to  defend, 
Encroach'd  on  still  through  your  intestine  broils 
Weakening  the  sceptre  of  old  Night :  first  hell, 
Your  dungeon,  stretching  far  and  wide  beneath ; 
Now  lately  heaven  and  earth,  another  world. 
Hung  o'er  my  realm,  link'd  in  a  golden  chain " 

•n  0/  Demogorgon. 
The  very  name  of  Demogorgon  the  anfcients  supposed  capable  of  producing  the  most 
terrible  effects,  which  they  therefore  dreaded  to  pronounce.    He  is  mentioned  a8  of 
great  power  in  incantations.— Newton, 

■>  Link'd  in  a  golden  chain. 
There  is  mention  made  in  Homer  of  Jupiter's  golden  chain,  by  which  he  can  draw 
np  the  gods,  and  the  earth,  and  the  sea,  and  the  whole  universe;  but  they  cannot  draw 
him  down.  See  the  passage  at  large  in  the  beginning  of  the  eighth  book  of  the  Diad, 
It  is  most  probably  and  ingeniously  conjectured,  that  by  this  golden  chain  may  be 
undjrstood  the  superior  attractive  force  of  the  sun,  whereby  he  continues  unmoved| 
and  draws  all  the  rest  of  the  planets  toward  him :  but  whatever  is  meant  bv  it.  it  is 
22 


ITO  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  ii. 

To  that  side  heaven  from  whence  your  legions  fell : 
If  that  way  be  your  walk,  you  have  not  far ; 
So  much  the  nearer  danger  :  go,  and  speed  : 
Havock,  and  spoil,  and  ruin  are  my  gain. 

He  ceased ;  and  Satan  stay'd  not  to  reply ; 
But,  glad  that  now  his  sea  should  find  a  shore, 
With  fresh  alacrity  and  force  renew' d 
Springs  upward,  like  a  pyramid  of  fire," 
Into  the  wild  expanse  j  and  through  the  shock 
Of  fighting  elements,  on  all  sides  round 
Environ'd,  wins  his  way ;  harder  beset 
And  more  endanger'd  than  when  Argo  pass'd 
Through  Bosporus  betwixt  the  justling  rocks  : 
Or  when  Ulysses  on  the  larboard  shunn'd 
Charybdis,  and  by  the  other  whirlpool  steer'd. 
So  he  with  difficulty  and  labour  hard 
Moved  on,  with  difficulty  and  labour  he ; 
But  he  once  past,  soon  after,  when  rnan  fell, 
(Strange  alteration  !)  Sin  and  Death  amain 
Following  his  track,  (such  was  the  will  of  Heaven) 
Paved  after  him  a  broad  and  beaten  way 
Over  the  dark  abyss,  whose  boiling  gulf 
Tamely  endur'd  a  bridge  p  of  wondrous  length. 
From  hell  continued,  reaching  the  utmost  orb 
Of  this  frail  world ;  by  which  the  spirits  perverse 

certain  that  our  poet  took  from  it  tlie  thought  of  hanging  the  world  hy  a  golden  chain,— 
Newtok. 

0  Springs  npioard,  like  a  pyramid  of  fire. 

To  take  in  tne  full  meaning  of  this  magnificent  similitude,  we  must  imagine  our- 
selyes  in  Chaos,  and  a  vast  luminous  body  rising  upward  near  the  place  where  we  are, 
(o  swiftly  as  to  appear  a  continued  track  of  light,  and  lessening  to  the  view  according 
to  the  increase  of  distance,  till  it  end  in  a  point,  and  then  disappear;  and  all  this  must 
be  supposed  to  strike  our  eye  at  one  instant. — Beattie. 

Ibid.  Ir  Satan's  voyage  through  Chaos  there  are  several  imaginary  persons  described, 
as  residing  in  that  immense  waste  of  matter.  This  may  perhaps  be  conformable  to  the 
taste  of  those  critics  who  are  pleased  with  nothing  in  a  poet  which  has  not  life  and 
manners  ascribed  to  it;  but,  for  my  own  part,  I  am  pleased  most  with  those  passages 
in  this  description  which  carry  in  them  a  greater  measure  of  probability,  and  are  such 
as  might  possibly  have  happened :  of  this  kind  is  his  first  mounting  in  the  smoke  that 
rises  from  the  infernal  pit ;  his  falling  into  a  cloud  of  nitre  and  the  like  combustible 
materials,  that  by  their  explosion  still  hurried  him  forward  in  his  voyage ;  his  springing 
upwards  like  a  pyramid  of  fire ;  with  hia  laborious  passage  through  that  confusion  of 
elements,  which  the  poet  calls 

Tlie  womb  of  nature,  and  perhaps  her  grave. 
The  glimmering  light  which  shot  into  the  Chaos  from  the  utmost  verge  of  the  creation, 
and  the  distant  discovery  of  the  earth,  that  hung  close  by  the  moon,  are  wonderfully 
beautiful  and  poetical. — Addison. 

p  Tamely  endured  a  bridge. 

Dr.  Newton  here  agrees  with  Dr.  Bentley  in  censuring  this  introduction  of  the 
infernal  bridge,  because  it  is  described  in  the  tenth  book,  for  several  lines  together,  ae 
a  thing  untouched  before,  and  an  incident  to  surprise  the  reader;  and  therefore  the 
poet  should  not  have  anticipated  it  here.  Milton  is  said  to  have  apparently  copied  this 
bridge,  not  as  Dr.  Warton  has  conjectured,  from  the  Persian  poet  Sadi,  but  tT<va  the 
Arabian  fiction  of  the  bridge,  called  in  Arabic  Al  Sirat,  which  is  represented  to  extend 
over  the  infernal  gulf,  and  to  be  narrower  than  a  spider's  web,  and  sharper  than  the 
edge  of  a  sword. — Pocock  in  Port  Mos.  p.  282.  See  Annotations  on  Hist  of  Caliph 
Vathek,  1786,  p.  314.— Todd. 


BOOK  ii]  PARADISE  LOST.  ITI 

With  easy  intercourse  passed  to  and  fro 

To  tempt  or  punish  mortals,  except  whom 

God  and  good  angels  guard  by  special  grace. 

But  now  at  last  the  sacred  influence 

Of  light  appears,  and  from  the  walls  of  heaven 

Shoots  far  into  the  bosom  of  dim  Night 

A  glimmering  dawn  :  here  Nature  first  begins 

Her  farthest  verge,  and  Chaos  to  retire 

As  from  her  outmost  works,  a  broken  foe, 

With  tumult  less  and  with  less  hostile  din ; 

That  Satan,  with  less  toil,  and  now  with  ease, 

Wafts  on  the  calmer  wave  by  dubious  light  31 

And,  like  a  weather-beaten  vessel,  holds 

Gladly  the  port,  though  shrouds  and  tackle  torn; 

Or  in  the  emptier  waste,  resembling  air. 

Weighs  his  spread  wings,  at  leisure  to  behold 

Far  off  the  empyreal  heaven,  extended  wide 

In  circuit,  undetermined  square  or  round, 

With  opal  towers  and  battlements  adorn'd 

Of  living  sapphire,  once  his  native  seat; 

And  fast  by,  hanging  in  a  golden  chain. 

This  pendent  world,  in  bigness  as  a  star'  .  . 

Of  smallest  magnitude  close  by  the  moon. 

Thither,  full  fraught  with  mischievous  revenge, 

Accursed,  and  in  a  cursed  hour,  he  hies. 

q  By  dubious  light. 
In  this  line,  and  in  the  preceding  description  of  the  "  glimmering  dawn"  that  Satan 
first  meets  with,  Milton  very  probably  alludes  to  Seneca's  elegant  account  of  Hercules'i 
passage  out  of  hell,  Here.  Fur.  668 : — 

N'm  caeca  tenebris  incipit  prima  via : 

Tenuis  relict<c  lucis  u  terg-n  nitor, 

Fulgorque  dubius  solis  ufflicti  ca(Ut.  Tbtxk. 

f  This  pendent  teorld,  in  bigness  as  a  star. 
By  this  pendent  world  is  not  meant  the  earth,  but  the  new  creation,  heaven  and  earth 
the  whole  orb  of  fixed  stars  immensely  bigger  than  the  earth,  a  mere  point  in  the  com- 
parison.    This  is  certain  from  what  Chaos  had  lately  said,  v.  1004: — 
Now  lately  heaven  and  earth,  another  world, 
Hung  o'er  my  realm,  link'd  in  a  golden  chain. 

Besides,  Satan  did  not  see  the  earth  yet ;  he  was  afterwards  surprised  "  at  the  sudden 
view  of  all  this  world  at  once,"  b.  iii.  542,  and  wandered  long  on  the  outside  of  it,  till 
at  last  he  saw  our  sun,  and  learned  there  of  the  archangel  Uriel,  where  the  earth  and 
paradise  were.  See  b.  iii.  722.  This  pendent  world,  therefore,  must  mean  the  whole 
world — the  new-created  universe ;  and  "  beheld  far  off,"  it  appeared,  in  comparison  with 
the  empyreal  heaven,  no  bigger  than  a  "star  of  smallest  magnitude,"  nay,  not  so 
large ;  it  appeared  no  bigger  than  such  a  star  appears  to  be  when  it  is  "  close  by  the 
moon,"  the  superior  light  whereof  makes  any  star  that  happens  to  be  near  her  disk  to 
seem  exceedingly  small,  and  almost  disappear. — Newton. 

Additional  Note. — Although  the  text  has  not  been  altered,  the  following  discovery 
merits  to  be  laid  before  the  accurate  readers  of  Milton. 

Ver.  855.  Fearless  to  be  o'ermntch'd  by  living  might. 

Living  might  would  not  except  even  God  himself,  the  Ever-living  and  the  Almighty. 
The  author  therefore  gave  it,  "  by  living  wight :"  as  in  this  same  book,  ver.  613 : — "  All 
taste  of  living  wight."  This  expression  is  established  and  consecrated  by  our  Chauccl 
and  Spenser. — Bentlet. 

In  confirmation  of  the  doctor's  happy  conjecture,  "living  wighf  is  the  reading  of 
Simmons's  third  edition,  1678,  and  was  probably  a  correction  dictated  by  Milton,  after 
the  second  edition  was  printed.   This  Dr.  Bentley  was  not  aware  of. — See  Bd.  1678,  p.  SS 


1*72  PARADISE  LOST,  [book  hi. 


BOOK  ni. 

INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 

T  CANNOT  admit  this  book  to  be  inferior  in  poetical  merit  to  those  which  precede  it : 
the  argumentative  parts  give  a  pleasing  variety.  The  unfavourable  opinion  has  arisen 
from  a  narrow  view  of  the  nature  of  poetry:  from  the  theory  of  those  who  think  that 
It  ought  to  be  confined  to  description  and  imagery.  On  the  contrary,  the  highest 
poetry  consists  more  of  spirit  than  of  matter.  Matter  is  only  good  so  far  as  it  is  imbued 
with  spirit,  or  causes  spiritual  exaltation.  Among  the  innumerable  grand  descriptions 
In  Milton,  I  do  not  believe  there  is  one  which  stands  unconnected  with  complex  intel- 
lectual considerations,  and  of  which  those  considerations  do  not  form  a  leading  part  of 
the  attraction.  The  learned  allusions  may  be  too  deep  for  the  common  reader ;  and  so  far 
the  poet  is  above  the  reach  of  the  multitude:  but  even  then  they  create  a  certain  vague 
stir  in  unprepared  minds: — names  indistinctly  heard;  visions  dimly  seen;  constant 
recognitions  of  Scriptural  passages,  and  sacred  names,  awfully  impressed  on  the 
memory  from  childhood, — awaken  the  sensitive  understanding  with  sacred  and  mysteri- 
ous movements. 

We  do  not  read  Milton  in  the  same  light  mood  as  we  read  any  other  poet :  his  is  the 
imagination  of  a  sublime  instructor:  we  give  our  faith  through  duty,  as  well  as  wilL 
If  our  fancy  flags,  we  strain  it,  that  we  may  apprshend  :  we  know  that  there  is  some- 
thing which  our  conception  ought  to  reach.  There  is  not  an  idle  word  in  any  of  the 
delineations  which  the  bard  exhibits;  nor  is  any  picture  merely  addressed  to  the 
senses.  Everything  therefore  is  invention ; — arising  from  novelty  or  complexity  of 
combination :  nothing  is  a  mere  reflection  from  the  mirror  of  the  fancy. 

Milton  early  broke  loose  from  the  narrow  bounds  of  observation;  and  explored  the 
trackless  regions  of  air,  and  worlds  of  spirits, — the  good  and  the  bad. — There  hia 
pregnant  imagination  embodied  new  states  of  existence;  and  out  of  Chaos  drew  form, 
and  life,  and  all  that  is  grand,  and  beautiful,  and  godlike :  and  yet  he  so  mingled  them 
ap  with  materials  from  the  globe  in  which  we  are  placed,  that  it  is  an  unpardonable 
error  to  say  that  "  Paradise  Lost"  contains  little  applicable  to  human  interests.  The 
human  learning  and  human  wisdom  contained  in  every  page  are  inexhaustible. 

On  this  account  no  other  poem  requires  so  many  explanatory  notes,  drawn  from  all 
the  most  extensive  stores  of  erudition. 

Of  classical  literature,  and  of  the  Italian  poets,  Milton  was  a  perfect  master :  he  often 
replenished  his  images  and  forms  of  expression  from  Homer  and  Virgil,  and  yet  never 
was  a  servile  borrower.  There  is  an  added  pleasure  to  what  in  itself  is  beautiful,  from 
the  happiness  of  his  adaptations. 

I  do  not  doubt  that  what  he  wrote  was  from  a  conjunction  of  genius,  learning,  art, 
and  labour ;  but  the  grand  source  of  all  his  poetical  conceptions  and  language  was  the 
Scripture. 

I  have  defended  the  argumentative,  as  well  as  the  imaginative  parts  of  this  poem. 
I  use  imaginative  invention  in  its  strict  sense,  to  express  that  which  consists  of  imagery. 
The  argumentative  may  be  equal  invention  ; — but  ideal  or  spiritual  invention :  every 
great  poem  must  unite  both  in  large  proportions.  There  is  great  sinr.plicity  and  plain- 
ness in  the  greater  part  of  Milton's  images  taken  separately;  the  novelty  and  grandeur 
Ib  in  their  position  and  association.  When  Satan  beholds  the  pendent  orb  of  this  world 
floating  in  immense  space,  while  numberless  other  globes  are  suspended  in  the  same 
vacuity ; — the  sublimity  of  the  picture  is  mainly  caused  by  reflecting  on  the  character 
of  him,  on  whose  sight  this  object  breaks. 

Spenser's  subject  was  confined  to  human  nature,  represented  by  a  moral  allegory; 
but  the  manners  which  he  undertook  to  describe  were  factitious;  and  he  is  often  thereforo 


BOOK  III.]  PARADISE  LOST.  173 

ever-coloured  and  extravagant :  but  Milton's  subject  allowed  all  the  flights  of  the 
most  gigantic  and  marvellous  imagination:  he  never  therefore  offends  probability; 
while  we  are  often  obliged  to  consider  Spenser  as  merely  sportive. 


ARGUMENT. 
Cod  Bitting  on  his  throne,  sees  Satan  flying  towards  this  world,  then  newly  created;  sliows 
him  to  the  Son,  who  sat  at  his  right  hand;  foretells  the  success  of  Satan  in  pervoii'.ng 
mankind;  clears  his  own  justice  and  wisdom  from  all  imputation,  having  rrerited  iiinii 
■free,  and  able  enough  to  have  withstood  his  'enipte-;  501  declares  liis- purpose  tjfjri'ise 
^wanls  him,  in  reg^ard  he  fell  not  of  his  own  rnulice.  as  did  Satan,  but  by  liiin  seduced. 
The  Sou  ot'  God  renders  praises  to  his  Father  for  ihe  uiunifestation  of  his  gracious  purpose 
towards  man;  but  God  agnin  declares,  that  grace  cannot  be  extended  toward?  man  v\itl. 
out  the  satisfaction  of  divine  justice;  man  hath  offended  the  majesty  of  (^od  by  aspiiing 
foGodhcnd,  iiud  therefore  with  all  his  progeny  devoted  to  deatli  must  die,  unless  some 
one  can  be  found  sufficienLto  answer  for  his  offence,  and  undergo  his  punishinujit.  The 
Son  of  God  freely  offers  himself  a  ransom  for  man;  the  Father  accepts  hiai,  ordains  his 
incarnation,  pronounces  his  exaltation  above  all  names  in  heaven  and  c?,rth  ;  commands 
all  the  angels  to  adore  him ;  tliey  obey,  and,  hymning  to  their  harps  in  full  quire,  celebrate 
the  Father  and  the  Son.  Meanwhile,  Satan  alights  upon  the  bare  convex  of  this  world's 
outermost  orb  ;  where  wandering  he  first  finds  a  place,  since  called  the  Limbo  of  Vanity  : 
what  persons  and  things  fly  up  thither;  thence  comes  to  the  gate  of  heaven,  described 
ascending  by  stairs,  and  the  waters  above  the  firmament  that  flow  about  it;  his  passage 
thence  to  the  orb  of  the  sun  ;  he  finds  there  Uriel,  the  regent  of  that  orb ;  but  first  ch;injjea 
himself  into  the  shape  of  a  meaner  angel ;  and,  pretending  a  zealous  desire  to  behold  the 
new  creation,  and  man  whom  God  had  placed  here,  inquires  of  him  the  place  of  his  habita- 
tion, and  is  directed  ;  alights  first  on  Mount  Niphates.* 

Hail,  holy  Light !  *  offspring  of  heaven  first  born, 
Or  of  the  Eternal  co-eternal  beam, 

*  Milton  having  in  the  first  and  second  books  represented  the  infernal  world  with  all 
its  horrors,  the  thread  of  his  fable  naturally  leads  him  into  the  opposite  regions  of  bliss 
and  glory. 

If  Milton's  majesty  forsakes  him  anywhere,  it  is  in  those  parts  of  his  poem  where 
the  divine  persons  are  introduced  as  speakers.  One  may,  I  think,  observe  that  the 
author  proceeds  with  a  kind  of  fear  and  trembling,  whilst  he  describes  the  sentiments 
of  the  Almighty  :  he  dares  not  give  his  imagination  its  full  play,  but  chooses  to  confine 
himself  to  such  thoughts  as  are  drawn  from  the  books  of  the  most  orthodox  divines, 
and  to  such  expressions  as  may  be  met  with  in  Scripture.  The  beauties  therefore 
which  we  are  to  look  for  in  these  speeches  are  not  of  a  poetical  nature ;  nor  so  proper 
to  fill  the  mind  with  sentiments  of  grandeur,  as  with  thoughts  of  devotion  :  the  passions 
which  they  are  designed  to  raise,  are  a  divine  love  and  religious  fear.  The  particular 
beauty  of  the  speeches  in  the  third  book  consists  in  that  shortness  and  perspicuity  of 
style,  in  which  the  poet  has  couched  the  greatest  mysteries  of  Christianity,  and  drawn 
together,  in  a  regular  scheme,  the  whole  dispensation  of  Providence  with  respect  to 
man.  He  has  represented  all  the  %bstruse  doctrines  of  predestination,  free-will  and 
grace ;  as  also  the  great  points  of  incarnation  and  redemption  (which  naturally  grow 
up  in  a  poem  that  treats  of  the  fall  of  man),  with  great  energy  of  expression,  and  in  a 
clearer  and  stronger  light  than  I  have  ever  met  with  in  any  other  writer.  As  these 
points  are  dry  in  themselves  to  the  gentrality  of  readers,  the  concise  and  clear  manner 
in  which  he  has  treated  them  is  very  much  to  be  admired ;  as  is  likewise  the  particular 
art  which  he  has  made  use  of  in  the  interspersing  of  all  those  graces  of  poetry  which 
the  subject  was  capable  of  receiving. — Addison. 

»  Hail,  holy  Light. 

This  celebrated  complaint,  with  which  Milton  opens  the  third  book,  deserves  all  the 
praises  which  have  been  given  it,  though  it  may  rather  be  looked  on  as  an  excrescence 
than  as  an  essential  part  of  the  poem.  The  same  observation  might  be  applied  to  that 
beautiful  digression  upon  hypocrisy  in  the  same  book. — Addison. 

Ibid.  Our  author's  address  to  Light,  and  lamentation  of  his  own  blindness,  may  per- 
haps be  censured  as  an  excrescence  or  digression  not  agreeable  to  the  rules  of  epic 
poetry ;  but  yet  this  is  so  charming  a  part  of  the  poem,  that  the  most  critical  reader,  I 
imagine,  cannot  wish  it  were  omitted.  One  is  even  pleased  with  a  fault  that  is  the 
occasion  of  so  many  beauties,  and  acquaints  us  so  much  with  the  circumstances  and 
charactei  of  the  author. — Newton. 


lU  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  iit. 

May  I  express  thee  unblamed  ?  since  God  is  light,* 
And  never  but  in  unapproached  light 
Dwelt  from  eternity ;  dwelt  then  in  thee, 
Bright  effluence  of  bright  essence  increate. 
Or  hear'st  thou  rather  pure  ethereal  stream, 
Whose  fountain  who  shall  tell  ? '  before  the  sun, 
Before  the  heavens  thou  wert,  and  at  the  voice 
Of  God,  as  with  a  mantle,  didst  invest 
The  rising  world  of  waters  dark  and  deep, 
y^on  from  the  void  and  formless  infinite. 
Thee  I  revisit  now  with  bolder  wing. 
Escaped  the  Stygian  pool,  though  long  detain'd 
In  that  obscure  sojourn ;  while  in  my  flight 
.Through  utter  and  through  middle  darkness  "^  borne, 
With  other  notes  than  to  the  Orphean  lyre, 
J  sung  of  Chaos  and  eternal  Night  j 
Taught  by  the  heavenly  Muse  to  venture  down 
vThe  dark  descent,  and  up  to  reascend, 
Though  hard  and  rare :  thee  I  revisit  safe, 
-And  feel  thy  sovran  vital  lamp ;  but  thou 
Revisit' st  not  these  eyes,  that  roll  in  vain 
To  find  thy  piercing  ray,  and  find  no  dawn; 
So  thick  a  drop  serene  hath  quench'd  their  orbs, 
Or  dim  sufi'usion  veil'd.     Yet  not  the  more 
Cease  I  to  wander  where  the  Muses  haunt 
Clear  spring,  or  shady  grove,  or  sunny  hill, 
Smit  with  the  love  of  sacred  song ;  *  but  chief 
'Thee,  Sion,  and  the  flowery  brooks  beneath,' 
That  wash  thy  hallow'd  feet,  and  warbling  flow, 
vJSTightly  I  visit  J  nor  sometimes  forget 
Those  other  two  equal' d  with  me  in  fate, 
iSo  were  I  equal' d  with  them  in  renown, 
Blind  Thamyris  and  blind  MaBonides,^ 
And  Tiresias  and  Phineus,  prophets  old  : 

•>  Since  God  is  light. 
See  1  John  i.  5;  and  1  Tim.  vi.  16. — Newton. 

e  Whose  fountain  who  ihall  tell  f 
As  in  Job  xxzviii.  19.  "Where  is  the  way  where  light  dwelleth?" — HuuB. 

d  Through  utter  and  through  middle  darknest. 
Through  hell,  which  is  often  called  utter  darkness ;  and  through  the  great  gulf  be- 
tween hell  and  heaven,  the  middle  darkness. — Newton. 

e  Smit  with  the  love  of  gaered  song. 
So  Virgil,  Georg.  ii.  475 : 

Dalces  ante  omnia  Musee, 
Qnamm  sacra  fero  ingenti  percusses  amore. — ^Nswton. 

'  The  flowery  brooks  beneath. 
Kedron  and  Siloah.     He  still  was  pleased  to  study  the  beauties  of  the  ancient  poets, 
but  his  highest  delight  was  in  the  songs  of  Sion,  in  the  holy  Scriptures ;  and  in  these 
he  meditated  day  and  night.    This  is  the  sense  of  the  passage  stripped  of  its  poetical 
ornaments. — Newton. 

e  Blind  Thamyris  and  blind  Maeonide*. 
Mseonides  is  Homer.    Thamyris  was  a  Thracian,  and  invented  the  Doric  mood  or 
measure.    Tiresias  and  FhineuiJ,  the  one  a  Theban,  the  other  a  king  of  Arcadia,  famous 
blind  prophets  and  poets  of  antiquity. — Newton« 


BOOK  III.]  PARADISE  LOST.  ITS 

.  Then  feed  on  thoughts,  that  voluntary  move 
•Harmonious  numbers  ;  as  the  wakeful  bird 
Sings  darkling,  and  in  shadiest  covert  hid 
Tunes  her  nocturnal  note.     Thus  with  the  year 
Seasons  return,  but  not  to  me  returns  •• 
Day,  or  the  sweet  approach  of  even  or  mom, 
Or  sight  of  vernal  bloom,  or  summer's  rose. 
Or  flocks,  or  herds,  or  human  face  divine; 
But  cloud  instead,  and  ever-during  dark 
Surrounds  me,  from  the  cheerful  ways  of  men 
Cut  off,  and  for  the  book  of  knowledge  fair 
Presented  with  a  universal  blank 
Of  nature's  works,  to  me  expunged  and  rased, 
And  wisdom  at  one  entrance  quite  shut  out. 
So  much  the  rather  thou,  celestial  Light, 
Shine  inward,  and  the  mind  through  all  her  powers 
Irradiate  ;  there  plant  eyes,  all  mist  from  thence 
Purge  and  disperse,  that  I  may  see  and  tell 
Of  things  invisible  to  mortal  sight. 

Now  had  the  Almighty  Father  from  above, 
From  the  pure  empyrean  where  he  sits 
High  throned  above  all  highth,  bent  down  his  eye, 
"His  own  works  and  their  works  at  once  to  view. 
About  him  all  the  sanctities  of  heaven 
Stood  thick  as  stars,  and  from  his  sight  received 
Beatitude  past  utterance  j '  on  his  right 
The  radiant  image  of  his  glory  sat, 
His  only  Son  :  on  earth  he  first  beheld 
Our  two  first  parents,  yet  the  only  two 
Of  mankind,  in  the  happy  garden  placed, 
Heaping  immortal  fruits  of  joy  and  love. 
Uninterrupted  joy,  unrival'd  love. 
In  blissful  solitude  :  he  then  surveyed 
Hell  and  the  gulf  between,  and  Satan  there 
Coasting  the  wall  of  heaven  on  this  side  night 
In  the  dun  air  sublime,  and  ready  now 
To  stoop  with  wearied  wings,  and  willing  feet. 
On  the  bare  outside  of  this  world,  that  seem'd 

•>  Seatono  return,  but  not  to  me  retuma. 
This  beautiful  turn  of  the  words  is  copied  from  the  beginning  of  the  third  act  of 
Suarini'8  "  Pastor  Fido,"  where  Mirtillo  addresses  tlie  Spring : — 

Tu  torni  ben,  ma  teeo 
Non  tornano,  &c. 
Tu  torni  ben,  tu  torni, 
.,  Ma  teeo  altro  non  torna,  Ac. — ^Nbwton. 

'  And  from  his  sight  received 
Beatitude  past  utterance. 
Milton  here  alludes  to  the  beatific  vision,  in  which  divines  suppose  the  happiness  of 
the  saints  to  consist. — Thyer. 

Sandyi,  in  his  Paraphrase  on  Job,  has  a  similar  ])assage : 

Asraine  when  all  the  radiant  sonnes  of  Ugh'' 
Before  his  throne  appear'd,  whose  only  sight 
Beatitude  infused. — Tood. 


1*76  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  ni. 

Firm  land  imbosom'd  without  firmament,J 
JJncertain  which,  in  ocean  or  in  air. 
Him  God  beholding  from  his  prospect  high, 
Wherein  past,  present,  future,  he  beholds, 
Thus  to  bis  only  Son  foreseeing  spake  •.. — 

Only-begotten  Son,''  seest  thou  what  rage 
Transports  our  adversary  ?  whom  no  bounds 
Prescribed,  no  bars  of  hell,  nor  all  the  chains 
Heap'd  on  him  there,  nor  yet  the  main  abyss 
Wide  interrupt,  can  hold  j  so  bent  he  seems 
On  desperate  revenge,  that  shall  redound 
Upon  his  own  rebellious  head.     And  now, 
Through  all  restraint  broke  loose,  he  wings  his  way 
JiTot  far  off  heaven,  in  the  precincts  of  light. 
Directly  towards  the  new-created  world, 
And  man  there  placed  j  with  purpose  to  assay 
If  him  by  force  he  can  destroy,  or,  worse, 
3y  some  false  guile  pervert ;  and  shall  pervert : 
for  man  will  hearken  to  his  glozing  lies. 
And  easily  transgress  the  sole  command. 
Sole  pledge  of  his  obedience  :  so  will  fall, 
He  and  his  faithless  progeny.     Whose  fault  ? 
Whose  but  his  own  ?     lugrate,  he  had  of  me 
All  he  could  have  :  I  made  him  just  and  right, 
^uffiri(f>  to  have  stood,  though  free  to  fall. 
Such  T  created  all  the  ethereal  powers 
And  ppiritS;  both  them  who  stood  and  them  who  fail'd : 
Freely  thej  stood  who  stood,  and  fell  who  fell. 
Not  free,  what  proof  could  they  have  given  sincere 
Of  true  allegiance,  constant  faith,  or  love  ? 
Where  only,  what  they  needs  must  do,  appear' d, 
Not  what  they  would  :  what  praise  could  they  receive  ? 
What  pleasure  I  from  such  obedience  paid? 
When  will  and  reason,  (reason  also  is  choice) 
Useless  and  vain,  of  freedom  both  despoil'd, 
Made  passive  both,  had  served  necessity, 
Not  me.     They  therefore,  as  to  right  belong'd, 
So  were  created,  nor  can  justly  accuse 
Their  IMakcr,  or  their  making,  or  their  fate; 
j£s  if  predestination  over-ruled 

j  Firm  land  imbosom'd  without  fi'mmment. 
The  universe  appeared  to  Satan  to  be  a  solid  globe,  encompassed  on  all  sides,  but 
uncertain  whether  with  water  or  air,  but  w^Aowi^rTwamen^,  without  any  sphere  or 
fixed  stars  over  it  as  over  the  earth.    The  sphere,  or  fixed  stars,  was  itself  compre- 
hended in  it,  and  made  part  of  it. — Newton. 

''  Only-hegotten-Son, 
I  will  make  one  general  observation  on  this  and  all  the  speeches  in  the  poem,  put 
into  the  month  of  God  the  Father ;  which  is,  that  nothing  can  be  more  unjust  than 
Pope's  criticism  on  Milton,  accusing  him  of  making  "  God  turn  school-divine,"  unless 
he  meant  by  school-divinity  the  doctrine  of  St.  Paul,  St.  Peter,  St.  John,  &c. :  for 
Milton  has  copied  them  with  the  greatest  exactness  ;  and  bating  a  word  or  two  (fully 
implied  however  in  those  writers),  has  kept  to  their  very  expressions. — Stillinofleet. 


BOOK  III.] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


ITT 


Their  will,  disposed  by  absolute  decree 
Or  high  foreknowledge  :  they  themselves  decreed 
Their  own  revolt,  not  I :  if  I  foreknew, 
i'oreknowledge  had  no  influence  on  their  fault. 
Which  had  no  less  proved  certain  unforeknown. 
So  without  least  impulse  or  shadow  of  fate, 
Or  aught  by  me  immutably  foreseen, 
They  trespass,  authors  to  themselves  in  all, 
Both  what  they  judge  and  what  they  choose ;  for  so 
I  form'd  them  free,  and  free  they  must  remain, 
Till  they  enthrall  themselves ;  I  else  must  change 
Their  nature,  and  revoke  the  high  decree, 
Unchangeable,  eternal,  which  ordain'd 
Their  freedom  :  they  themselves  ordain'd  their  fall. 
The  first  sort  by  their  own  suggestion  fell, 
Self-tempted,  self-depraved  :  man  falls  deceived 
By  the  other  first :  man  therefore  shall  fiud^  grace, 
The  other  none  :  in  mercy  and  justice  both, 
Through  heaven  and  earth,  so  shall  my  glory  excel  j 
*  -But  mercy  first  and  last  shall  brightest  shine. 

Thus  while  God  spake,'  ambrosial  fragrance  fill'd 
All  heaven,  and  in  the  blessed  spirits  elect 
Sense  of  new  joy  ineffable  diffused. 
Beyond  compare  the  Son  of  God  was  seen 
Most  glorious ;  in  him  all  his  Father  shone 
^Substantially  express'd;™  and  in  his  face 
Divine  compassion  visibly  appear'd. 
Love  without  end,  and  without  measure  grace  j 
Which  uttering,  thus  he  to  his  Father  spake  : — 

0  Father,  gracious  was  that  word  which  closed 
Thy  sovran  sentence,  that  man  should  find  grace ; 
For  which  both  heaven  and  earth  sEall  high  extol 
Thy  praises,  with  the  innumerable  sound 
Of  hymns  and  sacred  songs,  wherewith  thy  throne 
Encompass'd  shall  resound  thee  ever  bless' d. 
For  should  man  finally  be  lost  ?  should  man, 
Thy  creature  late  so  loved,  thy  youngest  son. 
Fall  circumvented  thus  by  fraud,  though  join'd 
With  his  own  folly  ?  that  be  from  thee  far," 
That  far  be  from  thee,  Father,  who  art  judge 

I  Thus  while  God  spake. 
Milton  here  shows  that  he  was  no  servile  imitator  of  the  ancients.  It  is  very  well 
known  that  his  master,  Homer,  and  all  who  followed  him,  where  they  are  representing 
the  Deity  speaking,  describe  a  scene  of  terror  and  awful  consternation.  "  The  heavens, 
Beas,  and  earth  tremble,"  Ac. ;  and  this,  to  be  sure,  was  consistent  enough  with  their 
natural  notions  of  the  Supreme  Being :  but  it  would  not  have  been  so  agreeable  to  the 
mild,  merciful,  and  benevolent  idea  of  the  Deity  upon  the  Christian  scheme ;  and  there- 
fore our  author  has  very  judiciously  made  the  words  of  the  Almighty  diflfusing  fragrance 
and  delight  to  all  around  him. — Thter. 

«»  Substantially  express'd. 
See  Heb.  i.  3. — Hume. 

n  That  be  from  thee  far. 
See  Gen.  xviii.  25. — Newton. 
23 


178  PARADISE  LOST  [book  iir. 

Of  all  things  made,  and  judgest  only  right. 
Qt  shall  the  adversary  thus  obtain 
His  end,  and  frustrate  thine  ?  shall  he  fulfil 
His  malice,  and  thy  goodness  bring  to  naught; 
Or  proud  return,  though  to  his  heavier  doom, 
Yet  with  revenge  accomplish'd,  and  to  hell 
Draw  after  him  -^he  whole  race  of  mankind, 
By  him  corrupted  ?  or  wilt  thou  thyself 
Abolish  thy  creation,  and  unmake. 
For  him,  what  for  thy  glory  thou  hast  made? 
So  should  thy  goodness  and  thy  greatness  both 
Be  question'd  and  blasphemed  without  defence. 
To  whom  the  great  Creator  thus  replied : — 

0  Son,  in  whom  my  soul  hath  chief  delight, 
^on  of  my  bosom,  Son,  who  art  alone 
My  word,  my  wisdom,  and  effectual  might. 
All  hast  thou  spoken  as  my  thoughts  ai-e,  all 
As  my  eternal  purpose  hath  decreed  : 
Man  shall  L-ot  quite  be  lost,  but  saved  who  will; 
CSTet  not  of  will  in  him,  but  grace  in  me 
Freely  vouchsafed  :  once  more  I  will  renew 
Jlis  lapsed  powers,  though  forfeit  and  enthral'd 
By  sin  to  foul  exorbitant  desires  : 
Upheld  by  me,  yet  once  more  he  shall  stand 
On  even  ground  against  his  mortal  foe. 
By  me  upheld ;  that  he  may  know  how  frail 
His  fallen  condition  is,  and  to  me  owe 
^11  his  deliverance,  and  to  none  but  me. 
Some  I  have  chosen "  of  peculiar  grace, 
JElect  above  the  rest ;  so  is  my  will : 
.  The  rest  shall  hear  me  call,  and  oft  be  warn'd 
^3^eir  sinful  state,  and  to  appease  betimes 
The  incensed  ])eity,  while  offer'd  grace 
Invites;  for  I  will  clear  their  senses  dark, 
What  may  suffice,  and  soften  stony  hearts 
To  pray,  repent,  and  bring  obedience  due. 
To  prayer,  repentance,  and  obedience  due, 
Though  but  cndeavour'd  with  sincere  intent, 
Mine  ear  shall  not  bo  slow,  miuo  eye  not  shut : 
And  I  will  place  within  them  as  a  guide 
My  umpire  Conscience,  whom  if  they  will  hear. 
Light  after  light,  well  used,  they  shall  atiain; 
And  to  the  end,  persisting,  safe  arrive. 
-  This  my  long  sufferance  and  my  day  of  grace ' 

0  Some  I  have  chosen. 
Our  author  did  not  hold  the  doctrine  of  rigid  predestination :  he  was  of  the  senti- 
ments of  the  more  moderate  Calvinists;  and  thought  that  ^ome  indeed  were  elected  of 
^culiar  grace ;  the  rest  m.ight  be  saved,  complying  with  the  terms  and  tiopditionsjpf 
SSfiSfftspsI'— Newton. 

P  This  my  long  sufferance  and  my  day  of  grace. 
It  is  a  great  pity  that  our  author  should  have  thus  debased  the  dignity  of  the  Deity 


BOOK  III.] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


179 


They  who  neglect  and  scorn  shall  never  taste ; 
But  hard  be  harden'd,  blind  be  blinded  more, 
That  they  may  stumble  on,  and  deeper  fall; 
~^nd  none  but  such  from  mercy  I  exclude. 
But  yet  all  is  not  done  ;  man  disobeyiug  , 

Disloyal  breaks  his  fealty,  and  sins 
Against  the  high  supremacy  of  Heaven, 
Affecting  Godhead,  and  so  losing  all, 
To  expiate  his  treason  hath  naught  left; 
But  to  destruction  sacred  and  devote. 
He  with  his  whole  posterity  must  die ; 
Die  he  or  justice  must:  unless  for  him 
Some  other  able,  and  as  willing,  pay 
The  rigid  satisfaction,  death  for  death. 
Say,  heavenly  powers,  where  shall  we  find  such  love  ? 
Which  of  you  will  be  mortal  to  redeem 
Man's  mortal  crime ;  and  just  the  unjust  to  save  ? 
Dwells  in  all  heaven  charity  so  dear  ? 

He  ask'd,  but  all  the  heavenly  quire  stood  mute; 
And  silence  was  in  heaven :  on  man's  behalf 
Patron  or  intercessor  none  appear' d ; 
Much  less  that  durst  upon  his  own  head  draw 
The  deadly  forfeiture,  and  ransom  set. 
And  now  without  redemption  all  mankind 
Must  have  been  lost,  adjudged  to  death  and  hell 
By  doom  severe,  had  not  the  Son  of  God, 
In  whom  the  fulness  dwells  of  love  divine, 
His  dearest  mediation  thus  renew'd  : — 

Father,  thy  word  is  pass'd;  man  shall  find  grace; 
And  shall  grace  not  find  means  ?  that  finds  her  way 
The  speediest  of  thy  winged  messengers, 
To  visit  all  thy  creatures,  and  to  all 
Comes  unprevented,  unimplored,  unsought; 
Happy  for  man,  so  coming;  he  her  aid 
Can  never  seek,  once  dead  in  sins  and  lost ; 
Atonement  for  himself  or  ofiering  meet, 
Indebted  and  undone,  hath  none  to  bring. 
Behold  me  then,  me  for  him,  life  for  life, 
I  ofi^er :  on  me  let  thine  anger  fall ; 
Account  me  man ;  I  for  his  sake  will  leave 
Thy  bosom,  and  this  glory  next  to  thee 
Freely  put  off,  and  for  him  lastly  die 
Well  pleased ;  on  me  let  Death  wreak  all  his  rage  j 
Under  his  gloomy  power  I  shall  not  long 
Lie  vanquish'd  ]  thou  hast  given  me  to  possess 
Life  in  myself  for  ever ;  by  thee  I  live, 
Though  now  to  Death  I  yield,  and  am  his  due 

by  patting  in  his  mouth  this  horrid  doctrine  of  a  day  of  grace,  after  which  it  is  not 

possible  for  a  man  to  repent;  and  there  can  be  no  sort  of  excuse  for  him,  except  the 

candid  reader  will  make  some  allowance  for  the  prejudices  which  he  might  possibly 

eceive  from  the  gloomy  divinity  of  that  enthusiastic  age  in  which  he  lived. — Thy:br. 


180  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  in. 

All  that  of  me  can  die ;  yet  that  debt  paid, 

Thou  wilt  not  leave  me  in  the  loathsome  grave 

His  prey,  nor  suffer  my  unspotted  soul 

For  ever  with  corruption  there  to  dwell :  i 

But  I  shall  rise  victorious,  and  subdue 

My  vanquisher,  spoil'd  of  his  vaunted  spoil ; 

Death  his  death's  wound  shall  then  receive,  and  stoop, 

Inglorious,  of  his  mortal  sting  disarni'd. 

I  through  the  ample  air  in  triumph  high 

Shall  lead  hell  captive,  maugre  hell,  and  show 

The  powers  of  darkness  bound.     Thou,  at  the  sight 

Pleased,  out  of  heaven  shalt  look  down  and  smile  j 

While,  by  thee  raised,  I  ruin  all  my  foes. 

Death  last,  and  with  his  carcase  glut  the  grave : 

Then,  with  the  multitude  of  my  redeem'd. 

Shall  enter  heaven  long  absent,  and  return, 

Father,  to  see  thy  face,  wherein  no  cloud 

Of  anger  shall  remain,  but  peace  assured 

And  reconcilement :  wrath  shall  be  no  more 

Thenceforth,  but  in  thy  presence  joy  entire. 

His  words  here  ended,""  but  his  meek  aspect 
Silent  yet  spake,  and  breathed  immortal  love 
To  mortal  men,  above  which  only  shone 
Filial  obedience  :  as  a  sacrifice 
Glad  to  be  offer'd,  he  attends  the  will 
Of  his  great  Father.     Admiration  seized 
All  heaven,  what  this  might  mean  and  whither  tend, 
Wondering;  but  soon  the  Almighty  thus  replied: 

0  thou,  in  heaven  and  earth  the  only  peace 
Found  out  for  mankind  under  wrath,  0  thou. 
My  sole  complacence  !  well  thou  know'st  how  dear 
To  me  are  all  my  works ;  nor  man  the  least, 
Though  last  created  ;  that  for  him  I  spare 
Thee  from  my  bosom  and  right  hand,  to  save, 
By  losing  thee  a  while,  the  whole  race  lost. 

q  With  corruption  there  to  dwell. 
Psalm,  xvi.  10.     "  Thou  wilt  not  leave  my  soul  in  hell,  neither  suffer  thine  Holy  Ont 
to  see  corruption  ;"  applied  to  our  Saviour's  resurrection  by  St.  Peter,  Acts  ii.  20,  21  — 

NilWTON. 

f  His  words  here  ended. 
What  a  charming  and  lovely  picture  has  Milton  given  us  of  God  the  Son,  considered 
as  our  Saviour  and  Redeemer ! — not  in  the  least  inferior  in  its  way  to  that  grander  one 
in  the  sixth  book,  where  he  describes  him  clothed  with  majesty  and  terror,  taking 
vengeance  of  his  enemies.  Before  he  represents  him  speaking,  he  makes  "  divine 
compassion,  love  without  end,  and  grace  without  measure,  visibly  to  appear  in  his  face," 
V.  140 ;  and,  carrying  on  the  same  amiable  picture,  makes  him  end  it  with  a  counte- 
nance "breathing  immortal  love  to  mortal  men,"  Nothing  could  be  better  contrived 
to  leave  a  deep  impression  upon  the  reader's  mind ;  and  I  believe  one  may  venture  to 
assert,  that  no  art  or  words  could  lift  the  imagination  to  a  stronger  idea  of  a  good  and 
benevolent  being.  The  mute  eloquence  which  our  author  has  so  prettily  expressed  in 
his  "silent,  yet  spake,"  is  with  no  less  beauty  described  by  Tasso,  at  the  end  of 
Armida's  speech  to  Godfrey,  c.  iv.  st.  65. 

Cid  detto  tace,  e  la  risposta  attende 

Con  atto,  ch'  en  nileutio  hk  voce,  e  preghi.^-TBTKa. 


BOOK  III.]  PARADISE  LOST  181 

Thou  therefore,  whom  thou  only  canst  redeem, 

Their  nature  also  to  thy  nature  join ; 

And  be  thyself  man  among  men  on  earth, 

Made  flesh,  when  time  shall  be,  of  virgin  seed, 

By  wondrous  birth  :  be  thou  in  Adam's  room 

The  head  of  all  mankind,  though  Adam's  son. 

As  in  him'  perish  all  men,  so  in  thee, 

As  from  a  second  root,  shall  be  restored, 

As  many  as  are  restored  ;  without  thee  none. 

His  crime  makes  guilty  all  his  sons;  thy  merit 

Imputed  shall  absolve  them,  who  renounce 

Their  own  both  righteous  and  unrighteous  deeds, 

And  live  in  thee  transplanted,  and  from  thee 

Receive  new  life.     So  man,  as  is  most  just, 

Shall  satisfy  for  man,  be  judged  and  die ; 

And  dying  rise,  and  rising  with  him  raise 

His  brethren,  ransom'd  with  his  own  dear  life. 

So  heavenly  love  shall  outdo  hellish  hate 

Giving  to  death,  and  dying  to  redeem  ; 

So  dearly  to  redeem  what  hellish  hate 

So  easily  destroy'd  ;  and  still  destroys 

In  those  who,  when  they  may,  accept  not  grace. 

Nor  shalt  thou,  by  descending  to  assume 

Man's  nature,  lessen  or  degrade  thine  own. 

Because  thou  hast,  though  throned  in  highest  bliss 

Equal  to  God,  and  equally  enjoying 

God-like  fruition,  quitted  all  to  save 

A  world  from  utter  loss ;  and  hast  been  found 

By  merit  more  than  birthright  Son  of  God : 

Found  worthiest  to  be  so  by  being  good, 

Far  more  than  great  or  high.     Because  in  thee 

Love  hath  abounded  more  than  glory  abounds; 

Therefore  thy  humiliation  shall  exalt 

With  thee  thy  manhood  also  to  this  throne; 

Here  shalt  thou  sit  incarnate,  here  shalt  reign 

Both  God  and  Man,  Son  both  of  God  and  Man, 

Anointed  universal  King.     All  power 

I  give  thee;  reign  for  ever,  and  assume 

Thy  merits ;  under  thee,  as  head  supreme,* 

Thrones,  princedoms,  powers,  dominions,  I  reduce: 

All  knees  to  thee  shall  bow,  of  them  that  bide 

In  heaven,  or  earth,  or  under  earth  in  hell. 

When  thou  attended  gloriously  from  heaven 

Shalt  in  the  sky  appear,  and  from  thee  send 

•  As  in  him,  &c. 
See  1  Cor.  xt.  22. — Newton. 

'  Under  thee,  as  head  supreme. 
Here  the  speech  begins  to  swell  into  a  considerable  degree  of  sublimity,  and  that  of 
the  purest  and  most  perfect  kind,  in  no  way  inconsistent  with  our  most  reverent  ideas 
of  the  great  Being  who  is  the  speaker,  as  he  is  portrayed  to  us  in  the  Holy  Scriptures. 

— Dl'MSTER. 


182  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  tii. 

The  summoning  archangels  to  proclaim 

Thy  dread  tribunal  :  forthwith  from  all  winds 

The  living,  and  forthwith  the  cited  dead 

Of  all  past  ages,  to  the  general  doom 

Shall  hasten  :  such  a  peal  shall  rouse  their  sleep. 

Then,  all  thy  saints  assembled,  thou  slialt  judge 

Bad  men  and  angels ;  they  arraign'd  shall  sink 

Beneath  thy  sentence  :  hell,  her  numbers  full. 

Thenceforth  shall  be  for  ever  shut.     Meanwhile 

The  world  shall  burn,  and  from  her  ashes  spring 

New  heaven  and  earth,  wherein  the  just  shall  dwell, 

And  after  all  their  tribulations  long 

See  golden  days,  fruitful  of  golden  deeds, 

With  joy  and  love  triumphing  and  fciir  truth  : 

Then  thou  thy  regal  sceptre  shalt  lay  by. 

For  regal  sceptre  then  no  more  shall  need ; 

God  shall  be  all  in  all.     But,  all  ye  gods, 

Adore  him,  who  to  compass  all  this  dies ; 

Adore  the  Son,  and  honour  him  as  me. 

No  sooner  had  the  Almighty  ceased,  but  all 
The  multitude  of  angels  with  a  shout," 
Loud  as  from  numbers  without  number,  sweet 
As  from  blest  voices,  uttering  joy  ;   heaven  rung 
With  jubilee,  and  loud  hosannas  fill'd 
The  eternal  regions.     Lowly  reverent 
Towards  either  throne  they  bow,  and  to  the  ground 
With  solemn  adoration  down  they  cast 
Their  crowns  inwove  with  amarant  and  gold ; 
Immortal  amarant,  a  flower  which  once 
In  paradise  fast  by  the  tree  of  life 
Began  to  bloom;  but  soon  for  man's  offence 
To  heaven  removed,  where  first  it  grew,  there  grows, 
And  flowers  aloft  shading  the  fount  of  life, 
And  where  the  river  of  bliss  through  midst  of  heaven 
Rolls  o'er  Elysian  flowers  her  amber  stream ; 
With  these,  that  never  fade,  the  spirits  elect 
Bind  their  resplendent  locks  inwreathed  with  beams ; 

"  With  a  shout. 

At  this  expression  of  angelic  praise,  it  may  be  proper  to  give  Addison's  remarks 
unbroi<en  upon  the  amazing  colloquy  which  they  had  heard.  The  critic  commences  at 
ver.  66,  and  ends  with  ver.  415. 

The  survey  of  the  whole  creation,  v.  56,  and  of  everj'thing  that  is  transacted  in  it,  ia 
a  prospect  worthy  of  Omniscience;  and  as  much  above  that  in  which  Virgil  has  drawn 
Jupiter,  as  the  Christian  idea  of  the  Supreme  Being  is  more  rational  and  sublime  than 
that  of  the  heathens.  The  particular  objects  on  which  he  is  described  to  have  cast  his 
eye  are  represented  in  the  most  beautiful  and  lively  manner. 

Satan's  approach  to  the  confines  of  the  creation  is  finely  imaged  in  the  beginning 
of  the  speech  which  immediately  follows.  The  effects  of  this  speech  in  the  blessed 
spirits,  and  in  the  Divine  Person  to  whom  it  was  addressed,  cannot  but  fill  the  mind  of 
the  reader  with  a  secret  pleasure  and  complacency. 

I  need  not  point  out  the  beauty  of  the  circumstance,  wherein  the  whole  host  of  angels 
are  represented  as  standing  mute ;  nor  show  how  proper  the  occasion  was  to  produce 
Buch  a  silence  in  heaven.  The  close  of  this  divine  colloquy,  and  the  hymn  of  angels 
Which  follows  upon  it.  are  wonderfully  beautiful  and  poetical. — Addison. 


BOOK  III.] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


183 


Now  in  loose  garlands  thick  thrown  off,  the  bright 
Pavement,  that  like  a  sea  of  jasper  shone, 
Impurpled  with  celestial  roses  smiled. 
Then  crown'd  again  their  golden  harps  they  took, 
Harps  ever  tuned,  that  glittering  by  their  side 
Like  quivers  hung,  and  with  preamble  sweet 
Of  charming  symphony  they  introduce 
Their  sacred  song,  and  waken  raptures  high ; 
No  voice  exempt,  no  voice  but  well  could  join 
Melodious  part :  such  concord  is  in  heaven. 

Thee,  Father,  first  they  sung,  Omnipotent, 
Immutable,  Immortal,  Infinite, 
Eternal  King ;  thee,  Authour  of  all  being. 
Fountain  of  light,  thyself  invisible 
Amidst  the  glorious  brightness  where  thou  sitt'st 
Throned  inaccessible ;  but  when  thou  shadest 
The  full  blaze  of  thy  beams,  and  through  a  cloud 
Drawn  round  about  thee  like  a  radiant  shrine. 
Dark  with  excessive  bright^  thy  skirts  appear, 
Yet  dazzle  heaven ;  that  brightest  seraphim 
Approach  not ;  but  with  both  wings  veil  their  eyes. 
Thee  next  they  sang  of  all  creation  first, 
Begotten  Son,  Divine  Similitude, 
In  whose  conspicuous  countenance  without  cloud 
Made  visible  the  Almighty  Father  shines. 
Whom  else  no  creature  can  behold :  on  thee 
Impress' d  the  efi"ulgence  of  his  glory  abides ; 
Transfused  on  thee  his  ample  Spirit  rests. 
He  heaven  of  heavens  and  all  the  powers  therein 
By  thee  created,  and  by  thee  threw  down 
The  aspiring  dominations  :  thou  that  day 
Thy  Father's  dreadful  thunder  dids!  not  spare,. 
Nor  stop  thy  flaming  chariot-wheels  that  shook 
Heaven's  everlasting  frame;  while  o'er  the  neck 
Thou  drovest  of  warring  angels,  disarray'd. 
Back  from  pursuit  thy  powers  with  loud  acclaim 
Thee  only  extoll'd,  Son  of  thy  Father's  might. 
To  execute  fierce  vengeance  on  his  foes ; 
Not  so  on  man ;  him,  through  their  malice  falleni 
Father  of  mercy  and  grace,  thou  didst  not  doom 
So  strictly ;  but  much  more  to  pity  incline. 
No  sooner  did  thy  dear  and  only  Son 
Perceive  thee  purposed  not  to  doom  frail  man 
So  strictly,  but  much  more  to  pity  inclined; 
He,  to  appease  thy  wrath,  and  end  the  strife 
Of  mercy  and  justice  in  thy  face  discern'd- 
Regardless  of  the  bliss  wherein  he  sat 


'  Dark  ivith  excessive  bright. 
Gray  has  imitated  this,  speaking  of  Milton. — 

Blasted  witn  excess  of  light, 
Closed  his  eyes  in  endless  night- 


184 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[book  in. 


Second  to  thee,  ofFer'd  himself  to  die 
For  man's  offence.     0  unexampled  love, 
Love  no  where  to  be  found,  less  than  Divine ! 
Bail,  Son  of  God  !  Saviour  of  men !  Thy  name 
Shall  be  the  copious  matter  of  my  song 
Henceforth ;  and  never  shall  my  harp  thy  praise 
Forget,  nor  from  thy  Father's  praise  disjoin. 

Thus  they  in  heaven,  above  the  starry  sphere, 
Their  happy  hours  in  joy  and  hymning  spent. 
Meanwhile  upon  the  firm  opacous  globe 
Of  this  round  world,  whose  first  convex  divides, 
The  luminous  inferiour  orbs,  inclosed 
From  Chaos  and  the  inroad  of  Darkness  old; 
Satan  alighted  walks ;  a  globe  far  off 
It  seem'd,^  now  seems  a  boundless  continent, 
Dark,  waste,  and  wild,  under  the  frown  of  night 
Starless,  exposed,  and  ever-threatening  storms 
Of  Chaos  blustering  round,  inclement  sky ; 
Save  on  that  side,  which  from  the  wall  of  heaven, 
Though  distant  far,  some  small  reflection  gains 
Of  glimmering  air,  less  vex'd  with  tempest  loud : 
Here  walk'd  the  fiend  at  large  in  spacious  field. 
As  when  a  vulture*  on  Imaus  bred. 
Whose  snowy  ridge  the  roving  Tartar  bounds. 
Dislodging  from  a  region  scarce  of  prey 
To  gorge  the  flesh  of  lambs,  or  yeanling  kids 
On  hills  where  flocks  are  fed,  flies  towards  the  springs 
Of  Ganges  or  Hydaspes,  Indian  streams ; 
But  in  his  way  lights  on  the  barren  plains 
Of  Sericana,  where  Chineses  drive 
With  sails  and  wind^  their  cany  waggons  light : 
So  on  this  windy  sea  of  land  the  fiend 


w  A  globe  far  off 
It  seem'd. 
Satan's  walk  upon  the  outside  of  the  universe,  which  at  a  distance  appeared  to  him 
of  a  globular  form,  but  upon  his  nearer  approach  looked  like  an  unbounded  plain,  is 
natural  and  noble ;  as  his  roaming  upon  the  frontiers  of  the  creation,  between  that 
mass  of  matter  which  was  wrought  into  a  world,  and  that  shapeless  unformed  heap  of 
materials  which  still  lay  in  chaos  and  confusion,  strikes  the  imagination  with  something 
astonishingly  great  and  wild. — Addison. 

*  Ag  when  a  vulture. 
This  simile  is  very  apposite  and  lively,  and  corresponds  exactly  in  all  the  partioularei. 
Satan  coming  from  hell  to  earth,  in  order  to  destroy  mankind,  but  lighting  first  on  the 
bare  sonvex  of  the  world's  outermost  orb,  "a  sea  of  land,''  as  the  poet  calls  it,  is  very 
fitly  compared  to  a  vulture  flying  in  quest  of  his  prey,  tender  lambs  or  kids  new- 
yeaned,  from  the  barren  rocks  to  the  more  fruitful  hills  and  streams  of  India;  but 
lighting  in  his  way  on  the  plains  of  Sericana,  which  were  in  a  manner  "a  sea  of  land" 
too ;  the  country  being  so  smooth  and  open,  that  carriages  were  driven  (as  travellers 
report)  with  sails  and  wind.    Imaus  is  a  celebrated  mountain  in  Asia. — Newton. 

7  Chineses  drive 
With  sails  and  wind. 
Qiaj  has  c«ught  the  tone  of  this : 

The  dusky  people  drive  before  the  gales. 


BOOK  in.]  PARADISE  LOST.  185 

Walk'd  up  and  down  alone,  bent  on  his  prey ; 

Alone,  for  other  creature  in  this  place, 

Living  or  lifeless,  to  be  found  was  none ; 

None  yet,  but  store  hereafter  from  the  earth 

Up  hither  like  aerial  vapours  flew 

Of  all  things  transitory  and  vain,  when  sin 

With  vanity  had  fill'd  the  works  of  men : 

Both  all  things  vain,  and  all  who  in  vain  things 

Built  their  fond  hopes  of  glory,  or  lasting  fame, 

Or  happiness  in  this  or  the  other  life ; 

All  who  have  their  reward  on  earth,  the  fruits 

Of  painful  superstition  and  blind  zeal, 

Naught  seeking  but  the  praise  of  men,  here  find 

Fit  retribution,  empty  as  their  deeds : 

All  the  unaccomplished  works  of  nature's  hand, 

Abortive,  monstrous,  or  unkindly  mix'd, 

Dissolved  on  earth,  fleet  hither,  and  in  vain. 

Till  final  dissolution  wander  here  : 

Not  in  the  neighbouring  moon,  as  some  have  dream'd; 

Those  argent  fields  more  likely  habitants. 

Translated  saints,  or  middle  spirits  hold 

Betwixt  the  angelical  and  human  kind : 

Hither  of  ill-join'd  sons,  and  daughters  bom" 

First  from  the  ancient  world  those  giants  came 

With  many  a  vain  exploit,  though  then  renown'd : 

The  builders  next  of  Babel  on  the  plain 

Of  Sennaar,  and  still  with  vain  design 

New  Babels,  had  they  wherewithal,  would  build : 

Others  came  single ;  he,  who  to  be  deem'd 

A  god,  leap'd  fondly  into  ^tna  flames, 

Erapedocles ;  and  he  who,  to  enjoy 

Plato's  Elysium,  leap'd  into  the  sea, 

Cleombrotus,  and  many  more  too  long, 

Embyros  and  idiots,  eremites  and  friars. 

White,  black,  and  grey,  with  all  their  trumpery. 

Here  pilgrims  roam,  that  stray'd  so  far  to  seek 

In  Golgotha  him  dead,  who  lives  in  heaven ; 

And  they,  who  to  be  sure  of  Paradise," 

*  Hither  of  ill-join'd  sons. 

He  means  the  eon»  of  Ood  ill-joined  with  the  daughters  of  men,  alluding  to  that  text 
of  Scripture,  Gen.  vi.  4 : — "  There  were  giants  in  the  earth  in  those  days ;  and  also 
after  that,  when  the  sons  of  God  came  in  unto  the  daughters  of  men,  and  they  bare 
children  to  them;  the  same  became  mighty  men,  which  were  of  old,  men  of  renown.' 
Where,  by  the  "sons  of  God,"  some  Fathers  and  commentators  have  understood  nngrU, 
as  if  the  angels  had  been  enamoured  and  married  to  women  :  but  the  true  meaning  is,  that 
the  posterity  of  Seth  and  other  patriarchs,  who  were  worshippers  of  the  true  God,  and 
therefore  called  "  the  sons  of  God,"  intermarried  with  the  idolatrous  posterity  of  wicked 
Cain. — Newton. 

>  And  they,  who  to  bt  mre  of -Paradise. 

This  rerse,  and  the  two  following,  allude  to  a  ridiculous  opinion  that  obtained  in  the 
dark  a^es  of  popery ;  that  at  the  time  of  death,  to  be  clothed  in  a  friar's  habit,  was  au 
infallible  road  to  heaven. — Bowle. 
24 


186  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  hi. 

Dying  put  on  the  weeds  of  Dominic, 

Or  in  Franciscan  think  to  pass  disguised ; 

They  pass  the  planets  seven,  and  pass  the  fix'd, 

And  that  crystalline  sphere  ■•  whose  balance  weighs 

The  trepidation  talk'd,  and  that  first  moved : 

And  now  Saint  Peter  at  heaven's  wicket  seems 

To  wait  them  with  his  keys,  and  now  at  foot 

Of  heaven's  ascent  they  lift  their  feet,  when,  lo  I 

A  violent  cross  wind  from  either  coast 

Blows  them  transverse  ten  thousand  leagues  awry 

Into  the  devious  air :  then  might  ye  see 

Cowls,  hoods,  and  habits  with  their  wearers  toss'd 

And  flutter'd  into  rags ;  then  reliques,  beads, 

Indulgences,  dispenses,  pardons,  bulls. 

The  sport  of  winds :  all  these  upwhirl'd  aloft, 

Fly  o'er  the  backside  of  the  world  far  off, 

Into  a  limbo  large  and  broad,"  since  call'd 

The  Paradise  of  Fools,  to  few  unknown 

Long  after,  now  unpeopled,  and  untrod. 

All  this  dark  globe  the  fiend  found  as  he  pass'dj 

And  long  he  wander'd  till  at  last  a  gleam 

Of  dawning  light  turn'd  thitherward  in  haste 

His  travel'd  steps :  far  distant  he  descries 

Ascending  by  degrees  magnificent 

Up  to  the  wall  of  heaven,  a  structure  high ; 

At  top  whereof,  but  far  more  rich,  appear'd 

The  work  as  of  a  kingly  palace  gate, 

With  frontispiece  of  diamond  and  gold 

Imbellish'd ;  thick  with  sparkling  orient  gems 

The  portal  shone,  inimitable  on  earth 

By  model  or  by  shading  pencil  drawn. 

The  stairs  were  such  as  whereon  Jacob  saw 

Angels  ascending  and  descending,  bands 

Of  guardians  bright,  when  he  from  Esau  fled 

To  Padan-Aram  in  the  field  of  Luz, 

Dreaming  by  night  under  the  open  sky, 

And  waking  cried  "  This  is  the  gate  of  heaven." 

Each  stair  mysteriously  was  meant,  nor  stood 

There  always,  but  drawn  up  to  heaven  sometimes 

Viewless*;  and  underneath  a  bright  sea  flow'd 

Of  jasper,  or  of  liquid  pearl,  whereon 

Who  after  came  from  earth,  sailing  arrived, 

•>  And  that  crystalline  sphere. 

He  speaks  here  according  to  the  ancient  astronomy,  adopted  and  improved  by 
Ptolemy. — Newton. 

<:  Into  a  limbo  large  and  broad. 

The  limbus  patrum,  as  it  is  called,  is  a  place  that  the  schoolmen  supposed  to  be  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  hell,  where  the  souls  of  the  patriarchs  were  detained,  and  those  good 
men  who  died  before  our  Saviour's  resurrection.  Our  author  gives  the  same  name  to 
his  "  Paradise  of  Fools,"  and  more  rationally  places  it  beyond  "  the  back:  ide  of  the 
world." — Nkwton. 

The  "  Limbo  of  Vanity"  has  been  censured  as  unbecoming  the  dignity  of  the  epio. 


BOOK  III.]  PARADISE  LOST.  187 

Wafted  by  angels ;  or  flew  o'er  the  lake, 

Rapt  in  a  chariot  drawn  by  fiery  steeds. 

The  stairs  were  then  let  down ;  whether  to  dare 

The  fiend  by  easy  ascent,  or  aggravate 

His  sad  exclusion  from  the  doors  of  bliss  : 

Direct  against  which  open'd  from  beneath, 

Just  o'er  the  blissful  seat  of  Paradise, 

A  passage  down  to  the  earth,  a  passage  wide; 

Wider  by  for  than  that  of  after  times 

Over  Mount  Sion,  and,  though  that  were  large, 

Over  the  promised  land  to  God  so  dear; 

By  which,  to  visit  oft  those  happy  tribes, 

On  high  behests  his  angels  to  and  fro 

Pass'd  frequent,  and  his  eye  with  choice  regard. 

From  Paneas,  the  fount  of  Jordan's  flood. 

To  Beersaba,  where  the  Holy  Land 

Borders  on  ^gypt  and  the  Arabian  shore  : 

So  wide  the  opening  seem'd,  where  bounds  were  set 

To  darkness,  such  as  bound  the  ocean  wave. 

Satan  from  hence  now  on  the  lower  stair. 

That  scaled  by  steps  of  gold  to  heaven  gate, 

Looks  down  with  wonder  at  the  sudden  view 

Of  all  this  world  at  once.     As  when  a  scout, 

Through  dark  and  desert  ways  with  peril  gone 

All  night,  at  last  by  break  of  cheerful  dawn 

Obtains  the  brow  of  some  high-climbing  hill, 

Which  to  his  eye  discovers  unaware 

The  goodly  prospect  of  some  foreign  land 

First  seen ;  or  some  renown'd  metropolis, 

With  glistering  spires  and  pinnacles  adom'd, 

Which  now  the  rising  sun  gilds  with  his  beams : 

Such  wonder  seized,  though  after  heaven  seen,    , 

The  spirit  nialign ;  but  much  more  eavy  seized, 

At  sight  of  all  this  world  beheld  so  fair. 

Round  he  surveys,*  (and  well  might,  where  he  stood 

So  high  above  the  circling  canopy 

Of  night's  extended  shade,)  from  eastern  point 

Of  Libra  to  the  fleecy  star  that  bears  . 

Andromeda  far  off  Atlantic  seas 

Beyond  the  horizon  :  then  from  pole  to  pole 

He  views  in  breadth;  and  without  longer  pause 

Downright  into  the  world's  first  regicm  throws 

His  flight  precipitant ;  and  winds  with  ease    . 

Through  the  pure  marble  air  his  oblique  way 

Amongst  inumerable  stars,  that  shone 

Stars  distant,  but  nigh  hand  seem'd  other  worlds, 

<•  Round  he  iiurveyi. 
He  surveys  the  whole  creation  from  east  to  west,  and  from  north  to  south.     But 
poetry  delights  to  say  the  most  common  things  in  an  uncommon  manner.     It  is  fine  as 
it  is  natural,  to  represent  Satan  taking  a  view  of  the  woild  before  he  threw  himself 
into  it. — Newton. 


188  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  hi. 

Or  other  worlds  they  seem'd,  or  happy  islea, 

Like  those  Hesperian  gardens,  famed  of  old, 

Fortunate  fields,  and  groves  and  flowery  vales, 

Thrice  happy  isles ;  but  who  dwelt  happy  there 

He  stay'd  not  to  inquire.     Above  them  all, 

The  golden  sun,  in  splendour  likest  heaven, 

Allured  his  eye :  thither  his  course  he  bends 

Through  the  calm  firmament;  but  up  or  down, 

By  centre  or  eccentric,  hard  to  tell. 

Or  longitude,  where  the  great  luminary. 

Aloof  the  vulgar  constellations  thick, 

That  from  his  lordly  eye  keep  distance  due. 

Dispenses  light  from  far ;  they  as  they  move 

Their  starry  dance  in  numbers  that  compute 

Days,  months,  and  years,  towards  his  all-cheering  lamp 

Turn  swift  their  various  motions ;  or  are  turn'd 

By  his  magnetic  beam,  that  gently  warms 

The  universe,  and  to  each  inward  part 

With  gentle  penetration,  though  unseen. 

Shoots  invisible  virtue  even  to  the  deep; 

So  wondrously  was  set  his  station  bright. 

There  lands  the  fiend ;  a  spot  like  which  perhaps 

Astronomer  in  the  sun's  lucent  orb 

Through  his  glazed  optic  tube  yet  never  saw.' 

The  place  he  found  beyond  expression  bright. 

Compared  with  aught  on  earth,  metal  or  stone 

Not  all  parts  like,  but  all  alike  inform'd 

With  radiant  light,  as  glowing  iron  with  fire : 

If  metal,  part  seem'd  gold,  part  silver  clear ; 

If  stone,  carbuncle  most  or  chrysolite. 

Ruby  or  topaz,  to  the  twelve  that  shone 

In  Aaron's  breastplate;  and  a  stone  besides 

Imagined  rather  oft  than  elsewhere  seen : 

That  stone,  or  like  to  that  which  here  below 

Philosophers  in  vain  so  long  have  sought ; 

In  vain,  though  by  their  powerful  art  they  bind 

Volatil  Hermes,  and  call  up  unbound 

In  various  shapes  old  Proteus  from  the  sea, 

Drain'd  through  a  limbeck  to  his  native  form. 

What  wonder  then  if  fields  and  regions  hero 

Breathe  forth  elixir  pure,  and  rivers  run 

Potable  gold;  when  with  one  virtuous  touch. 

The  arch-chemic  sun,  so  far  from  us  remote. 

Produces,  with  terrestrial  humour  mix'd, 

Here  in  the  dark  so  many  precious  things. 

Of  colour  glorious  and  effect  so  rare  ? 

e  Through  his  glaned  optic  tube  yet  never  law. 
The  spots  in  the  sun  are  visible  with  a  telescope:  but  astronomer  perhaps  never  saw, 
"through  his  glazed  optic  tube,"  such  a  spot  as  Satan,  now  he  was  in  the  sun's  orb, 
The  poet  mentions  this  glass  the  oftener  in  honour  of  Galileo,  whom  he  means  here  by 
the  astronomer. — ^Nkwton. 


BOOK  in]  PARADISE  LOST.  189 

Here  matter  new  to  gaze  the  devil  met 

Undazzled  j  far  and  wide  his  eye  commands : 

For  sight  no  obstacle  found  here,  nor  shade, 

But  all  sunshine.     As  when  his  beams  at  noon 

Culminate  from  the  equator,  as  they  now 

Shot  upward  still  direct,  whence  no  way  round 

Shadow  from  body  opaque  can  fall ;  and  the  air, 

No  where  so  clear,  sharpen'd  his  visual  ray 

To  objects  distant  far ;  whereby  he  soon 

Saw  within  ken  a  glorious  angel  stand. 

The  same  whom  John '  saw  also  in  the  sun : 

His  back  was  turn'd,  but  not  his  brightness  hid; 

Of  beaming  sunny  rays  a  golden  tiar 

Circled  his  head ;  nor  less  his  locks  behind 

Illustrious  on  his  shoulders  fledge  with  wings 

Lay  waving  round  :  on  some  great  charge  employed 

He  scem'd,  or  fix'd  in  cogitation  deep. 

Glad  was  the  spirit  impure,  as  now  in  hope 

To  find  who  might  direct  his  wandering  flight 

To  Paradise,  the  happy  seat  of  man. 

His  journey's  end,  and  our  beginning  woe. 

But  first  he  casts  to  change  his  proper  shape  j 

Which  else  might  work  him  danger  or  delay  : 

And  now  a  stripling  cherub  he  appears. 

Not  of  the  prime,  yet  such  as  in  his  face 

Youth  smiled  celestial,  and  to  every  limb 

Suitable  grace  diffused,  so  well  he  feign'd; 

Under  a  coronet  his  flowing  hair 

In  curls  on  either  cheek  play'd ;  wings  he  wore 

Of  many  a  colour'd  plume  sprinkled  with  gold ; 

His  habit  fit  for  speed  succinct;  and  held 

Before  his  decent  steps  a  silver  wand. 

He  drew  not  nigh  unheard  ;  the  angel  bright, 

Ere  he  drew  nigh,  his  radiant  visage  turn'd, 

Admonish'd  by  his  ear ;  and  straight  was  known 

The  archangel  Uriel,  one  of  the  seven. 

Who  in  God's  presence  nearest  to  his  throne 

Stand  ready  at  command,  and  are  his  eyes 

That  run  through  all  the  heavens,  or  down  to  the  earth 

Bear  his  swift  errands,  over  moist  and  dry, 

O'er  sea  and  land  :  him  Satan  thus  accosts : —  , 

Uriel,*  for  thou  of  those  seven  spirits  that  stand 
In  sight  of  God's  high  throne,  gloriously  bright. 
The  first  art  wont  his  great  authentic  will 

'  The  same  whom  John. 
See  Rex.  xix.  17 : — "And  I  saw  an  angel  standing  in  the  sun." — Newton. 

s  Uriel. 
His  name  is  derived  from  two  Hebrew  words,  which  cignify  Ood  u  my  light.     He  is 
mentioned  as  a  good  angel  in  the  second  book  of  Esdras ;  and  the  Jews,  and  some 
Christiand,  conceive  him  to  be  an  angel  of  light  according  to  his  name,  and  therefore 
liu  has,  properly,  his  station  in  the  sun. — Newton. 


190  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  ill. 

Interpreter  through  highest  heaven  to  bring, 

Where  all  his  sons  thy  embassy  attend; 

And  here  art  likeliest  by  supreme  decree 

Like  honour  to  obtain,  and  as  his  eye 

To  visit  oft  this  new  creation  round; 

Unspeakable  desire  to  see,  and  know 

All  these  his  wondrous  works,  but  chiefly  man, 

His  chief  delight  and  favour,  him  for  whom 

All  these  his  works  so  wondrous  he  ordain'd, 

Hath  brought  me  from  the  quires  of  cherubim 

Alone  thus  wandering.     Brightest  seraph,  tell 

In  which  of  all  these  shining  orbs  hath  man 

His  fixed  seat,  or  fixed  seat  hath  none, 

But  all  these  shining  orbs  his  choice  to  dwell ; 

That  I  may  find  him,  and,  with  secret  gaze 

Or  open  admiration,  him  behold, 

On  whom  the  great  Creator  hath  bestow'd 

Worlds,  and  on  whom  hath  all  these  graces  pour'd : 

That  both  in  him  and  all  things,  as  is  meet. 

The  universal  Maker  we  may  praise ; 

Who  justly  hath  driven  out  his  rebel  foes 

To  deepest  hell ;  and,  to  repair  that  loss. 

Created  this  new  happy  race  of  men 

To  serve  him  better :  wise  are  all  his  ways. 

So  spake  the  false  dissembler  unperceived; 
For  neither  man  nor  angel  can  discern 
Hypocrisy,"  the  only  evil  that  walks 
Invisible,  except  to  G-od  alone, 
By  his  permissive  will,  through  heaven  and  earth : 
And  oft,  though  wisdom  wake,'  suspicion  sleeps 
At  wisdom's  gate,  and  to  simplicity 
Resigns  her  charge,  while  goodness  thinks  no  ill 
Where  no  ill  seems ;  which  now  for  once  beguiled 
Uriel,  though  regent  of  the  sun,  and  held 
The  sharpest-sighted  spirit  of  all  in  heaven  : 

h  Hypocrisy. 

What  is  said  here  of  hypocrisy  is  censured  as  a  digression  ;  but  it  seems  no  more 
than  is  absolutely  necessary ;  for  otherwise  it  might  be  thought  very  strange,  that 
the  evil  spirit  should  pass  undiscovered  by  the  archangel  Uriel,  the  regent  of  the 
sun,  and  the  sharpest-sighted  spirit  in  heaven ;  and  therefore  the  poet  endeavors  to 
account  for  it  by  saying,  that  hypocrisy  cannot  be  discerned  by  man  or  angel ;  it  is 
invisible  to  all  but  God,  &c.  But  yet  the  evil  spirit  did  not  pass  wholly  undiscov- 
ered ;  for  though  Uriel  was  not  aware  of  him  now,  yet  he  found  reason  to  suspect  him 
afterwards  from  his  furious  gestures  on  the  mount. — Newton. 

The  poet's  recollection  of  his  having  been  deluded  by  the  matchless  hypocrisy  of 
Cromwell,  might  have  inspired  him  with  this  admirable  apology  for  Uriel. — Haylet. 

'  And  oft  though  wisdom  wake. 
_  He  must  be  very  critically  splenetic  indeed  who  will  not  pardon  this  little  digres- 
sional  observation.  There  is  not  in  my  opinion,  a  nobler  sentiment,  or  one  more 
poetically  expressed,  in  the  whole  poem.  What  great  art  has  the  poet  shown  in 
taking  otf  the  dryness  of  a  mere  moral  sentence,  by  throwing  it  into  the  form  of  a. 
short  and  beautiful  allegory !— Thybb. 


BOOK  III.]  PARADISE  LOST.  191 

Who  to  the  fraudulent  impostor  foul, 

In  his  uprightness,  answer  thus  return'd : — 

Fair  angel,  thy  desire,  which  tends  to  know 
The  works  of  God,  thereby  to  glorify 
The  great  Work-master,  leads  to  no  excess 
That  reaches  blame,  but  rather  merits  praise 
The  more  it  seems  excess,  that  led  thee  hither 
From  thy  empyreal  mansion  thus  alone, 
To  witness  with  thine  eyes  what  some  perhaps, 
Contented  with  report,  hear  only  in  heaven : 
For  wonderful  indeed  are  all  his  works, 
Pleasant  to  know,''  and  worthiest  to  be  all 
Had  in  remembrance  always  with  delight : 
But  what  created  mind  can  comprehend 
Their  number ;  or  the  wisdom  infinite 
That  brought  them  forth,  but  hid  their  causes  deep  ? 
I  saw,  when  at  his  word  the  formless  mass. 
This  world's  material  mould,  came  to  a  heap; 
Confusion  heard  his  voice,  and  wild  uproar 
Stood  ruled  ;  stood  vast  infinitude  confined ; 
Till  at  his  second  bidding  darkness  fled, 
Light  shone,  and  order  from  disorder  sprung. 
Swift  to  their  several  quarters  hasted  then 
The  cumbrous  elements,  earth,  flood,  air,  fire  j 
And  this  ethereal  quintessence^  of  heaven 
Flew  upward,  spirited  with  various  forms, 
That  roll'd  orbicular,  and  turn'd  to  stars 
Numberless,  as  thou  seest,  and  how  they  move  j 
Each  had  his  place  appointed,  each  his  course ; 
The  rest  in  circuit  walls  this  universe. 
Look  downward  on  that  globe,  whose  hither  side 
With  light  from  hence,  though  but  reflected,  shines ; 
That  place  is  earth,  the  seat  of  man  ;  that  light 
His  day,  which  else,  as  the  other  hemisphere. 
Night  would  invade  ;  but  there  the  neighbouring  moon. 
So  call  that  opposite  fair  star,  her  aid. 
Timely  interposes  ;  and  her  monthly  round 
Still  ending,  still  renewing,  through  mid  heaven, 
With  borrow'd  light  her  countenance  triform 
Hence  fills  and  empties  to  enlighten  the  earth ; 
And  in  her  pale  dominion  checks  the  night. 
That  spot  to  which  I  point  is  Paradise, 
Adam's  abode ;  those  lofty  shades  his  bower  : 
Thy  way  thou  canst  not  miss,  me  mine  requires- 

J  Pleasant  to  know. 
This  is  one  of  those  places  where  a  negligence  in  metre  is  not  only  excusable,  in 
taking  away  monotony,  but  carries  with  it  a  dignity  which  no  smoothness  of  verse  could 
give  it,  the  words  being  in  almost  the  same  order  as. in  Scripture. — Stillingflekt. 

k  And  this  ethereal  quintessence. 
The  four  elements  hasted  to  their  quarters,  but  this  fifth  essence  flew  upward. — 
Nkwtok. 


192  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  m. 

Thus  said,  he  turn'd  ;  and  Satan,  bowing  low, 
As  to  superior  spirits  is  wont  in  heaven, 
Whure  honour  due  and  reverence  none  neglects, 
Took  leave ;  and  toward  the  coast  of  earth  beneath, 
Down  from  the  ecliptic,  sped  with  hoped  success, 
Throws  his  steep  flight  in  many  an  aery  wheel. 
Nor  stay'd,  till  on  Niphates'  top'  he  lights 

•  On  Niphates'  top. 

The  poet  lands  Satan  on  this  mountain,  says  Hume,  because  it  borders  on  Meso- 
potamia, in  which  the  most  judicious  describers  of  Paradise  place  it. — Dunsteb.  ■ 

Satau  auor  having  long  wandered  upon  the  surface,  or  utmost  wall  of  the  universe, 
discovers  at  last  a  wide  gap  in  it,  which  led  into  the  creation,  and  is  described  as  the 
opening  through  which  the  angels  pass  to  and  fro  into  the  lower  world,  upon  their 
orrauds  to  mankind.  His  sitting  upon  the  brink  of  this  passage,  and  taking  a  survey 
of  the  whole  face  of  nature  that  appeared  to  him  new  and  fresh  in  sll  its  beauties,  with 
the  simile  illustrating  this  circumstance,  fills  the  mind  of  the  reader  with  as  surprising 
and  glorious  an  idea  as  any  that  arises  in  the  whole  poem.  He  looks  down  into  that 
yast  hollow  of  the  universe  with  the  eye,  or  as  Milton  calls  it  in  his  first  book,  with  the 
ken  of  an  angel.  He  surveys  all  the  wonders  in  this  immense  amphitheatre  that  lies 
between  both  the  poles  of  heaven,  and  takes  in  at  one  view  the  whole  round  of  the 
creation. 

His  flight  between  the  several  worlds  that  shined  on  every  side  of  him,  and  the 
particular  description  of  the  sun,  are  set  forth  in  all  the  wantonness  of  a  luxuriant 
imagination.  His  shape,  speech,  and  behaviour,  upon  his  transforming  himself  into 
an  angel  of  light,  are  touched  with  exquisite  beauty.  The  poet's  thought  of  directing 
Satan  to  the  sun,  which  in  the  vulgar  opinion  of  mankind  is  the  most  conspicuous  part 
of  the  creation  :  the  placing  in  it  an  angel ;  is  a  circumstance  very  finely  contrived,  and 
the  more  adjusted  to  a  poetical  probability,  as  it  was  a  received  doctrine  among  the 
aiost  famous  philosophers,  that  every  orb  had  its  intelligence;  and  as  an  apostle  in 
sacred  writ  is  said  to  have  seen  such  an  angel  in  the  sun.  In  the  answer  which  this 
angel  returns  to  the  disguised  evil  spirit,  there  is  such  a  becoming  majesty  as  is 
allogciher  suitable  to  a  superior  being.  The  part  of  it  in  which  he  represents  himjielf 
as  present  at  the  creation,  is  very  noble  in  itself;  and  not  only  proper  where  it  is  intro- 
duced,  but  requisite  to  prepare  the  reader  for  what  follows  in  the  seventh  book*:— 

1  saw,  when  at  his  word  the  formless  mass, 
This  world's  material  mould,  cuine  to  a  heap: 
Cimfusion  heard  his  voice.  hhcI  wild  uproar 
Stood  ruled;  stood  vast  infinitude  eonnued; 
Tdl,  at  his  second  bidding,  Darkness  tied, 
Light  shone,  and  order  from  disorder  sprueg. 

In  the  following  part  of  the  speech  he  points  out  the  earth  with  such  circnmstances, 
that  the  reader  can  scarce  forbear  fancying  himself  employed  on  the  same  distant 
view  of  it. — Addison. 


imtmi^iMm  -tiinniififitiir 


BOOK  ir.]  PARADISE  LOST.  193 


BOOK  IV. 

INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 

I  BELIEVE  that  this  book  of  the  poem  is  a  general  favourite  with  renders :  there  are 
parts  of  it  beautiful;  but  it  appears  to  me  far  less  grand  than  the  books  which  precede 
it;  it  has,  I  think,  not  only  less  sublimity,  but  less  poetical  invention.  It.  required  less 
imagination  to  describe  the  garden  of  Eden  than  Pandaemonium  or  Chars.  Adam  and 
Eve  are — the  one  noble,  the  other  lovely; — but  still  they  are  human  beings,  with 
human  passions. 

Some  criticisms  might  be  made  both  on  the  described  scenery,  and  on  the  occupation!" 
of  our  first  parents.  The  gardener's  skill  and  labours  do  not  seem  very  necessary  or 
natural  at  the  first  spring  of  the  earth's  creation.  The  bard  seems  for  the  mcm^nt  so 
far  to  have  forgot  himself  as  to  attempt  rivality  with  the  picturesque  inventions  of 
mere  human  poets :  there  is  not  that  compression  and  massy  strength,  wLich  is  the 
usual  quality  of  Miltonic  painting.  Grandeur  was  Milton's  element,  not  beauty  oi 
teiderness !  Invention  will  only  be  found  where  the  natural  strength  lies,  not  where 
it  is  sought  by  labour  and  art.  Where  Milton  drew  a  giant,  he  invented; — where  he 
diew  beauty,  he  borrowed. 

It  has  often  been  observed,  that  Satan  is  the  hero  of  "  Paradise  Lost,"  not  Adam ; 
and  this  is  true !     Neither  Adam  nor  Eve  take  a  part  suflSciently  active  and  important. 


ARGUMENT. 

Batan,  now  m  prospect  of  Eden,  nnd  nigh  the  place  where  he  must  now  attempt  the  bold 
enterprise  which  ho  undertook  alone  against  God  and  man,  falls  into  many  donbts  with 
himself,  and  many  passions,  fear,  envy,  and  despair;  but  at  length  confirms  himself  in 
evil,  journeys  on  to  Paradise,  whose  outward  prospect  and  situation  is  described,  over- 
leaps the  bounds;  sits  in  the  shape  of  a  cormorant  on  the  Tree  of  Life,  as  the  highest  in 
the  garden,  to  look  about  him.  The  garden  described;  Satan's  first  sight  of  Adam  and 
Eve  :  his  wonder  at  their  excellent  form  and  happy  state,  but  with  resolution  to  work  their 
fall :  overhears  their  discourse ;  thonce  gathers  that  the  Tree  of  Knowledge  was  forbidden 
them  to  eat  of,  under  penalty-  of  death;  and  thereon  intends  to  found  his  temptation,  by 
seducing  them  to  transgress:  then  leaves  them  awhile,  to  know  farther  of  tlieir  state  by 
some  other  means.  Meanwhile,  Uriel,  descending  on  a  sunbeam,  warns  Gabriel,  who 
had  in  charge  the  gate  of  Paradise,  that  some  evil  spirit  had  escaped  the  deep,  and  passed 
at  noon  by  his  sphere  in  the  shape  of  a  good  angel  down  to  Paradise,  discovered  afterward* 
by  his  furious  gestures  in  the  mount.  Gabriel  promises  to  find  him  ere  morning.  Niphl 
coming  on,  Adam  and  Eve  discourse  of  going  to  their  rest :  their  bower  described  ;  their 
evening  worship.  Gabriel,  drawing  forth  his  bands  of  night-watch  to  walk  the  rounds  ot 
Paradise,  appoints  two  strong  angels  to  Adam's  bower,  lest  the  evil  spirit  should  bo  there 
doing  some  harm  to  Adam  or  Eve  sleeping ;  there  they  find  him  at  the  ear  of  Eve,  tempt- 
ing her  in  a  dream,  and  bring  him,  though  unwilling,  to  Gabriel;  by  whom  questioned,  he 
scornfully  answers,  prepares  resistance,  but,  hindered  by  a  sign  from  heivon,  flies  out  of 
Paradise. 

O,  FOR  that  warning  voice,"  which  he  who  saw 
The  Apocalypse,  heard  cry  in  heaven  aloud, 

»  0,  for  that  warning  voice. 
The  poet  opens  this  book  with  a  wish,  in  the  manner  of  Shakspeare :  "  0,  for  a  Muse 
of  firo !"  Prol.  to  Hen.  V. ;  "  0,  for  a  falconer's  voice  !"  Rom.  and  Juliet,  a.  i  .  s.  2. 
And,  in  order  to  raise  the  horror  and  attention  of  his  reader,  he  introduces  his  relation 
of  Satan's  adventures  upon  earth,  by  wishing  that  the  same  warning  voice  had  been 
uttered  now  at  Satan's  first  coming,  which  St.  John,  who  in  a  vision  saw  the  Apoca- 
'ypse,  or  revelation  of  the  most  remarkable  events  which  were  to  befall  the  Christian 
25 


194 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[book  IV. 


Then  when  the  dragon,  put  to  second  rout, 

Came  furious  down  to  be  revenged  on  men, 

*  Woe  to  the  inhabitants  on  earth !'  that  now, 

While  time  was,  our  first  parents  had  been  warn'd 

The  coming  of  their  secret  foe,  and  'scaped. 

Haply  so  'scaped  his  mortal  snare  ;  for  now, 

Satan,  now  first  inflamed  with  rage,  came  down, 

The  tempter  ere  the  accuser  of  mankind. 

To  wreak  on  innocent  frail  man  his  loss 

Of  that  first  battel,  and  his  flight  to  hell : 

Yet  not  rejoicing  in  his  speed,*  though  bold 

Far  off"  and  fearless,  nor  with  cause  to  boast, 

Begins  his  dire  attempt;  which  nigh  the  birth, 

Now  rolling,  boils  in  his  tumultuous  breast, 

And  like  a  devilish  engine  back  recoils 

Upon  himself :  horrour  and  doubt  distract 

His  troubled  thoughts,  and  from  the  bottom  stir 

The  hell  within  him ;  for  within  him  hell 

He  brings,  and  round  about  him,  nor  from  hell 

One  step,  no  more  than  from  himself,  can  fly 

By  change  of  place :  now  conscience  wakes  despair 

That  slumber'd ;  wakes  the  bitter  memory 

Of  what  he  was,  what  is,  and  what  must  be, 

Worse ;  of  worse  deeds  worse  sufferings  must  ensue. 

Sometimes  towards  Eden,  which  now  in  his  view 

Lay  pleasant,  his  grieved  look  he  fixes  sad  ; 

Sometimes  towards  heaven «  and  the  full  blazing  sun. 

Which  now  sat  high  in  his  meridian  tower : 

Then,  much  revolving,  thus  in  pighs  began  : — 

0  thou,  that,  with  surpassing''  glory  crown'd, 
Look'st  from  thy  sole  dominion  like  the  God 

church  to  the  end  of  the  world,  heard  when  the  dragon  was  put  to  second  rout,  Rev. 
xii.  12.  "Woe  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth  and  of  the  sea!  for  the  devil  is  come 
down  unto  you,  having  great  wrath." — Newton, 

b  Yet  not  rejoicing  in  his  speed. 

Satan  was  bold  far  off  and  fearless  ;  and,  as  he  drew  nearer,  was  pleased  with  hoped 
success :  but  now  he  is  come  to  earth  to  begin  his  dire  attempt,  he  does  not  rejoice  in  it ; 
his  heart  misgives  him;  horror  and  doubt  distract  him.  This  is  all  very  natural.— • 
Newton. 

c  Sometimes  towards  heaven. 

All  this  passage  is  highly  poetical  and  pathetic. 

d  0  thou,  that,  with  surpassing. 

One  of  those  magnificent  speeches  to  which  no  other  name  can  be  given,  than  that  it 
is  supereminently  Miltonic.  This  is  mainly  argumentative  sublimity ;  in  which  I  think 
that  he  is  even  still  greater  than  in  his  splendid  and  majestic  imagery.  The  alterna- 
tions of  this  dreadful  speech  strike  and  move  the  mind  like  the  changes  of  the  tempest 
In  a  dark  night,  when  the  thunder  and  lightning  roar  and  flash,  and  then  intermit,  and 
then  redouble  again. 

Compare  the  opening  speech  in  the  Phoenisse  of  Euripides;  where  Person  has 
remarked,  that  Milton  had  once  intended  to  have  written  a  tragedy,  not  an  epic,  and  tc 
have  commenced  it  with  this  address  to  the  Sun.  It  is  only  necessary  to  give  the  Pro- 
fessor's authority: — "These  verses,  several  years  before  the  poem  was  begun,  were 
shown  to  me  and  some  others,  as  designed  for  the  very  beginning  of  a  tiagedy  upon 
this  subject."  —Edward  PHiupa. 


\ 


BOOK  IV.]  PARADISE  LOST.  195 

Of  this  new  world ;  at  whose  sight  all  the  stars 
Hide  their  diminish'd  heads ;  to  thee  I  call, 
But  with  no  friendly  voice ;  and  add  thy  name, 

0  sun,  to  tell  thee  how  I  hate  thy  beams, 
That  bring  to  my  remembrance  from  what  state 

1  fell,  how  glorious  once — above  thy  sphere ; 
Till  pride  and  worse  ambition  threw  me  down, 
Warring  in  heaven  against  heaven's  matchless  King. 
Ah,  wherefore  ?  he  deserved  no  such  return 

From  me,  whom  he  created  what  I  was 

In  that  bright  eminence,  and  with  his  good 

Upbraided  none  ;  nor  was  his  service  hard. 

What  could  be  less  than  to  afford  him  praise, 

The  easiest  recompense,  and  pay  him  thanks  ? 

How  due !  yet  all  his  good  proved  ill  in  me, 

And  wrought  but  malice ;  lifted  up  so  high, 

I  'sdain'd  subjection,  and  thought  one  step  higher 

Would  set  me  highest,  and  in  a  moment  quit 

The  debt  immense  of  endless  gratitude. 

So  burdensome  ;  still  paying,  still  to  owe  j 

Forgetful  what  from  him  I  still  received ; 

And  understood  not  that  a  grateful  mind 

By  owing  owes  not,  but  still  pays,  at  once 

Indebted  and  discharged  :  what  burden  then  ? 

O,  had  his  powerful  destiny  ordain'd 

Me  some  inferiour  angel,  I  had  stood 

Then  happy ;  no  unbounded  hope  had  raised 

Ambition !  Yet  why  not  ?  some  other  power 

As  great  might  have  aspired,  and  me,  though  mean, 

Drawn  to  his  part ;  but  other  powers  as  great 

Fell  not,  but  stand  unshaken,  from, within 

Or  from  without,  to  all  temptations  arm'd. 

Hadst  thou  the  same  free  will  and  power  to  stand  ? 

Thou  hadst :  whom  hast  thou  then  or  what  to  accuse, 

But  Heaven's  free  love  dealt  equally  to  all  ? 

Be  then  his  love  accursed  ;  since  love  or  hate, 

To  me  alike,  it  deals  eternal  woe : 

Nay,  cursed  be  thou ;  since  against  his  thy  will 

Chose  freely  what  it  now  so  justly  rues. 

Me  miserable  !  which  way  shall  I  fly 

Infinite  wrath,  and  infinite  despair  ? 

Which  way  I  fly  is  hell ;  myself  am  hell ; 

And  in  the  lowest  deep  a  lower  deep 

Still  threatening  to  devour  me  opens  wide; 

To  which  the  hell  I  suffer  seems  a  heavon. 

0,  then  at  last  relent :  is  there  no  place 

Left  for  repentance,  none  for  pardon  left  ? 

None  left  but  by  submission ;  and  that  word 

Disdain  forbids  me,  and  my  dread  of  shame 

Among  the  spirits  beneath  ;  whom  I  seduced 

With  other  promises  and  other  vaunts 


196  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  tv. 

Than  to  submit  j  boasting  I  could  subdue 

The  Omnipotent.     Ay  me  !  they  little  know 

How  dearly  I  abide  that  boast  so  vain ; 

Under  what  torments  inwardly  I  groan ; 

While  they  adore  me  on  the  throne  of  hell : 

With  diadem  and  sceptre  high  advanced, 

The  lower  still  I  fall ;  only  supreme 

In  misery  :  such  joy  ambition  finds. 

But  say  I  could  repent,  and  could  obtain 

By  act  of  grace  my  former  state ;  how  soon 

Would  highth  recall  high  thoughts,  how  soon  unsay 

What  feign'd  submission  swore !    Ease  would  recant 

Vows  made  in  pain,  as  violent  and  void. 

For  never  can  true  reconcilement  grow 

Where  wounds  of  deadly  hate  have  pierced  so  deep; 

Which  would  but  lead  me  to  a  worse  relapse 

And  heavier  fall :  so  should  I  purchase  dear 

Short  intermission  bought  with  double  smart. 

This  knows  my  Punisher ;  therefore  as  far 

From  granting  he,  as  I  from  begging  peace : 

All  hope  excluded  thus ;  behold,  instead 

Of  us  outcast,  exiled,  his  new  delight, 

Mankind,  created,  and  for  him  this  world. 

So  farewell  hope,  and  with  hope,  farewell,  fear; 

Farewell,  remorse :  all  good  to  me  is  lost ; 

Evil,  be  thou  my  good ;  by  thee  at  least 

Divided  empire  with  heaven's  king  I  hold, 

By  thee,  and  more  than  half  perhaps  will  reign; 

As  man  ere  long  and  this  new  world  ^  shall  know. 

Thus  while  he  spake,  each  passion  dimra'd  his  face' 
Thrice  changed  with  pale,  ire,  envy,  and  despair ; 
Which  marr'd  his  borrow'd  visage,  and  betray'd 
Him  counterfeit,  if  any  eye  beheld : 
'    For  heavenly  minds  from  such  distempers  foul 
Are  ever  clear.     Whereof  he  soon  aware 
Each  perturbation  smooth'd  with  outward  calm, 
Artificer  of  fraud;  and  was  the  first 

e  This  new  world. 

Satan  being  now  within  prospect  of  Eden,  and  looking  round  upon  the  glories  of  the 
creation,  is  filled  with  sentiments  different  from  those  which  he  discovered  whilst  he 
twas  in  hell.  The  place  inspires  him  with  thoughts  more  adapted  to  it.  He  reflects 
upon  the  happy  condition  from  whence  he  fell,  and  breaks  forth  into  a  speech  that  is 
softened  with  several  transient  touches  of  remorse  and  self-accusation ;  but  at  length 
he  confirms  himself  in  impenitence,  and  in  his  design  of  drawing  man  into  his  own 
state  of  guilt  and  misery  This  conflict  of  passions  is  roused  with  a  great  deal  of  art, 
as  the  opening  of  his  speeci:  to  the  Sun  is  very  bold  and  noble. 

This  speech  is,  I  think,  the  finest  that  is  ascribed  to  Satan  in  the  whole  poem.— 
Addison. 

f  Each  passion  dimm'd  his /ace. 

Each  passion,  ire,  ecvy,  and  despair,  dimm'd  his  countenance,  which  was  thrice 
changed  with  pale  throus;!!  the  successiv  agitations  of  these  three  passions  :  for,  that 
paleness  is  the  proper  hue  of  envy  and  despair,  everybody  knows;  and  we  always 
reckon  that  sort  of  anger  the  most  deadly  and  diabolical  which  is  accompanied  with  a 
pale,  livid  countenance. — Newton. 


BOOK  IV.]  PARADISE  LOST^ 19^ 

That  practised  falsehood  under  saintly  show, 

Deep  malice  to  conceal,  couch'd  with  revenge: 

Yet  not  enough  had  practised  to  deceive 

Uriel  once  warn'd ;  whose  eye  pursued  him  down 

The  way  he  went,  and  on  the  Assyrian  mount 

Saw  him  disfigured  more  than  could  befall 

Spirit  of  happy  sort :  his  gestures  fierce 

He  mark'd  and  mad  demeanour,  then  alone, 

As  he  supposed,  all  unobserved,  unseen. 

So  on  he  fares,  and  to  the  border  comes 

Of  Eden,  where  delicious  Paradise, 

Now  nearer  crowns  with  her  enclosure  green, 

As  with  a  rural  mound,  the  champain  head 

Of  a  steep  wilderness,  whose  hairy  sides 

With  thicket  overgrown,  grotesque  and  wild, 

Access  denied;  and  overhead  up  grew 

Insuperable  highth  of  loftiest  shade, 

Cedar,  and  pine,  and  fir,  and  branching  palm, 

A  sylvan  scene ;  and,  as  the  ranks  ascend 

Shade  above  shade,  a  woody  theatre 

Of  stateliest  view.     Yet  higher  than  their  tops 

The  verdurous  wall  of  Paradise  up  sprung ; 

Which  to  our  general  sire  gave  prospect  large 

Into  his  nether  empire  neighbouring  round. 

And  higher  than  that  wall  a  circling  row 

Of  goodliest  trees  loaden  with  fairest  fruit, 

Blossoms  and  fruits  at  once  of  golden  hue, 

Appear'd,  with  gay  enamel'd  colours  mix'd  : 

On  which  the  sun  more  glad  impress'd  his  beams, 

Than  in  fair  evening  cloud,  or  humid  bow. 

When  God  hath  shower'd  the  earth:  so  lovely  seem'd 

That  landskip  :  and  of  pure  now  purer  air 

Meets  his  approach,  and  to  the  heart  inspires 

Vernal  delight  and  joy,*  able  to  drive 

All  sadness  but  despair :  now  gentle  gales, 

Fanning  their  odoriferous  wings,  dispense 

Native  perfumes,  and  whisper  whence  they  stole' 

Those  balmy  spoils.     As  when  to  them  who  sail 

Beyond  the  Cape  of  Hope,  and  now  are  pass'd 

Mozambic,  oflF  at  sea  north-east  winds  blow 

Sabaean  odours'  from  the  spicy  shore 

g  Vernal  delight  and  joy. 
bo  in  Milton's  *  Tractate  of  Education  :'     "  In  those  vernal  seasons  of  the  year,  when 
the  air  is  calm  and  pl.^asant,  it  were  an  injury  and  dullennfiss  against  nature  not  to  go 
out,  and  see  her  riches,  andpartake  in  her  rejoicing  with  heaven  and  earth."— Todd. 

h  Wliieper  whence  they  stole. 
This  expression  of  the  air's  stealing  and  dispersing  the  sweets  of  flowers,  is  very 
common  in  the  best  Italian  poets. — Newton. 

'  Sabcean  f'doura. 
Wakefield   says   that   Milton   delineated    this   beautiful  description' from  Diodorus 
Siculus,  lib.  iii.  46.  where  the  aromatic  plantf  in  Sabea.  or  Arabia  Felix,  are  described 


198  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  iv. 

Of  Araby  the  bless'd ;  with  such  delay 
Well  pleased  they  slack  their  course,  and  many  a  league 
Cheer'd  with  the  grateful  smell  old  Ocean  smiles: 
So  entertain'd  those  odorous  sweets  the  fiend 
Who  came  their  bane ;  though  with  them  better  pleased 
Than  AsraodeusJ  with  the  fishy  fume, 
That  drove  him,  though  enamour'd,  from  the  spouse 
Of  Tobit's  son,  and  with  a  vengeance  sent 
From  Media  post  to  JRgypt,  there  fast  bound. 
Now  to  the  ascent  of  that  steep  savage  hill 
Satan  had  journey'd  on,  pensive  and  slow ; 
But  farther  way  found  none ;  so  thick  entwined, 
As  one  continued  brake,  the  undergrowth 
Of  shrubs  and  tangling  bushes  had  perplex'd 
All  path  of  man  or  beast  that  pass'd  that  way. 
One  gate  there  only  was,  and  that  look'd  east 
On  the  other  side  :  which  when  the  arch-felon  saw, 
Due  entrance  he  disdain'd ;  and  in  contempt, 
At  one  slight  bound  high  overleap'd  all  bound 
Of  hill  or  highest  wall,  and  sheer  within 
Lights  on  his  feet.     As  when  a  prowling  wolf, 
Whom  hunger  drives  to  seek  new  haunt  for  prey, 
Watching  where  shepherds  pen  their  flocks  at  eve 
In  hurdled  cotes  amid  the  field  secure, 
Leaps  o'er  the  fence  with  ease  into  the  fold : 
Or  as  a  thief,  bent  to  unhoard  the  cash 
Of  some  rich  burgher,  whose  substantial  doors, 
Cross'd-barr'd  and  bolted  fast,  fear  no  assault. 
In  at  the  window  climbs,  or  o'er  the  tiles : 
So  clomb  this  first  grand  thief  into  God's  fold ; 
So  since  into  his  church  lewd  hirelings  climb. 
Thence  up  he  flew ;  and  on  the  Tree  of  Life, 
The  middle  tree  and  highest''  there  that  grew. 
Sat  like  a  cormorant ;  yet  not  true  life 
Thereby  regain'd,  but  sat  devising  death 
To  them  who  lived ;  nor  on  the  virtue  thought 
Of  that  life-giving  plant,'  but  only  used 

as  yielding  "inexpressible  fragrance  to  the  sense,  not  unenjoyed  even  by  the  navi- 
gator, though  he  sails  by  at  a  great  distance  from  the  shore:  for,  in  the  spring,  when 
the  wind  blows  off  land,  the  odour  from  the  aromatic  trees  and  plants  diffuses  itself  over 
all  the  neighbouring  sea."     Notes  on  Gray,  p.  10. — Todd. 

J  Afmodius. 
This  history  of  Asmodeus  has  by  no  means  a  good  effect. — Dunster. 

k  The  middle  tree  and  highest, 

"  The  tree  of  life  also  in  the  midst  of  the  garden,"  Gen.  ii.  9.     "  In  the  midst"  is  a 

Hebrew  phrase,  expressing  not  only  the  local   situation  of  this  enlivening  tree,  but 

denoting  its  excellency,  as  being  the  most  considerable,  the  tallest,  goodliest,  and  most 

lovely  tree  in  that  beauteous  garden  planted  by  God  himself.     See  Rev.  ii.  7. — Hume. 

■  0/  that  life-giving  plant. 
He  should  have  taken  occasion,  from  thence,  to  reflect  duly  on  life  and  immortality, 
and  thereby  to  have  put  himself  in  a  condition  to  regain  true  life  and  a  happy  immor- 
tality.— Newton. 


BOOK  IV] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


199 


For  prospect,  what  well  used  had  been  the  pledge 

Of  immortality.     So  little  knows 

Any,  but  God  alone,  to  value  right 

The  good  before  him;  but  perverts  best  things 

To  worst  abuse,  or  to  their  meanest  use. 

Beneath  him  with  new  wonder  now  he  views, 

To  all  delight  of  human  sense  exposed, 

In  narrow  room.  Nature's  whole  wealth,  yea,  more, 

A  heaven  on  earth  :  for  blissful  Paradise 

Of  God  the  garden  was,™  by  him  in  the  east 

Of  Eden  planted ',  Eden  stretch' d  her  line 

From  Auran  eastward  to  the  royal  towers 

Of  great  Seleucia,  built  by  Grecian  kings; 

Or  where  the  sons  of  Eden  long  before 

Dwelt  in  Telassar.     In  this  pleasant  soil 

His  far  more  pleasant  garden  God  ordain'd  : 

Out  of  the  fertile  ground  he  caused  to  grow 

All  trees  of  noblest  kind  for  sight,  smell,  taste ; 

And  all  amid  them  stood  the  Tree  of  Life, 

High  eminent,  blooming  ambrosial  fruit 

Of  vegetable  gold ;  and  next  to  Life, 

Our  death,  the  Tree  of  Knowledge,  grew  fast  by, 

Knowledge  of  good  bought  dear  by  knowing  ill. 

Southward  through  Eden "  went  a  river  large, 

Nor  changed  his  course,  but  through  the  shaggy  hill 

Pass'd  underneath  ingulf 'd ;  for  God  had  thrown 

That  mountain  as  his  garden  mould,  high  raised 

Upon  the  rapid  current,  which  through  veins 

Of  porous  earth  with  kindly  thirst  up  drawn, 

Rose  a  fresh  fountain,  and  with  many  a  rill 

Water'd  the  garden;  thence  united  fell 

Down  the  steep  glade,  and  met  the*  nether  flood, 

Which  from  his  darksome  passage  now  appears ; 

And  now,  divided  into  four  main  streams. 

Runs  diverse,  wandering  many  a  famous  realm 

And  country,  whereof  here  needs  no  account ; 

But  rather  to  tell  how,  if  art  could  tell. 

How  from  that  sapphire  fount  the  crisped  brooks, 

Rolling  on  orient  pearl  and  sands  of  gold, 

With  mazy  errour  under  pendent  shades 

Ran  nectar,  visiting  each  plant,  and  fed 

Flowers  worthy  of  Paradise;  which  not  nice  art 

"•  0/  Ood  the  garden  was. 

Bo  the  sabred  text,  Gen.  ii.  8.  "And  the  Lord  God  planted  a  garden  eastward  in 
Eden,"  that  is,  eastward  of  the  place  where  Moses  wrote  his  history,  though  Milton 
says,  "  in  the  east  of  Eden  ;"  and  then  we  have,  in  a  few  lines,  our  author's  topography 
of  Eden. — Newion. 

n  Southward  through  Eden. 

This  is,  most  probably,  the  river  formed  by  the  junction  of  the  Euphrates  and  Tigris, 
which  flows  southward,  and  must  needs  be  a  river  large  by  the  joining  of  two  such 
mighty  rivers.  Upon  this  river  it  is  supposed,  by  the  best  commentators,  that  the 
terrestrial  Paradise  was  situated.     Milton  calls  this  river  Tigris  in  b.  ix.  71. — Newton. 


200  PAEADISE  LOST.  [book  iv. 

In  beds  and  curious  knots,  but  nature  boon 

Pour'd  forth  profuse  on  hill,  and  dale,  and  plain; 

Both  where  the  morning  sun  first  warmly  smote 

The  open  field,  and  where  the  unpierced  shade 

Imbrown'd  the  noontide  bowers.     Thus  was  this  place 

A  happy  rural  seat  of  various  view : 

G-roves  whose  rich  trees  wept  odorous  gums  and  balm  j 

Others,  who^e  fruit,  burnish'd  with  golden  rind; 

Hung  amiable,  Hesperian  fables  true, 

If  true,  here  only,  and  of  delicious  taste. 

Betwixt  them  lawns,- or  level  downs,  and  flocks 

Grraziug  the  tender  herb,  were  interposed ; 

Or  palmy  hillock,  or  the  flowery  lap 

Of  some  irriguous  valley  spread  her  store; 

Flowers  of  all  hue,  and  without  thorn  the  rose. 

Another  side,  umbrageous  grots  and  caves 

Of  cool  recess,  o'er  which  the  mantling  vine 

Lays  forth  her  purple  grape,  and  gently  creeps 

Luxuriant :  meanwhile  murmuring  waters  fall 

Down  the  slope  hills,  dispersed,  or  in  a  lake, 

That  to  the  fringed  bank  with  myrtle  crown'd 

Her  crystal  mirrour  holds,  unite  their  streams. 

The  birds  their  quire  apply ;  airs,  vernal  airs, 

Breathing  the  smell  of  field  and  grove,  attune 

The  trembling  leaves ;  while  universal  Pan," 

Knit  with  the  Graces  and  the  Hours  in  dance, 

Led  on  the  eternal  spring.     Not  that  fair  field 

Of  Enna,  where  Proserpine  gathering  flowers, 

Herself  a  fairer  flower,  by  gloomy  Dis 

Was  gai,her'd,  which  cost  Ceres  all  that  pain 

To  seek  her  through  the  world ;  nor  that  sweet  groye 

Of  Daphne  by  Orontes,  and  the  inspired 

Castalian  spring,  might  with  this  Paradise 

Of  Eden  strive ;  nor  that  Nyseian  isle 

Girt  with  the  river  Triton,  where  old  Cham, 

Whom  Gentiles  Ammon  call  and  Libyan  Jove, 

Hid  Amalthea,  and  her  florid  son. 

Young  Bacchus,  from  his  stepdame  Rhea's  eye; 

Nor  where  Abassin  kings  their  issue  guard. 

Mount  Amara,p  though  this  by  some  supposed 

o  While  universal  Pan. 
While  universal  Nature,  linked  with  the  graceful  Seasons,  danced  a  perpetual  round, 
and  throughout  the  earth,  yet  unpolluted,  led  eternal  spring.  All  the  poets  favour  the 
opinion  of  the  world's  creation  in  the  spring.  See  Virgil,  Georg.  ii.  3.S8,  and  Ovi  1. 
Met.  i.  107.  That  the  Graces  were  taken  for  the  beautiful  Seasons,  in  which  all  things 
seem  to  dance  and  smile  with  an  universal  joy,  is  plain  from  Horace,  Od.  iv.  vii.  1.,  Ac. 
And  Homer  joins  both  the  Graces  and  Hours  hand  in  hand  with  Harmony,  Youth,  and 
Venus,  in  his  Hymn  to  Apollo. — Hcme. 

p  Mount  Amara. 
Mount  Amara  is  the  modern  name  of  what  the  ancients  called  Pylae,  which  are  high 
hills  in  Ethiopia,  under  the  Equator.     Between  these  hills  there  is  a  plain  abounding 
with  ihe  rich  and  beautiful  productions  of  nature,  and  highly  ornamented  with  the 


BOOK  IV.]  PARADISE  LOST.  201 

True  Paradise,  under  the  JEthiop  linei 
By  Nilus'  head,  enclosed  with  shining  rock, 
A  whole  day's  journey  high,  but  wide  remote 
From  this  Assyrian  garden,  where  the  fiend 
Saw,  undelighted,  all  delight,  all  kind 
Of  living  creatures,  new  to  sight  and  strange. 

Two  of  far  nobler  shape,  erect  and  tall, 
Godlike  erect,  with  native  honour  clad 
In  naked  majesty,  seem'd  lords  of  all ; 
And  worthy  seem'd :  for  in  their  looks  divind 
The  image  of  their  glorious  Maker  shone, 
Truth,  wisdom,  sanctitude  severe  and  pure, 
Severe,  but  in  true  filial  freedom  placed  y 
Whence  true  authority  in  njen :  though  both 
Not  equal,  as  their  sex  not  equal,  seem'd ; 
For  contemplation  he  and  valour  form'd, 
For  softness  she  and  sweet  attractive  grace  j 
He  for  God  only,  she  for  God  in  him. 
His  fair  large  front  and  eye  sublime  declared 
Absolute  rule ;  and  hyacinthine  locks 
Round  from  his  parted  forelock  manly  hung 
Clustering,  but  not  beneath  his  shoulders  broad  : 
She,  as  a  veil,  down  to  the  slender  waist 
Her  unadorned  golden  tresses'"  wore 
Dishevel'd,  but  in  wanton  ringlets  waved 
As  the  vine  curls  her  tendrils ;  which  implied 
Subjection,  but  required  with  gentle  sway. 
And  by  her  yielded,  by  him  best  received. 
Yielded  with  coy  submission,  modest  pride. 
And  sweet,  reluctant,  amorous  delay. 
Nor  those  mysterious  parts  were  then  conceal'd  j 
Then  was  not  guilty  shame  :  dishotfest  shame 
Of  nature's  works,  honour  dishonourable. 
Sin-bred,  how  have  ye  troubled  all  mankind 
With  shows  instead,  mere  shows  of  seeming  pure, 
And  banish'd  from  man's  life  his  happiest  life,  , 

Simplicity  and  spotless  innocence  ! 
So  pass'd  they  naked  on,  nor  shunn'd  the  sight 
Of  God  or  angel,  for  they  thought  no  ill : 
So  hand  in  hand  they  pass'd,  the  loveliest  pair 
That  ever  since  in  love's  embraces  met ; 
Adam  the  goodliest  man  of  men  since  born 
Eis  sons,  the  fairest  of  her  daughters  Eve. 

various  operations  of  art.  In  this  place  the  kings  of  Abyssinia  keep  ttieir  children 
wonderfully  confined  ;  and  when  a  king  dies,  he  that  is  to  succeed  him  is  brought  theuco 
and  set  upon  the  throne. — Massey. 

q  Under  the  JEthiop  line. 
See  Purchas's  "  Pilgrimage,"  1626,  vol.  v.  p.  743.— ^Todd. 

f  Golden  tresses. 
This  sort  of  h»ir  was  most  admired  and  celebrated  by  the  ancients.    Milton's  widow 
had  hair  of  this  colour. — Nkwtok. 
26 


202  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  iv. 

Under  a  tuft  of  shade,"  that  on  a  green 

Stood  whispering  soft,  by  a  fresh  fountain  side 

They  sat  them  down ;  and,  after  no  more  toil 

Of  their  sweet  gardening  labour  than  sufficed 

To  recommend  cool  zephyr,  and  made  ease 

More  easy,  wholesome  thirst  and  appetite 

More  grateful,  to  their  supper  fruits  they  fell, 

Nectarine  fruits,  which  the  compliant  boughs 

Yielded  them,  sidelong  as  they  sat  reclined 

On  the  soft  downy  bank  damask' d  with  flowers 

The  savoury  pulp  they  chew,  and  in  the  rind, 

Still  as  they  thirsted,  scoop  the  brimming  stream: 

Nor  gentle  purpose  nor  endearing  smiles 

Wanted,  nor  youthful  dalliance,  as  beseems 

Fair  couple,  link'd  in  happy  and  nuptial  league, 

Alone  as  they.     About  them  frisking  play'd 

All  beasts  of  the  earth,  since  wild,  and  of  all  chase 

In  wood  or  wilderness,  forest  or  den  : 

Sporting  the  lion  ramp'd,  and  in  his  paw 

Dandled  the  kid ;  bears,  tigers,  ounces,  parda, 

Gambol'd  before  them ;  the  unwieldy  elephant, 

To  make  them  mirth,  used  all  his  might,  and  wreathed 

His  lithe  proboscis ;  close  the  serpent  sly 

Insinuating,  wove  with  Gordian  twine 

His  braided  train,  and  of  his  fatal  guile 

Gave  proof  unheeded  ;  others  on  the  grass 

Couch'd,  and  now  fiU'd  with  pasture  gazing  sat, 

Or  bedward  ruminating ;  for  the  sun, 

Declined,  was  hasting  now  with  prone  career 

To  the  ocean  isles,  and  in  the  ascending  scale 

Of  heaven  the  stars  that  usher  evening  rose  : 

When  Satan  still  in  gaze,  no  first  he  stood, 

Scarce  thus  at  length  fail'd  speech  *  recover'd  sad  : — 

«  Under  a  tttft  of  shade. 

Milt  )n  appears  to  me  here  to  have  obligations  to  a  passage  of  the  "  Sarcotis,"  of 
Masenius.  I  must  also  observe,  that  Milton,  where  he  is  undoubtedly  to  be  traced,  still 
abounds  in  "those  masterly  beauties,  and  that  exquisite  colouring,"  which  in  othei 
poets  is  a  certain  index  of  originality.  But  I  conceive  that  when  Milton  in  his  vast 
and  extensive  reading  met  with  any  poetical  idea  that  was  congenial  to  his  own  vivid 
and  tasteful  imagination,  he  boldly  seized  it  and  considered  as  his  own,  and  worked 
upon  it  with  the  same  noble  confidence,  undiminished  by  that  sense  of  plagiarism,  and 
unrestrained  by  those  shackles  of  servile  imitation,  that  mark  the  common  "pecns 
ira  i  tatorum." — D  unstf.  r. 

The  truth  is,  that  Milton  almost  always  gave  a  new  character  to  what  he  took.  The 
similar  passages  so  numerously  pointed  out  by  cimmentators  are  not  similar  in  force 
and  poetical  spirit.  Words  simple  or  compound  may  be  borrowed  (as  from  Sylvester's 
"  Du  Bartas"),  but  the  context  and  application  are  difiForent.  Just  as  the  brick,  which, 
is  taken  from  a  cottage,  may  be  worked  into  the  walls  of  a  palace ;  but  is  the  architec- 
ture of  the  palace  therefore  taken  from  the  cottage  ? — Many  of  the  words  used  by  Milton 
may  be  found  in  the  most  miserable  poetasters  of  his  predecessors. 

*  Scarce  thus  at  length  fail'd  speech. 
Though  Satan  came  in  quest  of  Adam  and  Eve,  yet  he  is  struck  with  such  astonishment 
attho  sight  of  them,  that  it  is  a  long  time  before  he  can  recover  his  speech,  and  break 
forth  into  this  soliloquy :  and,  at  the  same  time,  this  dumb  admiration  of  Satan  gives 


BOOK   IV.] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


203 


0  hell !  wbat  do  mine  eyes  with  grief  behold  ? 
Into  our  I'oom  of  bliss  thus  high  advanced 
Creatures  of  other  mould,  earth-born  perhaps, 
Not  spirits,  yet  to  heavenly  spirits  bright 
Little  inferiour;  whom  my  thoughts  pursue 
With  wonder,  and  could  love ;  so  lively  shines 
In  them  divine  resemblance,  "and  such  grace 
The  hand  that  form'd  them  on  their  shape  hath  pour'd ! 
Ah  !  gentle  pair,  ye  little  think  how  nigh 
Your  change  approaches,  when  all  these  delights 
Will  vanish,  and  deliver  ye  to  woe ; 
More  woe,  the  more  your  taste  is  now  of  joy; 
Happy,  but  for  so  happy  ill  secured 
Long  to  continue;  and  this  high  seat  your  heaven 
111  fenced  for  heaven  to  keep  out  such  a  foe 
As  now  is  enter'd ;  yet  no  purposed  foe 
To  you,  whom  I  could  pity  thus  forlorn, 
Though  I  unpitied.     League  with  you  I  seek. 
And  mutual  amity,  so  strait,  so  close, 
That  I  with  you  must  dwell,  or  you  with  me 
Henceforth  :  my  dwelling  haply  may  not  please, 
Like  this  fair  Paradise,  your  sense ;  yet  such 
Accept,  your  Maker's  work  :  he  gave  it  me, 
Which  I  as  freely  give :  hell  shall  unfold," 
To  entertain  you  two,  her  widest  gates,     • 
And  send  forth  all  her  kings :  there  will  be  room, 
Not  like  these  narrow  limits,  to  receive 
Your  numerous  offspring ;  if  no  better  place, 
Thank  him  who  puts  me  loth  to  this  revenge 
On  you,  who  wrong  me  not,  for  him  who  wrong'd. 
And  should  I  at  your  harmless  innocence 
Melt,  as  I  do  ;  yet  public  reason  just. 
Honour  and  empire  with  revenge  enlarged, 
By  conquering  this  new  world,  compels  me  now^ 
To  do,  what  else,  though  damn'd,  I  should  abhor. 

So  spake  the  fiend  and  with  necessity. 
The  tyrant's  plea,  excused  his  devilish  deeds. 
Then  from  his  lofty  stand  on  that  high  tree 
Down  he  alights  among  the  sportful  herd 


the  poet  the  better  opportunity  of  enlarging  his  description  of  them, 
beautiful. — Newton. 


This  is  very 


"  Hell  shall  unfold. 
Isiiiah  xiv.  9:  "Hell  from  beneath  is  moved  for  thee  to  meet  theo  at  thy  coming;  it 
stirreth  up  the  dead  for  thee,  even  all  the  chief  ones  of  the  earth:  it  hath  raised  up 
from  their  thrones  all  the  kings  of  the  nations." — Gillies. 

»  Compels  me  now. 

Necessity,  the  tyrant's  plea. — Newton. 

The  same  plea  is  said  to  have  been  Cromwell's  apology  for  the  murder  of  the  king : 
for  it  is  related  that,  on  the  evening  of  the  execution  of  Charles,  the  arch-hypocrito 
walkeil  round  the  corpse,  as  it  lay  in  one  of  the  rooms  at  Whitehall,  muffled  up  in  a 
long  black  cloak^  and  repeating  to  himself  "  Dreadful  necessity !"  See  "  Europ.  Mag.'' 
vol.  XX.  p.  106,  and  the  "  Anecdotes  of  Distinguished  Persons,"  <fec.  vol.  i.  p.  254. — Todd. 


204  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  iv. 

Of  those  four-footed  kinds ;  himself  now  one, 
Now  other,  as  their  shape  served  best  his  end ; 
Nearer  to  view  his  prey,  and,  unespied, 
To  mark  what  of  their  state  he  more  might  learn, 
By  word  or  action  mark'd :  about  them  round 
A  lion  now  he  stalks  with  fiery  glare ; 
Then  as  a  tiger,  who  by  chaiiceiath  spied 
In  some  purlieu  two  gentle  fawns  at  play, 
Straight  couches  close ;  then,  rising,  changes  oft 
His  couchant  watch,  as  one  who  chose  his  ground, 
"Whence  rushing  he  might  surest  seize  them  both, 
Grriped  in  each  paw  :  wJien  Adam  first  of  men, 
To  first  of  women  Eve,  thus  moving  speech, 
Turn'd  him  all  ear  to  hear  new  utterance  flow : 

Sole  partner  and  sole  part  of  all  these  joys, 
Dearer  thyself  than  all ;  needs  must  the  Power 
That  made  us,  and  for  us  this  ample  world, 
Be  infinitely  good,  and  of  his  good 
As  liberal  and  free  as  infinite ; 
That  raised  us  from  the  dust,  and  placed  us  here 
In  all  this  happiness;  who  at  his  hand 
Have  nothing  merited,  nor  can  perform 
Aught  whereof  he  hath  need ;  he  who  requires 
From  us  no  other  service  than  to  keep 
This  one,  this  easy  charge;*  of  all  the  trees 
In  Paradise  that  bear  delicious  fruit 
So  various,  not  to  taste  that  only  Tree 
Of  Knowledge,  planted  by  the  Tree  of  Life ; 
So  near  grows  death  to  life,  whate'er  death  is ; 
Some  dreadful  thing  no  doubt :  for  well  thou  know'st 
God  hath  pronounced  it  death  to  taste  that  tree ; 
The  only  sign  of  our  obedience  left 
Among  so  many  signs  of  power  and  rule 
Conferr'd  upon  us;  and  dominion  given 
Over  all  other  creatures  that  possess 
Earth,  air,  and  sea.     Then  let  us  not  think  hard 
One  easy  prohibition,  who  enjoy 
Free  leave  so  large  to  all  things  else,  and  choice 
Unlimited  of  manifold  delights : 
But  let  us  ever  praise  him,  and  extol 
His  bounty ;  following  our  delightful  task 
To  prune  these  growing  plants,  and  tend  these  flowers; 
Which,  were  it  toilsome,  yet  with  thee  were  sweet. 

To  whom  thus  Eve  replied : — 0  thou,  for  whom 

•»  This  one,  this  easy  charge, 
rt  was  very  natural  for  Adam  to  discourse  of  this ;  and  this  was  what  Satan  wanted 
DBiTe  particularly  to  learn  :  and  it  is  expressed  from  God's  command,  Gen.  ii.  16,  17.  In 
like  manner,  when  Adam  says  afterwards,  "dominion  given  over  all  other  creatures," 
It  is  taken  fron.  the  divine  commission,  Gen.  i.  28.  These  things  are  so  evident,  that  it 
is  almost  superfluous  to  mention  them.  If  we  take  notice  of  them,  it  is  that  every 
reader  may  be  sensible  how  much  of  Scripture  our  author  has  wrought  into  this  divine 
poem.-  Nkwton. 


BOOK  IV.]  PARADISE  LOST.  205 

And  from  whom  I  was  form'd,  flesb  of  thy  flesh, 

And  without  whom  am  to  no  end,  my  guide 

And  head ;  what  thou  hast  said  is  just  and  right : 

For  we  to  him  indeed  all  praises  owe, 

And  daily  thanks  :  I  chiefly,  who  enjoy 

So  far  the  happier  lot,  enjoying  thee 

Pre-eminent  by  so  much  odds,  while  thou 

Like  consort  to  thyself  canst  no  where  find. 

That  day  I  oft  remember,"  when  from  sleep 

I  first  awaked,  and  found  myself  reposed 

Under  a  shade  on  flowers ;  much  wondering  where 

And  what  I  was,  whence  thither  brought,  and  how. 

Not  distant  far  from  thence  a  murmuring  sound 

Of  waters  issued  from  a  cave,  and  spread 

Into  a  liquid  plain ;  then  stood  unmoved, 

Pure  as  the  expanse  of  heaven  :  I  thither  went 

With  unexperienced  thought,  and  laid  me  down 

On  the  green  bank,  to  look  into  the  clear 

Smooth  lake,y  that  tome  seem'd  another  sky. 

As  T  bent  down  to  look,  just  opposite 

A  shape  within  the  watery  gleam  appear'd, 

Bending  to  look  on  me  :  I  started  back. 

It  started  back ;"  but  pleased  I  soon  retum'd, 

Pleased  it  return'd  as  soon  with  answering  looks 

Of  sympathy  and  love  :  there  I  had  fix'd 

Mine  eyes  till  now,  and  pined  with  vain  desire. 

Had  not  a  voice  thus  warn'd  me :    What  thou  seest, 

What  there  thou  seest,  fair  creature,  is  thyself; 

With  thee  it  came  and  goes :  but  follow  me, 

A.nd  I  will  bring  thee  where  no  shadow  stays 

^  That  day  1  oft  remefnber. 

From  this,  as  well  as  several  other  passages  in  the  poem,  it  appears  that  the  poei 
supposes  Aflatn  and  Eve  to  have  been  created,  and  to  have  lived  many  days  in  Paradise 
before  the  Fall.     See  b.  iv.  639,  680,  712,  and  b.  v.  31,  Ac— Newton. 

The  whole  of  this  passage  is  exquisitely  tender,  beautiful,  and  picturesque,  in  expres- 
sion, as  well  as  in  imagery  and  sentiment. 

y  To  look  into  the  clear 
Smooth  lake. 

This  account  that  Eve  gives  of  her  coming  to  a  lake,  and  there  falling  in  lore  with 
her  own  image,  when  she  had  seen  no  other  human  creature,  is  much  more  probable 
and  natural,  as  well  as  more  delicate  and  beautiful,  than  the  famous  story  of  Narci.sous, 
in  Ovid  ;  from  whom  Milton  manifestly  took  the  hint,  and  has  expressly  imitated  some 
passages  ;  but  has  avoided  all  his  puerilities,  without  lo.«ing  any  of  his  beauties ;  as  the 
reader  may  easilj"  observe  by  comparing  both  together  (Met.  iii.  457). — Newton. 

T  cannot  help  remarking  how  the  story  of  Narcissus  is  improved  by  this  application  : 
H^e  same  might  be  said  of  almost  every  passage  Milton  has  borrowed  from  the  ancients. 
The  improveraont  is  so  obvions  in  one  main  circumstance,  that  it  seems  needles-s  tc 
m€nti:n  it :  yet,  a^i  I  do  not  remember  that  Mr.  Addison  has  done  it,  I  will  just  observe, 
that  the  want  of  probability,  that  Narcissus,  who  had  lived  in  society,  should  be  so  fai 
deciivod  .as  lo  take  an  image  in  the  water  for  a  reality,  is  here  totally  removed.  We 
may  appiy  to  Milton  on  this  occasion  wRat  Aristotle  says  of  Homer,  that  he  taught 
poets  how  to  lie  properly. — Stillingfleet. 

*  /  started  baekj 
It  ttarted  back. 

How  admirably  expressed ! 


206 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[book   IV. 


Thy  coming,  and  thy  soft  embraces ;  he 

Whose  image  thou  art,  him  thou  shalt  enjoy 

Inseparably  thine  ;  to  him  shalt  bear 

Multitudes  like  thyself,  and  thence  be  called 

Mother  of  human  race.     What  could  I  do, 

But  follow  straight,  invisibly  thus  led  ? 

Till  I  espied  thee,  fair  indeed  and  tall, 

Under  a  platane ;  yet,  methought,  less  fair. 

Less  winning  soft,  less  amiably  mild, 

Than  that  smooth  watery  image.     Back  I  turn'd : 

Thou  following  criedst  aloud,  Return,  fair  Eve ; 

Whom  fliest  thou  ?  whom  thou  fliest,  of  him  thou  art, 

His  flesh,  his  bone ;  to  give  thee  being  I  lent 

Out  of  my  side  to  thee,  nearest  my  heart, 

Substantial  life ;  to  have  thee  by  my  side 

Henceforth  an  individual  solace  dear. 

Part  of  my  soul,  I  seek  thee,  and  thee  claim, 

My  other  half :  with  that  thy  gentle  hand 

Seized  mine  :  I  yielded  :  and  from  that  time  see 

How  beauty  is  excell'd  by  manly  grace 

And  wisdom,  which  alone  is  truly  fair. 

So  spake  our  general  mother ;"  and  with  eyes 
Of  conjugal  attraction  unreproved 
And  meek  surrender,  half-embracing  lean'd 
On  our  first  father;  half  her  swelling  breast 
Naked  met  his,  under  the  flowing  gold 
Of  her  loose  tresses  hid :  he,  in  delight 
Both  of  her  beauty  and  submissive  charms, 
Smiled  with  superior  love ;  as  Jupiter 
On  Juno  smiles,  when  he  impregns  the  clouds 
That  shed  May  flowers  ;  and  press'd  her  matron  lip 
With  kisses  pure.     Aside  the  devil  turn'd 
For  envy;  yet  with  jealous  leer  malign 
Eyed  them  askance,  and  to  himself  thus  plain'd : 

Sight  hateful,  sight  tormenting  !  thus  these  two, 
Imparadised  in  one  another's  arms, 
The  happier  Eden,  shall  enjoy  their  fill 
Of  bliss  on  bliss ;  while  I  to  hell  am  thrust. 
Where  neither  joy  nor  love,  but  fierce  desire, 
Among  our  other  torments  not  the  least. 
Still  unfulfill'd  with  pain  of  longing  pines. 
Yet  let  me  not  forget  what  I  have  gain'd 

»  So  spake  our  general  mother. 
What  a  charming  picture  of  love  and  innocence  has  the  poet  given  us  in  this  para- 
graph !  There  is  the  greatest  warmth  of  affection,  and  yet  the  most  exact  delicacy  and 
decorum.  One  would  have  thought  that  a  scene  of  this  nature  could  not,  with  any  con- 
sistency, have  been  introduced  into  a  divine  poem ;  and  yet  our  authcr  has  so  nicelj 
and  judiciously  covered  the  soft  description  with  a  veil  of  modesty,  that  the  purest  and 
chastest  mind  can  find  no  room  for  offence.  The  meek  surrender,  and  the  half-embrace- 
ment,  are  circumstances  inimitable.  An  Italian's  imaginatioii  would  have  hurried  hie 
the  length  often  or  a  dozen  stanzas  upon  this  occasion,  and  Mith  its  luxuriant  wildness 
changed  A  lam  and  Eve  into  a  Vonus  and  Adonis. — Thykr. 


BOOK  IT  ]  PARADISE  LOST.        207 

From  their  own  mouths ;  all  is  not  theirs,  it  seems : 

One  fatal  tree  there  stands,  of  Knowledge  call'd. 

Forbidden  them  to  taste  :  knowledge  forbidden  ?  * 

Suspicious,  reasonless.     Why  should  their  Lord 

Envy  them  that  ?  can  it  be  sin  to  know  ? 

Can  it  be  death  ?  and  do  they  only  stand 

By  ignorance  ?  is  that  their  happy  state, 

The  proof  of  their  obedience  and  their  faith  ? 

0  fair  foundation  laid  vrhereon  to  build 

Their  ruin  !  hence  I  will  excite  their  minds 

With  more  desire  to  know,  and  to  reject 

En\  ious  commands,  invented  with  design 

To  keep  them  low,  whom  knowledge  might  exalt 

Equal  with  Grods ;  aspiring  to  be  such. 

They  taste  and  die :  what  likelier  can  ensue  ? 

But  first  with  narrow  search  I  must  walk  round 

This  garden,  and  no  corner  leave  unspied; 

A  chance  but  chance  may  lead  where  I  may  meet 

Some  wandering  spirit  of  heaven  by  fountain  side 

Or  in  thick  shade  retired,  from  him  to  draw 

What  farther  would  be  learn'd.     Live  while  ye  may,* 

Yet  happy  pair ;  enjoy,  till  I  return. 

Short  pleasures ;  for  long  woes  are  to  succeed. 

So  saying,  his  proud  step  he  scornful  turn'd, 
But  with  sly  circumspection,  and  began 
Through  wood,  through  waste,  o'er  hill,  o'er  dale,  his  roam. 
Meanwhile  in  utmost  longitude,  where  heaven 
With  earth  and  ocean  meets,  the  setting  sun 
Slowly  descended,  and  with  right  aspect 
Against  the  eastern  gate  of  Paradise 
Level'd  his  evening  rays  :  it  was  a  rock 
Of  alabaster,  piled  up  to  the  clouds*^ 
Conspicuous  far,  winding  with  one  ascent 
Accessible  from  earth,  one  entrance  high; 
The  rest  was  craggy  clifi",  that  overhung 
Still  as  it  rose,  impossible  to  climb. 
Betwixt  these  rocky  pillars  Gabriel  sat,* 
Chief  of  the  angelic  guards,  awaiting  night ; 
About  him  exercised  heroic  games 

q  Knowledge  forbidden. 
This  is  artfully  perverted  by  Satan,  as  if  some  useful  and  necessary  knowledge  was 
forbidden;  wliereas  our  first  parents  were  created  witli  perfect  understanding ;  and  tiie 
only  knowledge  tiiat  was  forbidden  was  the  knowledge  of  evil  by  the  commiBsion  of  it. 
—Newton. 

c  Live  while  ye  may. 
This  is  one  of  those  exclamations  of  Satan,  while  wavering  in  wickedness  and  half- 
repenting  his  malicious  designs  on  the  happiness  of  innocent  bjings. 

^  Gabriel  sat. 

One  of  the  archangels  sent  to  show  Daniel  the  vision  of  the  four  monarchies  and  the 

seventy  weeks,  Dan.  vii.  ix. ;  and  to  the  Virgin  Mary,  to  reveal  the  incarnation  of  o'lr 

Saviour,  Luke  i.     His  name  in  Hebrew  signifies  the  TOorn  of  God,  or  the  strinyth  and 

power  of  God;  well  posted  as  chief  of  the  angelic  guards  placed  about  Paradis9. — JltJUB 


208  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  it. 

The  unarm'd  youth  of  heaven ;  but  nigh  at  hand 
Celestial  armoury,  shields,  helms,  and  spears, 
Hung  high  with  diamond  flaming  and  with  gold. 
Thither  came  Uriel,  gliding  through  the  even 
On  a  sunbeam,  swift  as  a  shooting  star 
In  autumn  thwarts  the  night,  when  vapours  fired 
Impress  the  air,  and  show  the  mariner 
From  what  point  of  his  compass  to  beware 
Impetuous  winds  :  he  thus  began  in  haste  : — 

Grabriel,  to  thee  thy  course  by  lot  hath  given 
Charge  and  strict  watch,  that  to  this  happy  place 
No  evil  thing  approach  or  enter  in. 
This  day  at  highth  of  noon  came  to  my  sphere. 
A  spirit,  zealous,  as  he  seem'd,  to  know        , 
More  of  the  Almighty's  works,  and  chiefly  man, 
God's  latest  image  :  1  described  his  way 
Bent  all  on  speed,  and  mark'd  his  aery  gait; 
But  in  the  mount  that  lies  from  Eden  north, 
Where  he  first  lighted,  soon  discern'd  his  looks 
Alien  from  heaven,  with  passions  foul  obscured: 
Mine  eye  pursued  him  still,  but  under  shade 
Lost  sight  of  him  :  one  of  the  banish'd  crew, 
I  fear,  hath  ventured  from  the  deep,  to  raise 
New  troubles ;  him  thy  care  must  be  to  fin?t. 

To  whom  the  winged  warrior  thus  return'd  : 
Uriel,  no  wonder  if  thy  perfect  sight. 
Amid  the  sun's  bright  circle  where  thou  sitt'st, 
See  far  and  wide  :  in  at  this  gate  none  pass 
The  vigilance  here  placed,  but  such  as  come 
Well  known  from  heaven ;  and  since  meridian  hour 
No  creature  thence.     If  spirit  of  other  sort, 
So  minded,  have  o'erleap'd  these  earthly  bounds 
On  purpose,  hard  thou  know'st  it  to  exclude 
Spiritual  substance  with  corporeal  bar. 
But  if  within  the  circuit  of  these  walks 
In  whatsoever  shape  he  lurk,  of  whom 
Thou  tell'st,  by  morrow  dawning  I  shall  know. 

So  promised  he ;  and  Uriel  to  his  charge 
Return'd  on  that  bright  beam,  whose  point  now  raised 
Bore  hirn  slope  downwards  to  the  sun,  now  fallen 
Beneath  the  Azores;  whether  the  prime  orb, 
Incredible  how  swift,  had  thither  roU'd 
Liurnal ;  or  this  less  volubil  earth, 
By  shorter  flight  to  the  east,  had  left  him  there, 
Arraying  with  reflected  purple  and  gold 
The  clouds  that  on  his  western  throne  attend. 
Now  came  still  evening  on,«  and  twilight  gray' 

'  Now  came  still  evining  on. 
This  is  the  first  evening  in  the  poem ;  for  the  action  of  the  preceding  hooks  lying 
out  of  the  sphere  of  the  sun,  the  time  coula  not  be  computed.     When  Satan  camo  first 
to  the  ear:h.  and  made  that  famous  soliloquy  at  the  beginning  of  this  book,  the  sun 


BOOK  IV.]  PARADISE  LOST.  209 

Had  in  her  sober  livery  all  things  clad  : 
Silence  accompanied ;  for  beast  and  bird, 
They  to  their  grassy  couch,  these  to  their  nests, 
Were  slunk,  all  but  the  wakeful  nightingale ; 
She  all  night  long  her  amorous  descant  sung ;  s 
Silence  was  pleased  :  ^  now  glow'd  the  firmament 
With  living  sapphires  :  Hesperus,  that  led 
The  starry  host,  rode  brightest,  till  the  moon, 
Bising  in  clouded  majesty,  at  length. 
Apparent  queen,  unveil'd  her  peerless  light, 
And  o'er  the  dark  her  silver  mantle  threw. 

Wl?en  Adam  thus  to  Eve  :  Fair  consort,  the  hour 
Of  night,  and  all  things  now  retired  to  rest. 
Mind  us  of  like  repose ;  since  God  hath  set 
Labour  and  rest,  as  day  and  night,  to  men 
Successive  ;  and  the  timely  dew  of  sleep. 
Now  falling  with  soft  slumbrous  weight,  inclines 
Our  eyelids :  other  creatures  all  day  long 
Rove  idle,  unemploy'd,  and  less  need  rest : 
Man  hath  his  daily  work  of  body  or  mind 
Appointed,  which  declares  his  dignity. 
And  the  regard  of  Heaven  on  all  his  ways ; 
While  other  animals  unactive  range. 
And  of  their  doings  God  takes  no  account. 
To-morrow,  ere  fresh  morning  streak  the  east 
With  first  approach  of  light,  we  must  be  risen, 
And  at  our  pleasant  labour,  to  reform 

was  "high  in  his  meridian  tower;"  and  this  is  the  even-ing  of  that  day;  and  surely 
there  never  was  a  finer  evening: — words  cannot  furnish  out  a  more  lovely  description. 
The  greatest  poets  in  all  ages  have,  as  it  were,  vied  one  with  another  in  their  descrip- 
tion of  evening  and  night ;  but,  for  the  variety  of  numbers  and  pleasing  images,  I  know 
of  nothing  parallel  or  comparable  to  this  to  be  found 'among  all  the  treasures  of  ancient 
or  modern  poetry. — Newton. 

This  praise  is  not  too  high  :  the  imagery  consists  of  the  most  extraordinary  union  of 
richness,  nature,  and  simplicity ;  and  this  is  equally  true  of  the  expression. 

f  Twilight  gray. 
Milton  is  very  singular  in  the  frequent  and  particular  notice  which  he  takes  of  the 
tieilight,  whenever  he  has  occasion  to  speak  of  the  evening.  I  do  not  remember  to 
have  met  with  the  same  in  any  other  poet;  and  yet  there  is,  to  be  sure,  something  so 
agreeable  in  that  soft  and  gentle  light,  and  such  a  peculiar  fragrance  attends  it  in  the 
summer  months,  that  it  is  a  circumstance  which  adds  great  beauty  to  his  description. 
I  have  often  thought  that  the  weakness  of  our  poet's  eyes,  to  which  this  kind  of  light 
must  be  vastly  pleasant,  might  be  the  reason  that  he  so  often  introduces  the  mention 
of  it.— Thyer. 

The  two  following  lines  of  Mason  were  much  admired  by  Gray : 
While  from  the  west,  whore  sinks  the  crimson  day, 
Mock  Twilight  slowly  sails,  and  waves  her  banners  gray. 

•   K  Her  amorous  descant  sitng. 
Lsaac  Walton,  in  his  "  Complete  Angler,"  has  the  following  passage  on  the  nightin- 
gale : — "  He  that  at  midnight  should  hear,  as  I  have  often  done,  the  sweet  descants,  the 
natural  rising  and  falling,  the  doubling  and  redoubling  of  the  nightingale's  voice,  might 
well  be  lifted  above  earth." — Todd. 

h  Silence  teas  pleased. 
This  personification  is  taken,  though  it  happens  not  to  be  observed  by  any  of  the 
comment-itors,  from  the  "  Hero  and  Leandcr"  of  Mnsaeus,  v.  280.—- Jos.  Wartok. 
27 


210  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  iv. 

yon  flowery  arbours,  yonder  alleys  green, 
Our  walk  at  noon  with  branches  overgrown, 
That  mock  our  scant  manuring,  and  require 
More  hands  than  ours  to  lop  their  wanton  growth : 
Those  blossoms  also,  and  those  dropping  gums, 
That  lie  bestrown,  unsightly  and  unsmooth, 
Ask  riddance,  if  we  mean  to  tread  with  ease ; 
Meanwhile,  as  nature  wills,  night  bids  us  rest. 

To  whom  thus  Eve,  with  perfect  beauty  adom'd : 
My  author  and  disposer,  what  thou  bidd'st 
Unargued  I  obey ;  so  God  ordains. 
God  is  thy  law,  thou  mine  :  to  know  no  more 
Is  woman's  happiest  knowledge  and  her  praise. 
With  thee  conversing,  I  forgot  all  time ; 
All  seasons,  and  their  change,  all  please  alike. 
Sweet  is  the  breath  of  morn,  her  rising  sweet. 
With  charm  of  earliest  birds  ;  pleasant  the  sun. 
When  first  on  this  delightful  land  he  spreads 
His  orient  beams,  on  herb,  tree,  fruit,  and  flower, 
Glistering  with  dew ;  fragrant  the  fertile  earth 
After  soft  showers ;  and  sweet  the  coming  on 
Of  grateful  evening  mild  ;  then  silent  night, 
With  this  her  solemn  bird,  and  this  fair  moon. 
And  these  the  gems  of  heaven,  her  starry  train : 
But  neither  breath  of  morn,  when  she  ascends 
With  flharm  of  earliest  birds;  nor  rising  sun 
On  this  delightful  land ;  nor  herb,  fruit,  flower, 
Glistering  with  dew ;  nor  fragrance  after  showers; 
Nor  grateful  evening  mild ;  nor  silent  night. 
With  this  her  solemn  bird,  nor  walk  by  moon. 
Or  glittering  starlight,  without  thee  is  sweet. 
But  wherefore  all  night  long  shine  these  ?  for  whom 
This  gloripus  sight,  when  sleep  hath  shut  all  eyes  ? 

To  whom  our  general  ancestor  replied  : 
Daughter  of  God  and  men,  accomplish'd  Eve, 
Those  have  their  course  to  finish,  round  the  earth, 
By  morrow  evening;  and  from  land  to  land 
In  order,  though  to  nations  yet  unborn. 
Ministering  light  prepared,  they  set  and  rise; 
Lest  total  darkness  should  by  night  regain 
Her  old  possession,  and  extinguish  life 
In  nature  and  all  things ;  which  these  soft  fires 
Not  only  enlighten,  but  with  kindly  heat 
Of  various  influence  foment  and  warm. 
Temper  or  nourish,  or  in  part  shed  down 
Their  stellar  virtue'  on  all  kinds  that  grow 

i  TTieir  stellar  virtue. 

As  Milton  was  an  universal  scholar,  so  he  had  not  a  little  anectation  of  showing  his 
learning  of  all  kinds,  and  makes  Adam  discourse  here  somewliat  like  an  adept  in 
astrology,  which  was  too  much  the  philosophy  of  his  own  times.    What  he  says  after- 


BOOK  IV.]  PARADISE  LOST.  211 

On  earth,  made  hereby  apter  to  receive 

Perfection  from  the  sun's  more  potent  ray. 

These  then,  though  unbeheld  in  deep  of  night. 

Shine  not  in  vain ;  nor  think,  though  men  were  none, 

That  heaven  would  want  spectators,  God  want  praise : 

Millions  of  spiritual  creatures  walk  the  earth 

Unseen,  both  when  we  wake,  and  when  we  sleep : 

All  these  with  ceaseless  praise  his  works  behold 

Both  day  and  night.     JT  >w  often  from  the  steep 

Of  echoing  hill  or  thicket  have  we  heard 

Celestial  voices^  to  the  midnight  air, 

Sole,  or  responsive  each  to  other's  note. 

Singing  their  great  Creator !  oft  in  bands 

While  they  keep  watch,  or  nightly  rounding  walk, 

With  heavenly  touch  of  instrulnental  sounds, 

In  full  harmonic  number  join'd,  their  songs 

Divide  the  night,  and  lift  our  thoughts  to  heaven. 

Thus  talking,  hand  in  hand  alone  they  pass'd 
On  to  their  blissful  bower :  it  was  a  place 
Chosen  by  the  sovran  Planter,  when  he  framed 
All  things  to  man's  delightful  use :  the  roof 
Of  thickest  covert  was  inwoven  shade, 
Laurel  and  myrtle,  and  what  higher  grew 
Of  firm  and  fragrant  leaf:  on  either  side 
Acanthus  and  each  odorous  bushy  shrub 
Fenced  up  the  verdant  wall ;  each  beauteous  flower, 
Iris  all  hues,  roses,  and  jessamin, 

Rear'd  high  their  flourish'd  heads  between,  and  wrought 
Mosaic ;  underfoot  the  violet. 
Crocus,  and  hyacinth,  with  rich  inlay 
Broider'd  the  ground,  more  colour'd  than  with  stone 
Of  costliest  emblem  :  other  creafure  here. 
Bird,  beast,  insect,  or  worm,  durst  enter  none ; 
Such  was  their  awe  of  man.     In  shadier  bower 
More  sacred  and  sequester' d,  though  but  feign' d. 
Pan  or  Sylvanus  never  slept;  nor  nymph 
Nor  Faunus  haunted.     Here,  in  close  recess, 
With  flowers,  garlands,  and  sweet-smelling  herbs, 

wards  of  numberless  spiritual  creatures  walking  the  earth  unseen,  and  joining  \o 
praises  to  their  great  Creator,  is  of  a  nobler  strain ,  more  agreeable  to  reason  and  reve- 
lation, as  well  as  more  pleasing  to  the  imagination ;  and  seems  to  be  an  imitation  bnd 
improvement  of  Hesiod's  notion  of  good  genii,  the  guardians  of  mortal  men,  clothed 
with  air,  wandering  everywhere  through  the  earth. — Newton. 

1  Celestial  voices. 
This  notion  of  their  singing  thus  by  night  is  agreeable  to  the  account  given  by 
Lucretius,  iv.  583. 

({uomm  noctivago  strepitu,  ludoque  jocanti, 
Adfirmant  volgo  tticiturna  silentia  rumpi, 
ChorUarumque  sonos  fieri  dulcesque  querelas, 
Tioia  quas  fundit  digitis  pulsata  canentum.       Newton. 

See  the  present  editor's  translation  of  this  beautiful  passage  of  Lucretius,  thrown  into 
a  sonnet  among  his  Poems,  published  March,  1786.  8vo, 


212  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  iv. 

Espoused  Eve  deck'd  first  her  nuptial  bed ; 
And  heavenly  quires  the  hymenaean  sung, 
What  day  the  genial  angel  to  our  sire 
Brought  her,  in  naked  beauty  more  adorn'd, 
More  lovely,  than  Pandora,  whom  the  gods 
Endow'd  with  all  their  gifts ;  and,  0 1  too  like 
In  sad  event,  when  to  the  unwiser  son 
Of  Japhet  brought  by  Hermes  she  ensnared 
Mankind  with  her  fair  looks,  to  be  avenged 
On  him  who  had  stole  Jove's  authentic  Sre. 

Thus,  at  their  shady  lodge  arrived,  both  stood, 
Both  turn'd,  and  under  open  sky  adored 
The  God  that  made  both  sky,  air,  earth,  and  heaven 
Which  they  beheld,  the  moon's  resplendent  globe, 
And  starry  pole.     Thou  also  madest  the  night, 
Maker  Omnipotent,  and  thou  the  day. 
Which  we,  in  our  appointed  work  employ 'd, 
Have  finish'd  happy  in  our  mutual  help 
And  mutual  love,  the  crown  of  all  our  bliss 
Ordain'd  by  thee ;  and  this  delicious  place. 
For  us  too  large,  where  thy  abundance  wants 
Partakers,  and  uncropt  falls  to  the  ground. 
But  thou  hast  promised  from  us  two  a  race 
To  fill  the  earth,  who  shall  with  us  extol 
Thy  goodness  infinite ;  both  when  we  wake, 
And  when  we  seek,  as  now,  thy  gift  of  sleep. 

This  said  unanimous,  and  other  rites 
Observing  none,  but  adoration  pure. 
Which  God  likes  best,  into  their  inmost  bower 
Handed  they  went;  and,  eased  the  putting  oiF 
These  troublesome  disguises  which  we  wear, 
Straight  side  by  side  were  laid ;  nor  turn'd,  I  ween, 
Adam  from  his  fair  spouse,  nor  Eve  the  rites 
Mysterious  of  connubial  love  refused  : 
Whatever  hypocrites  austerely  talk 
Of  purity,  and  place,  and  innocence ; 
Defaming  as  impure  what  God  declares 
Pure,  and  commands  to  some,  leaves  free  to  all 
Our  Maker  bids  increase ;  who  bids  abstain 
But  our  destroyer,  foe  to  God  and  man  ? 
Hail,  wedded  love,  mysterious  law,  true  source 
Of  human  offspring,  sole  propriety 
In  Paradise  of  all  things  common  else  ! 
By  thee  adulterous  lust  was  driven  from  men 
Among  the  bestial  herds  to  range;  by  thee, 
Founded  in  reason,  loyal,  just,  and  pure, 
Keiations  dear,  and  all  the  charities 
Of  father,  son,  and  brother,  first  were  known. 
Far  be  it  that  I  should  write  thee  sin  or  blame, 
Or  think  thee  unbefitting  holiest  place  ; 
Perpetual  fountain  of  domestic  sweets. 


BOOK  IV.]  PARADISE  LOST.  213 

Whose  bed  is  undefiled "  and  chaste  pronounced, 
Present,  or  past,  as  saints  and  patriarchs  used. 
Here  Love  his  golden  shafts  employs,  here  lights 
His  constant  lamp,  and  waves  his  purple  wings, 
Reigns  here  and  revels;  not  in  the  bought  smile 
Of  harlots,  loveless,  joyless,  unendear'd, 
Casual  fruition ;  nor  in  court-amours, 
Mix'd  dance,  or  wanton  mask,*  or  midnight  ball, 
Or  serenate,  which  the  starved  lover  sings 
To  his  proud  fair,  best  quitted  with  disdain. 
These,  luU'd  by  nightingales,  embracing  slept, 
And  on  their  naked  limbs  the  flowery  roof 
Shower'd  roses,  which  the  morn  repair'd.     Sleep  on, 
Blest  pair ;  and,  0  !  yet  happiest ;  if  ye  seek 
No  happier  state,  and  know  to  know  no  more ! 

Now  had  night  measured  with  her  shadowy  cone" 
Half  way  up  hill  this  vast  sublunar  vault ; 
And  from  their  ivory  port"  the  cherubim. 
Forth  issuing  at  the  accustom'd  hour,  stood  arm'd 
To  their  night-watches  in  warlike  parade ;      , 
When  Gabriel  to  his  next  in  power  thus  spake  : 

Uzziel,°  half  these  draw  ofi",  and  coast  the  south 
With  strictest  watch  ;  these  other  wheel  the  north  : 
Our  circuit  meets  full  west.     As  flame  they  part,p 

k  Whose  bed  ie  undefiled. 
In  allusion  to  Heb.  xiii.  4.  "Marriage  is  honourable  in  all,  and  the  bed  undefiled." 
And  Milton  must  have  had  a  good  opinion  of  marriage,  cr  he  would  never  have  had 
three  wives:  and  though  this  panegyric  upon  wedded  love  may  be  condemned  as  a 
digression,  yet  it  can  hardly  be  called  a  digression,  when  it  grows  so  naturally  out  of 
the  subject,  and  is  introduced  so  properly,  while  the  action  of  the  poem  is  in  a  manner 
suspended,  and  while  Adam  and  Eve  are  lying  down  to  sleep :  and  if  morality  be  one 
great  end  of  poetry,  that  end  cannot  be  better  promoted  than  by  such  digreMlons  as 
this,  and  that  upon  hypocrisy  at  the  latter  part  of  the  third  book. — Newton. 

1  Mix'd  dance,  or  wanton  mask. 
An  apparent  sarcasm  on  the  dissolute  court  of  Charles  II. 

ni  With  her  shadowy  cone. 
A  cone  is  a  figure  round  at  bottom ;  and,  lessening  all  the  way,  ends  in  a  point. — 
Richardson. 

o  Their  ivory  port. 
We  cannot  conceive  that  here  is  any  allusion  to  the  ivory  gate  of  sleep,  mentioned  by 
Homer  and  Virgil,  from  whence  false  dreams  proceeded;  for  the  poet  could  nerei 
intend  to  insinuate,  that  what  he  was  saying  about  the  angelic  guards  was  all  a  fiction  ; 
as  the  rock  was  of  alabaster,  ver.  543,  so  he  makes  the  gate  of  ivory,  which  was  very 
proper  for  an  eastern  gate,  as  the  finest  ivory  comes  from  the  East ; 

India  rnittit  ebur. — Virg.  G«org  i.  57. 
and  houses  and  palaces  of  ivory  are  mentioned  as  instances  of  magnificence  in  Seriptare. 
as  are  likewise  doors  of  ivory  in  Ovid,  Met.  iv.  185. — Newton. 

o  Uzziel. 
The  next  commanding  angel  to  Gabriel :  his  name  in  Hebrew  is  the  strength  of  Qod, 
as  all  God's  mighty  angels  are. — Hume. 

p  As  flame  they  part. 

This  break  in  the  verse  is  excellently  adapted  to  the  subject.     They  part,  as  the 

flame  divides  into  separate  wreaths :  a  short  simile,  but  expressive  of  their  quickness 

and  rapidity,  and  of  the  brightness  and  splendour  of  their  armour  at  the  same  time 

Homer,  in  the  second  book  of  the  Iliad,  comparas  the  march  of  the  Trojans  to  the 


214  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  it. 

Half  wheeling  to  the  shield,  half  to  the  spear. 
From  these  two  strong  and  subtle  spirits  he  call'd 
That  near  him  stood,  and  gave  them  thus  in  charge : 

Ithuriel  and  Zephoni  with  wing'd  speed 
Search  through  this  garden,  leave  unsearch'd  no  nook; 
But  chiefly  where  those  two  fair  creatures  lodge, 
Now  laid  perhaps  asleep,  secure  of  harm. 
This  evening  from  the  sun's  decline  arrived, 
Who  tells  of  some  infernal  spirit  seen 
Hitherward  bent  (who  could  have  thought?)  escaped 
The  bars  of  hell,  on  errand  bad  no  doubt  : 
Such,  where  ye  find,  seize  fast,  and  hither  bring. 

So  saying,  on  he  led  his  radiant  files. 
Dazzling  the  moon ;  these  to  the  bower  direct 
In  search  of  him  they  sought :  him  there  they  found 
Squat  like  a  toad,  close  at  the  ear  of  Eve, 
Assaying  by  his  devilish  art  to  reach 
The  organs  of  her  fancy,  and  with  them  forge 
Illusions  as  he  list,  phantasms,  and  dreams; 
Or  if,  inspiring  venom,  he  might  taint 
The  animal  spirits,  that  from  pure  blood  arise 
Like  gentle  breaths  from  rivers  pure  ;  thence  raise 
At  least  distemper'd,  discontented  thoughts, 
Vain  hopes,  vain  aims,  inordinate  desires. 
Blown  up  with  high  conceits  ingendering  pride. 
Him  thus  intent  Ithuriel  with  his  spear 
Touch'd  lightly;  for  no  falsehood  can  endure 
Touch  of  celestial  temper,  but  returns 
Of  force  to  its  own  likeness :  up  he  starts 
Discbver'd  and  surprised. ■■     As  when  a  spark 
Lights  on  a  heap  of  nitrous  powder,  laid 
Fit  for  the  tun,  some  magazine  to  store 
•    Against  a  runiour'd  war;  the  smutty  grain, 
With  sudden  blaze  diffused,  inflames  the  air ; 
So  started  up  in  his  own  shape  the  fiend. 
Back  stepp'd  those  two  fair  angels,  half  amazed 
So  sudden  to  behold  the  grisly  king; 
Yet  thus,  unmoved  with  fear,  accost  him  soon : 

Which  of  those  rebel  spirits  adjudged  to  hell 
Comest  thou,  escaped  thy  prison  ?  and,  transform'd, 
Why  sat'st  thou  like  an  enemy  in  wait, 
Here  watching  at  the  head  of  these  that  sleep  ? 

flame;  but  this  simile  is  better  suited  to  those  beings,  of  whom  the  Scripturo says, 
"He  maketh  his  angels  spirits,  and  his  ministers  a  flame  of  fire." — Newton. 

<i  Ithuriel  and  Zephon. 

Two  angels  having  their  names  as  indicative  of  their  olRces.     Ithuriel,  in  Hebrew 
the  diaaovery  of  Ood:  Zephon,  in  Hebrew,  a  secret,  or  searcher  of  secrets — UvMS 

r  Up  he  storto 
Diseover'd  and  surprised. 
ThU)  is  B  magnificent  image,  magnificently  exprensed. 


BOOK  IV.]  PARADISE  LOST.  215 

Know  ye  not  then,  said  Satan,  fill'd  with  scorn, 
Know  ye  not  me  ?  ye  knew  me  once  no  mate 
For  you,  there  sitting  where  ye  durst  not  soar : 
Not  to  know  me  argues  yourselves  unknown, 
The  lowest  of  your  throng ;  or,  if  ye  know, 
Why  ask  ye,  and  superfluous  begin 
Your  message,  like  to  end  as  much  in  vain  ? 

To  whom  thus  Zephon,  answering  scorn  with  scorn : — 
Think  not,  revolted  spirit,  thy  shape  the  same, 
Or  undiminish'd  brightness  to  be  known. 
As  when  thou  stood' st  in  heaven  upright  and  pure : 
That  glory  then,  when  thou  no  more  wast  good, 
Departed  from  thee,  and  thou  resemblest  now 
Thy  sin  and  place  of  doom  obscure  and  foul. 
But  come ;  for  thou,  be  sure,  shalt  give  account 
To  him  who  sent  us,  whose  charge  is  to  keep 
This  place  inviolable,  and  these  from  harm. 

So  spake  the  cherub ;  and  his  grave  rebuke, 
Severe  in  youthful  beauty,  added  grace 
Invincible  :  abash'd  the  devil  stood, 
And  felt  how  awful  goodness  is,  and  saw 
Virtue  in  her  shape  how  lovely ;  *  saw,  and  pined 
His  loss  :  but  chiefly  to  find  here  observed  ' 

His  lustre  visibly  impair'd ;  yet  seem'd 
Undaunted.     If  I  must  contend,  said  he, 
Best  with  the  best,  the  sender  not  the  sent, 
Or  all  at  once ;  more  glory  will  be  won. 
Or  less  be  lost.     Thy  fear,  said  Zephon  bold, 
Will  save  us  trial  what  the  least  can  do 
Single  against  thee,  wicked  and  thence  weak. 

The  fiend  replied  not,  overcome  with  rage ; 
But,  like  a  proud  steed  rein'd,  went  haughty  on, 
Champing  his  iron  curb  :  to  strive  or  fly 
He  held  it  vain  ;  awe  from  above  had  quell'd 
His  heart,  not  else  dismay'd.     Now  drew  they  nigh 
The  western  point,  where  those  half-rounding  guards 
Just  met,  and  closing  stood  in  squadron  join'd. 
Awaiting  next  command.     To  whom  their  chief, 
Gabriel,  from  the  front  thus  call'd  aloud : — 

0  friends  !    I  hear  the  tread  of  nimble  feet 
Hasting  this  way,  and  now  by  glimpse  discern 
Ithuriol  and  Zephon  through  the  shade ; 
And  with  them  comes  a  third  of  regal  port. 
But  fad  ;d  splendour  wan  j  who  by  his  gait 
And  fierce  demeauour  seems  the  prince  of  hell, 
Nor  likely  tj  part  hence  without  contest : 

•  Virtue  in  her  shape  hoxo  lovely. 
What  is  said  here  of  seeing  "  virrae  in  her  shape  how  lovely,"  is  manifestly  borrowed 
from  Plato  aud  Cicero : — "  Formam  quidem  ipsam  et  quasi  faciem  honesti  vides,  quae  ai 
oculis  cerneretur,  rairabiles  amores  (ut  ait  Plato)  excitaret  sapientiue."     Cio.  de  Ofl'. — 
Nkwton. 


216  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  iv. 

Stand  firm ;  for  in  his  look  defiance  lours. 

He  scarce  had  ended,  when  those  two  approach'd, 
And  brief  related  whom  they  brought,  where  found, 
How  busied,  in  what  form  and  posture  couch'd 

To  whom  with  stern  regard  thus  Grabriel  spake : 
Why  hast  thou,  Satan,  broke  the  bounds  prescribed' 
To  thy  transgressions?  and  disturb'd  the  charge 
Of  others,  who  approve  not  to^  transgress 
By  thy  example  ?  but  have  power  and  right 
To  question  thy  bold  entrance  on  this  place; 
Employ'd,  it  seems,  to  violate  sleep,  and  those 
Whose  dwelling  God  hath  planted  here  in  bliss. 

To  whom  thus  Satan,  with  contemptuous  brow : 
Gabriel,  thou  hadst  in  heaven  the  esteem  of  wise, 
And  such  I  held  thee;  but  this  question  ask'd 
Puts  me  in  doubt.     Lives  there  who  loves  his  pain  ? 
Who  would  not,  finding  way,  break  loose  from  hell. 
Though  thither  doom'd  ?  thou  wouldst  thyself  no  doubt, 
And  boldly  venture  to  whatever  place 
Farthest  from  pain,  where  thou  mightst  hope  to  change 
Torment  with  ease,  and  soonest  recompense 
Dole  with  delight;  which  in  this  place  I  sought. 
To  thee  no  reason,  who  know'st  only  good, 
But  evil  hast  not  tried :  and  wilt  object 
His  will  who  bounds  us  ?     Let  him  surer  bar 
His  iron  gates,  if  he  intends  our  stay 
In  that  dark  durance  :  thus  much  what  was  ask'd. 
The  rest  is  true,  they  found  me  where  they  say ; 
But  that  implies  not  violence  or  harm. 

Thus  he  in  scorn.     The  warlike  angel  moved, 
Disdainfully  half  smiling,  thus  replied ; — 
0  loss  of  one  in  heaven  to  judge  of  wise ! 
Since  Satau  fell,  whom  folly  overthrew; 
And  now  returns  him  from  his  prison  'scaped, 
Gravely  in  doubt  whether  to  hold  them  wise 
Or  not,  who  ask  what  boldness  brought  him  hither 
Unlicensed  from  his  bounds  in  hell  prescribed; 
So  wise  he  judges  it  to  fly  from  pain 
However,  and  to  'scape  his  punishment. 
So  judge  thou  still,  presumptuous;  till  the  wrath, 
Which  thou  incurr'st  by  flying,  meet  thy  flight 
Sevenfold,  and  scourge  that  wisdom  back  to  hell. 
Which  taught  thee  yet  no  better.  That  no  pain 
Can  equal  anger  infinite  provoked. 
But  wherefore  thou  alone  ?  wherefore  with  thee 
Came  not  all  hell  broke  loose  ?  is  pain  to  them 

*  The  bounds  prescribed. 
Milton  means,  as  I  suppose,  that  the  bounds  of  hell  were  by  God  prescribed  to 
Satan's  transgressions,  so  that  it  was  intended  he  should  transgress  nowhere  else,  but 
within  those  bounds ;  whereas  he  was  now  attempting  to  transgress  without  theou— 
Newton. 


BOOK  IV.] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


217 


Less  pain,  less  to  be  fled ;  or  thou  than  they 
Less  hardy  to  endure  ?  Courageous  chief ! 
The  first  in  flight  from  pain !  hadst  thou  alleged 
To  thy  deserted  host  this  cause  of  flight, 
Thou  surely  hadst  not  come  sole  fugitive. 

To  which  the  fiend  thus  answcr'd,  frowning  stern  :— 
Not  that  1  less  endure,  or  shrink  from  pain, 
Insulting  angel !  well  thou  know'st  I  stood 
Thy  fiercest ;  when  in  battel  to  thy  aid 
The  blasting  vollied  thunder  made  all  speed, 
And  seconded  thy  else  not  dreaded  spear. 
But  still  thy  words  at  random,  as  before, 
Argue  thy  inexperience  what  behoves 
From  hard  assays  and  ill  successes  past 
A  faithful  leader  :  not  to  hazard  all 
Through  ways  of  danger  by  himself  untried : 
I  therefore,  I  alone  first  undertook 
To  wing  the  desolate  abyss,  and  spy 
This  new  created  world,  whereof  in  hell 
Fame  is  not  silent ;  here  in  hope  to  find 
Better  abode,  and  my  afflicted  powers 
To  settle  here  on  earth,  or  in  mid  air  j 
Though  for  possession  put  to  try  once  more 
What  thou  and  thy  gay  legions  dare  against; 
Whose  easier  business  were  to  serve  their  Lord 
High  up  in  heaven,  with  songs  to  hymn  his  throne, 
And  practised  distances  to  cringe,  not  fight. 

To  whom  the  warriour  angel  soon  replied :  — 
To  say  and  straight  unsay,  pretending  first 
Wise  to  fly  pain,  professing  next  the  spy. 
Argues  no  leader,  but  a  liar  traced, 
Satan,  and  couldst  thou  faithful  add  ?     0  name, 
0  sacred  name  of  faithfulness  profaned ! 
Faithful  to  whom  ?  to  thy  rebellious  crew  ? 
Army  of  fiends,  fit  body  to  fit  head. 
Was  this  your  discipline  and  faith  engaged, 
Your  military  obedience,  to  dissolve 
Allegiance  to  the  acknowledged  Power  supreme  ? 
And  thou,  sly  hypocrite,  who  now  wouldst  seem 
Patron  of  liberty  !  who  more  than  thou 
Once  fawn'd,  and  cringed,  and  servilely  adored 
Heaven's  awful  monarch  ?  wherefore  but  in  hope 
To  dispossess  him,  and  thyself  to  reign  ? 
But  mark  what  I  arreed  thee  now ;  Avaunt ; 
Fly  thither  whence  thou  fledst :  if  from  this  hour 
Within  these  hallow'd  limits  thou  appear. 
Back  to  the  infernal  pit  I  drag  thee  chain'd, 
And  seal  thee  so,  as  henceforth  not  to  scorn 
The  facile  gates  of  hell  too  slightly  barr'd. 

So  threaten' d  he  :  but  Satan  to  no  threats 
Gave  heed,  but  waxing  more  in  rage  replied  :— 
28 


218  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  iv. 

Then,  when  1  am  thy  captive,  talk  of  chains, 
Proud  limitary  cherub ;  but  ere  then 
Far  heavier  load  thyself  expect  to  feel 
From  my  prevailing  arnx ;  though  heaven's  King 
Ride  on  thy  wings,"  and  thou  with  thy  compaers, 
Used  to  the  yoke,  draw'st  his  triumphant  wheels 
In  progress  through  the  road  of  heaven  star-paved. 

T^'hile  thus  he  spake,  the  angelic  squadron  bright 
Turu'd  fiery  red,  sharpening  in  mooned  horns 
Their  phalanx,  and  began  to  hem  him  round 
With  porta  1  spears,  as  thick  as  when  a  field 
Of  Ceres,  ripe  for  harvest,  waving  bend's 
Her  bearded  grove  of  ears,  which  way  the  wind 
Sways  them ;  the  careful  plowman  doubting  stands, 
Lest  on  the  threshing  floor  his  hopeful  sheaves 
Prove  chaff.     On  the  other  side,  Satan,  alarm' d, 
Collecting  all  his  might,  dilated  stood,^ 
Like  Teneriff  or  Atlas,  un  removed  : 
His  stature  reach' d  the  sky,  and  on  his  crest 
Sat  horrour  plumed  ;  nor  wanted  in  his  grasp 
What  seem'd  both  spear  and  shield.     Now  dreadful  deeds 
Might  have  ensued ;  nor  only  Paradise 
In  this  commotion,  but  the  starry  cope 
Of  heaven  perhaps,  or  all  the  elements 
At  least  had  gone  to  wrack,  disturb' d  and  torn 
With  violence  of  this  conflict ;  had  not  soon 
The  Eternal,  to  prevent  such  horrid  fray. 
Hung  forth  in  heaven  his  golden  scales,  yet  seen* 
Betwixt  Astrea  and  the  Scorpion  sign. 
Wherein  all  things  created  first  he  weigh'd, 

u  Ride  on  thy  wings. 

This  seenit;  to  allude  to  Ezekiel's  vision,  where  four  cherubims  are  appointed  to  the 
four  wheels:  "And  the  cherubims  did  lift  up  their  wings,  and  the  wheels  beside  them;; 
and  the  glory  of  the  Lord  God  of  Israel  was  over  them  above."  See  chap.  i.  and  x. 
and  xL  22. — Newtok. 

»  Dilated  stood. 

One  of  the  interesting  features  of  the  great  adversary  of  God  and  man,  as  drawn  by 
the  poet,  is  resolution  in  danger :  it  therefore  well  admits  the  poetical  decorations 
that  fi.  How. — DuNSTER. 

w  His  golden  scales,  yet  seen. 

The  breaking  off  the  combat  between  Gabriel  and  Satan,  by  the  hanging  out  of  the 
golden  scales  in  heaven,  is  a  refinement  upon  Homer's  thought,  who  tells  us  Ihat  before 
the  battle  between  Hector  and  Achilles,  Jupiter  weighed  the  event  of  it  In  a  pair  of 
scales.     The  reader  may  see  the  whole  passage  in  the  22d  Iliad. 

Virgil,  before  the  last  decisive  combat,  describes  Jupiter  in  the  same  manner,  as 
Weighing  the  fates  of  Turnus  and  j^neas.  Milton,  though  he  fetched  this  beautiful 
sircumstance  from  the  Iliad  and  .^neid,  does  not  only  insert  it  as  a  poetical  embellish- 
ment, like  the  authors  above  mentioned,  but  makes  an  artful  use  of  it  for  the  proper 
carrying  on  of  his  fable,  and  for  the  breaking  ofiF  the  combat  between  the  two  warriors, 
who  were  upon  the  point  of  engaging.  To  this  we  may  farther  add,  that  Milton  is  the 
more  justified  in  this  passage,  as  we  find  the  same  noble  allegory  in  Holy  Writ,  where 
a  wicked  prince,  some  few  hours  before  he  was  assaulted  and  slain,  is  said  to  have  been 
"weighed  in  the  scales,  and  to  have  been  found  wanting." — Adpison. 

The  allusion,  as  Dr.  Newton  observes,  to  the  heavenly  sign,  Libra,  or.  the  Scales,  is  a 
beauty  that  is  not  in  Homer  or  Virgil,  and  gives  a  manifest  advantage  over  both  their 
descriptions. — Todd. 


BOOK  IV.]  PARADISE  LOST.  219 

The  pendulous  round  earth  with  balanced  air 
In  counterpoise  ;  now  ponders  all  events, 
Battels,  and  realms :  in  these  he  put  two  weights, 
The  sequel  each  of  parting  and  of  fight :" 
The  latter  quick  upflew  and  kick'd  the  beam ; 
Which  Gabriel  spying,  thus  bespake  the  fiend : 

Satan,  I  know  thy  strength,  and  thou  know'st  mine ; 
Neither  our  own,  but  given :  what  folly  then 
To  boast  what  arms  can  do  !  since  thine  no  more 
Than  Heaven  permits,  nor  mine,  though  doubled  now 
To  trample  thee  as  mire  :  for  proof  look  up, 
And  read  thy  lot  in  yon  celestial  sign ; 
Where  thou  art  weigh'd,''  and  shown  how  light,  how  weak, 
If  thou  resist.     The  fiend  look'd  up,  and  knew 
His  mounted  scale  aloft :  nor  more ;  but  fled 
Murmuring,  and  with  him  fled  the  shades  of  night. 

'  The  sequel  each  of  parting  and  of  fight. 
In  Homer  and  Virgil  the  combatants  are  weighed  one  against  another  :  but  here  only 
Satan  is  weighed;  in  one  scale,  the  consequence  of  his  retreating  ;  in  the  other,  of  his 
fighting.  And  there  is  this  farther  improvement ;  that,  as  in  Homer  and  Virgil  the 
fates  are  weighed  to  satisfy  Jupiter  himself,  it  is  here  done  to  satisfy  only  the  contending 
parties; — for  Satan  to  read  his  own  destiny!  So  that  when  Milton  imitates  a  fine  pas- 
sage,  he  does  not  imitate  it  servilely,  but  makes  it,  as  I  may  say,  an  original  of  his 
own,  by  his  manner  of  varying  and  improving  it — Newton. 

y  Where  thou  art  weigh'd. 

See  Dan.  v.  27.  "  Thou  art  weighed  in  the  balances,  and  art  found  wanting."  So 
true  it  is,  that  Milton  oftener  imitates  Scripture  than  Homer  and  Virgil,  even  where  ho 
is  thought  to  imitate  them  most. — Newton. 

I  shall  add  to  th«  particular  notes  an  extract  from  Addison's  observations  on  this 
book  of  the  poem : — 

We  may  consider  the  beauties  of  the  fourth  book  under  three  beads.  In  the  firsi 
are  those  pictures  of  still-life,  which  we  meet  with  in  the  description  of  Eden,  Paradise, 
Adam's  bower,  <fec. :  in  the  next  are  the  machine*,  which  comprehend  the  speeches  and 
behaviour  of  the  good  and  bad  angels :  in  the  last  is  the  conduct  of  Adam  and  Eve, 
who  are  the  principal  actors  in  the  poem. 

In  the  description  of  Paradise,  the  poet  has  observed  Aristotle's  rule  of  lavishing  all 
thd  ornaments  of  diction  on  the  weak  inactive  parts  of  the  fable  which  are  not  supported 
by  the  beauty  of  sentiments  and  characters.  Accordingly,  the  reader  may  observe, 
that  the  expressions  are  more  florid  and  elaborate  in  these  descriptions,  than  in  most 
other  parts  of  the  poem.  I  must  farther  add,  that  though  the  drawings  of  gardens, 
rivers,  rainbows,  and  the  like  dead  pieces  of  nature,  are  justly  censured  in  an  heroic 
poem,  when  they  run  out  into  an  unnecessary  length ;  the  description  of  Paradise  would 
have  been  faulty,  had  not  the  poet  been  very  particular  in  it;  not  only  as  it  is  the 
scene  of  the  principal  action,  but  as  it  is  requisite  to  give  us  an  idea  of  that  happiness; 
from  which  our  first  parents  fell.  The  plan  of  it  is  wonderfully  beautiful,  and  formed 
npon  the  short  sketch  which  we  have  of  it  in  Holy  Writ.  Milton's  exuberance  of  imagi- 
nation has  poured  forth  such  a  redundancy  of  ornaments  on  this  seat  of  happiness  and 
innocence,  that  it  would  be  endless  to  point  out  each  particular. 

I  must  not  quit  this  heal  without  farther  observing,  that  there  is  scarce  a  speech  of 
Adam  or  Eve  in  the  whole  poem,  wherein  the  sentiments  and  allusions  are  not  taken 
from  this  their  delightful  habitation.  The  reader,  during  their  whole  course  of  action, 
alwaj's  finds  himself  in  the  walks  of  Paradise.  In  short,  as  the  critics  have  remarked, 
that,  in  those  poems  wherein  shepherds  are  the  actors,  the  thoughts  ought  always  to 
take  a  tincture  from  the  woods,  fields,  and  rivers ;  so  may  we  observe,  that  our  first 
parents  seldom  lose  sight  of  their  happy  station  in  anything  they  speak  or  do ;  and  if 
the  reader  will  give  me  leave  to  use  the  expression,  that  their  thoughts  are  always 
paradisiacal. 

Wo  are  in  the  next  place  to  consider  the  machines  of  the  fourth  book.  Satan  being 
now  within  prospect  of  Eden,  and  looking  round  upon  the  glories  of  the  creation,  is 


220  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  iv. 

Oiled  with  sentiments  different  from  those  which  he  discovered  whilst  he  was  in  hell. 
The  place  inspires  him  with  thoughts  more  adapted  to  it. 

The  thougiit  of  Satan's  transformation  into  a  cormorant,  ver.  196,  and  placing  him- 
self on  the  Tree  of  Life,  seems  raised  upoovthat  passage  in  the  Iliad,  where  two  diities 
are  described  as  perching  on  the  top  of  an  oak,  in  the  shape  of  vultures.  (See  the 
seventh  book,  near  the  beginning.) 

The  description  of  Adam  and  Eve,  as  they  first  appeared  to  Satan,  is  exquisitely 
drawn,  and  suflSviient  to  make  the  fallen  angel  gaze  upon  them  with  all  that  astonish- 
ment, and  those  emotions  of  envy,  in  which  he  is  represented. 

There  is  a  fine  spirit  of  poetry  in  the  lines  which  follow,  wherein  they  are  described 
as  sitting  on  a  bed  of  flowers  by  the  side  of  a  fountain,  amidst  a  mi.\ed  assembly  of 
animals.  The  speeches  of  these  first  two  lovers  flow  equally  from  passion  and  sin- 
cerity:  the  professions  they  make  to  one  another  are  full  of  warmth  ;  but  at  the  same 
time  founded  on  truth :  in  a  word,  they  are  the  gallantries  of  Paradise.  The  part  of 
JEve's  speech,  in  which  she  gives  an  account  of  herself  upon  her  first  creation,  and  the 
manner  in  which  she  was  brought  to  Adam,  is,  I  think,  as  beautiful  a  passage  as  any 
in  Milton,  or  perhaps  in  any  other  poet  whatsoever.  These  passages  are  all  worked  off 
with  so  much  art,  that  they  are  capable  of  pleasing  the  most  delicate  reader,  without 
offending  the  most  severe : 

That  day  I  oft  remember,  when  from  sleep,  &c 

A  poet  of  less  judgment  and  invention  than  this  great  author  would  have  found 
yery  difficult  to  have  filled  these  tender  parts  of  the  poem  with  sentiments  proper  for  a 
state  of  innocence  ;  to  have  described  the  warmth  of  love,  and  the  profession  of  it,  with- 
uut  artifice  or  hyperbole ;  to  have  made  the  man  speak  the  most  endearing  things  with- 
out descending  from  his  natural  dignity,  and  the  woman  receiving  them  without 
departing  from  the  modesty  of  her  character :  in  a  word,  to  adjust  the  prerogatives  of 
wisdom  and  beauty,  and  make  each  appear  to  the  other  in  its  proper  force  and  loveli- 
ness. This  mutual  subordination  of  the  two  sexes  is  wonderfully  kept  up  in  the  whole 
poem,  as  particularly  in  the  speech  of  Eve  I  have  before  mentioned,  and  upon  the  con- 
clusion of  it;  when  the  poet  adds,  that  the  devil  turned  away  with  envy  at  the  sight  of 
80  much  happiness,  v.  492,  Ac. 

We  have  another  view  of  our  first  parents  in  their  evening  discourses,  which  is  full 
of  pleasing  images  and  sentiments  suitable  to  their  condition  and  characters.  The 
speech  of  Eve,  in  particular,  is  dressed  up  in  such  a  soft  and  natural  turn  of  words  and 
sentiments,  as  cannot  be  sufficiently  admired. 

Satan's  planting  himself  at  the  ear  of  Eve  under  the  form  of  a  toad,  in  order  to  pro- 
duce vain  dreams  and  imaginations,  is  a  striking  circumstance ;  as  his  starting  up  in 
his  own  form  is  wonderfully  fine,  both  in  the  literal  description,  and  in  the  moral  which 
is  concealed  under  it.  His  answer  upon  his  being  discovered,  and  demanded  to  give 
an  account  of  himself,  is  conformable  to  the  pride  and  intrepidity  of  his  character. 

Zephon's  rebuke,  with  the  influence  it  had  on  Satan,  is  exquisitely  graceful  and 
moral.  Satan  is  afterwards  led  away  to  Gabriel,  the  chief  of  the  guardian  angels, 
who  kept  watch  in  Paradise.  His  disdainful  behaviour  on  this  occasion  is  so  remark- 
able a  beauty,  that  the  most  ordinary  reader  cannot  but  take  notice  of  it:  Gabriel's  dis- 
covering his  approach  at  a  distance  is  drawn  with  great  strength  and  liveliness  of 
imiigination. 

The  conference  between  Gabriel  and  Satan  abounds  with  sentiments  proper  for  the 
occasion,  and  suitable  to  the  persons  of  the  two  speakers.  Satan  clothing  himself  with 
terror  when  he  prepares  for  the  combat  is  truly  sublime,  and  at  least  equal  to  Homer's 
description  of  Discord,  celebrated  by  Longinus  ;  or  to  that  of  Fame,  in  Virgil ;  who 
are  both  represented  with  their  feet  standing  upon  the  earth,  and  their  heads  reaching 
above  the  clouds. 

I  must  here  take  notice,  that  Milton  is  everywhere  full  of  hints,  and  sometimes  literal 
translations,  taken  from  the  greatest  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  poets.— Addison, 


BOOK  v.]  PARADISE  LOST.  221 


BOOK  V. 

INTRODUCTORY  REMAIvKG. 

This  book  consists  of  elements  of  the  same  chara'jter  and  of  similar  combination  as 
the  fourth.  Eve's  dream,  anJ  the  manner  of  relating  it,  are  in  a  very  high  degree 
poetical :  here  the  invention  is  perfect,  both  in  imagery,  sentiment,  and  language. 

The  approach  of  the  angel  Raphael,  as  yiewed  at  a  distance  by  Adam,  is  designed 
with  all  those  brilliant  circumstances,  and  those  indefinable  touches,  which  give  the 
force  of  embodied  reality  to  a  vision.  Milton  never  relates  with  the  artifices,  and 
attempts  to  ercite  attention,  of  a  technical  poet:  what  he  creates  stands  before  him  as 
life:  he  does  not  struggle  to  embellish  or  exaggerifte,  but  simply  relates  what  he 
believes  that  he  beholds  or  hears :  but  none  could  have  beheld  or  hoard  these  high 
things,  except  one  inspired. 

The  hints  of  a  great  jart  of  the  incidents  are  taken  from  the  Scriftures;  but  the 
invention  is  not  on  that  account  the  less.  To  bring  the  dim  general  idea  into  broad 
light  in  all  its  lineaments  is  the  diflSculty,  and  requires  the  power. 

The  conversation  between  Raphael  and  Adam  is.  admirably  contrived  ol  both  sides. 
These  argumentative  portions  of  the  poem  are  almost  always  grand ;  and  poetical, 
because  they  are  grand.  Now  and  then,  indeed,  the  bard  indulges  in  the  display  of  toe 
much  abstruse  learning,  or  metaphysical  subtleties. 

As  to  this  portion  of  the  work,  which  occupies  a  large  space,  it  is  less  e.asy  to  reconcile 
it  to  the  general  taste :  but  we  must  take  it  as  part  of  the  two  essential  divisions  of  an 
epic  poem — character  and  sentiments.  Taken  by  itself,  separated  from  the  story,  much 
of  it  would  not  be  poetical:  as  part  of  the  story,  it  is  primary  essence.  Without  it, 
mere  imagery  would  lose  almost  all  its  dignity,  as  well  as  its  instructiveness,  because  it 
would  lose  its  intellectual  and  spiritual  charm. 

In  relating  the  cause  of  Satan's  rebellion,  Raphael  sustains  all  the  almost  unutterable 
Bublimity  of  his  subject.  The  hero  is  drawn  wicked  and  daring  beyond  prior  con- 
ception; but  mighty  and  awful  as  he  is  wicked.  Language  to  express  these  high 
thoughts  would  hare  sunk  before  any  other  genius  but  Milton's :  and  as  he  had  to 
convey  the  movements  of  heavenly  spirits  by  earthly  comparisons,  the  difficulty 
increased  at  every  step. 

To  cite  detached  passages  from  other  poets,  as  containing  a  supposed  similitude  to 
Milton,  is  very  fallacious.  These  are  patches : — Milton's  is  a  uniform,  close- wove, 
massy  web  of  gold.  Numerous  particles  of  the  ingredients  may  be  traced  in  other 
authors :  it  is  the  combination,  and  the  design  by  which  that  combination  is  conducted, 
that  makes  the  merit. 

ARGUMENT. 

MoHNiNO  approaclied,  Eve  relates  to  Adnm  her  troublesome  dream  ;  he  likes  it  not,  yet  ?oni' 
forts  her:  they  come  forth  to  their  day-labours:  their  morning  hymn  at  the  door  of  theii 
bower.  God,  to  render  man  inexrusable,  sends  Raphael  to  admonish  him  of  his  ohodrence, 
of  his  free  estate,  of  his  enemy  near  at  hand,  vv^ho  he  is  and  why  his  enemy,  and  what- 
ever else  may  avail  Adam  to  know.  Raphael  comes  down  to  Paradise :  his  appearance 
described;  his  coming  discerned  by  Adam  afar  off,  sitting  at  the  door  of  his  bower;  he 
goes  out  to  meet  him,  brings  him  to  his  lodge,  entertains  him  with  the  choicest  fruits  of 
Paradise  got  together  by  Eve  ;  their  discourse  at  table  :  Raphael  performs  his  message, 
minds  Adam  of  his  state  and  of  his  enemy ;  relates,  at  Adam's  request,  who  that  enemy 
is,  and  how  he  came  to  be  so,  beginnmg  from  his  first  revolt  m  he:iven,  and  the  occasion 
thereof;  how  he  drew  his  legions  after  him  to  the  parts  of  the  north,  and  there  incited 
them  to  rebel  with  him,  persuading  all  but  only  Abdiel  a  seraph,  who  in  argument  dis- 
suades and  opposes  him,  then  forsakes  him. 

Now  Morn,  her  rosy  steps  in  the  eastern  clime 
Advancing,  sow'd  the  earth  with  orient  pearl, 


222  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  v. 

When  Adam  waked,  so  custom'd  ;  for  his  sleep 
Was  aery-light,  from  pure  digestion  bred, 
And  temperate  vapours  bland,  which  the  only  sound 
Of  leaves  and  fuming  rills,  Aurora's  fan," 
Lightly  dispersed,  and  the  shrill  matin  song 
Of  birds  on  every  bough  :  so  much  the  more 
His  wonder  was  to  find  unwaken'd  Eve 
With  tresses  discomposed  and  glowing  cheek, 
As  through  unquiet  rest :  he,  on  his  side 
Leaning  half-raised,  with  looks  of  cordial  love 
Hung  over  her  enamour'd,  and  beheld 
Beauty,  which,  whether  waking  or  asleep. 
Shot  forth  peculiar  graces ;  then  with  voice 
Mild,  as  when  Zephyrus  on  Flora  breathes 
Her  hand  soft  touching,  whisper'd  thus  :  Awake, 
My  fairest,  my  espoused,  my  latest  found, 
Heaven's  last,  best  gift,  my  ever  new  delight ! 
Awake ;  the  morning  shines,  and  the  fresh  field 
Calls  us  J  we  lose  the  prime,  to  mark  how  spring 
Our  tended  plants,  how  blows  the  citron  grove. 
What  drops  the  myrrh,  and  what  the  balmy  reed, 
How  nature  paints  her  colours,  how  the  bee 
Sits  on  the  bloom  extracting  liquid  sweet. 

Such  whispering  waked  her,  but  with  startling  eye 
On  Adam ;  whom  embracing,  thus  she  spake  : 

0  sole  in  whom  my  thoughts  find  all  repose. 
My  glory,  my  perfection ;  glad  I  see 

Thy  face,  and  morn  return'd ;  for  I  this  night  ^  ^ 

(Such  night  till  this  I  never  pass'd)  have  dream'd. 
If  dream'd,  not,  as  I  oft  am  wont,  of  thee. 
Works  of  day  past,  or  morrow's  next  design ; 
But  of  ofience  and  trouble,  which  my  mind 
Knew  never  till  this  irksome  night.     Methought 
Close  at  mine  ear  one  call'd  me  forth  to  walk 
With  gentle  voice ;  I  thought  it  thine :  it  said. 
Why  sleep'st  thou.  Eve  ?  now  is  the  pleasant  time, 
The  cool,  the  silent,  save  where  silence  yields 
To  the  night-warbling  bird,  that  now  awake 
Tunes  sweetest  his  love-labour'd  song;  now  reigns 
Full-orb'd  the  moon,"=  and  with  more  pleasing  light 
Shadowy  sets  off  the  face  of  things;  in  vain, 

a  The  only  sound 
Of  leaves  and  fuming  rills,  Aurora's  fan. 
Aurora's  fan  is  not  in  true  taste,  as  fan  is  an  artificial  object,  which  degrades,  not 
elevates:  but  fuming  rills  is  full  of  poetry. 

b  For  I  this  night. 
The  breaks  in  Eve's  narration  are  extremely  beautiful,  and  adapted  to  the  circum- 
Blance  of  one  just  awakened  before  the  thoughts  were  well  recollected. — Stillingpi.eet. 

«  Full  orh'd  the  moon. 
The  poetical  enchantment  of  the  images  here  arises  from  the  simplicity  of  the 
expression. 


BOOK  v.]  PARADISE  LOST.  223 

If  none  regard  :  heaven  wakes  with  all  his  eyes, 

Whom  to  behold  but  thee,  nature's  desire  ? 

In  whose  sight  all  things  joy,  with  ravishment 

Attracted  by  thy  beauty  still  to  gaze. 

I  rose  as  at  thy  call,  but  found  thee  not; 

To  find  thee  I  directed  then  my  walk ; 

And  on,  methought,  alone  I  pass'd  through  ways 

That  brought  me  on  a  sudden  to  the  tree 

Of  interdicted  knowledge  :  fair  it  seem'd, 

Much  fairer  to  my  fancy  than  by  day  : 

And,  as  I  wondering  look'd,  beside  it  stood 

One  shaped  and  wing'd  like  one  of  those  from  heaven 

By  us  oft  seen  ;  his  dewy  locks  distill'd 

Ambrosia  ;  on  that  tree  he  also  gazed  : 

And,  0,  fair  plant,  said  he,  with  fruit  surcharged, 

Deigns  none  to  ease  thy  load,  and  taste  thy  sweet. 

Nor  God,  nor  man  ?  is  knowledge  so  despised  ? 

Or  envy,  or  what  reserve  forbids  to  taste  ? 

Forbid  who  will,  none  shall  from  me  withhold 

Longer  thy  offer'd  good  :  why  else  set  here? 

This  said,  he  paused  not,  but  with  venturous  arm 

He  pluck'd,  he  tasted ;  me  damp  horrour  chill'd 

At  such  bold  words  vouch'd  with  a  deed  so  bold : 

But  he  thus,  overjoy'd:  0  fruit  divine, 

Sweet  of  thyself,  but  much  more  sweet  thus  crept  j 

Forbidden  here,  it  seems,  as  only  fit 

For  gods,  yet  able  to  make  gods  of  men ; 

And  why  not  gods  of  men,  since  good,  the  more 

Communicated,  more  abundant  grows. 

The  authour  not  impair'd,  but  honoured  more  ? 

Here,  happy  creature,  fair  angelic  Eve, 

Partake  thou  also ;  happy  though*  thou  art, 

Happier  thou  mayst  be,  worthier  canst  not  be  : 

Taste  this,  and  be  henceforth  among  the  gods 

Thyself  a  goddess ;  not  to  earth  confined. 

But  sometimes  in  the  air,  as  we,  sometimes 

Ascend  to  heaven,  by  merit  thine,  and  see 

What  life  the  gods  live  there,  and  such  live  thou. 

So  saying,  he  drew  nigh,  and  to  me  held, 

Ev'n  to  my  mouth  of  that  same  fruit  held  part 

Which  he  had  pluck'd :  the  pleasant  savoury  smell 

So  quicken'd  appetite,  that  I,  methought, 

Could  not  but  taste.     Forthwith  up  to  the  clouds 

With  him  I  flew ;  and  underneath  beheld 

The  earth  outstretch'd  immense,  a  prospect  wide 

And  various ;  wondering  at  my  flight  and  change 

To  this  high  exaltation,  suddenly 

My  guide  was  gone,  and  I,  methought,  sunk  down, 

And  fell  asleep :  but,  0,  how  glad  I  waked 

To  find  this  but  a  dream  !     Thus  Eve  her  night 

Eelated,  and  thus  Adam  answer' d  sad : 


224  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  t. 

Best  image  of  myself,  and  dearer  half, 
The  trouble  of  thy  thoughts  this  night  in  sleep 
Affects  me  equally ;  nor  can  I  like 
This  uncouth  dream,  of  evil  sprung  I  fear : 
Yet  evil  whence  ?  in  thee  can  harbour  none, 
Created  pure.     But  know,  that  in  the  soul 
Are  many  lesser  faculties  that  servo 
Reason  as  chief;  among  these  Fancy  next 
Her  office  holds ;  of  all  external  things. 
Which  the  five  watchful  senses  represent, 
She  forms  imaginations,  aery  shapes. 
Which  Reason,  joining,  or  disjoining,  frames 
All  what  we  affirm  or  what  deny,  and  call 
Our  knowledge  or  opinion ;  then  retires 
Into  her  private  cell,  when  nature  rests. 
Oft  in  her  absence  mimic  fancy  wakes* 
To  imitate  her;  but,  misjoining  shapes. 
Wild  work  produces  oft,  and  most  in  dreams ; 
111  matching  words  and  deeds  long  past  or  late. 
Some  such  resemblances,  methinks,  I  find 
Of  our  last  evening's  talk  in  this  thy  dream," 

<i  Mimic  fancy  wakeg. 

This  account  of  dreams,  Mr.  Dimster  remarks,  is  as  just  and  philosophical  as  it  13 
beautiful  and  poetical.  Sir  John  Davies  gives  a  similar  but  certainly  less  interesting 
account  of  the  Phantasie,  in  his  "  Nosce  Teipsum,"  1608,  p.  47.  The  curious  reader 
may  also  compare  Burton's  elaborate  account  of  the  Phantasie,  in  his  "Anatomic  of 
Melancholy,"  to  which,  as  Mr.  Dunster  also  thinks,  it  is  probable  that  Milton  here 
adverted. — Todd. 

e  In  this  thy  dream. 

Wq  were  told  in  the  foregoing  book,  how  the  evil  spirit  practised  upon  Eve  as  she 
lay  asleep,  in  order  to  inspire  her  with  thoughts  of  vanity,  pride,  and  ambition.  The 
author,  who  shows  a  wonderful  art  throughout  his  whole  poem,  in  preparing  the  reader 
for  the  several  occurrences  that  arise  in  it,  founds  upon  the  above-mentioned  circum- 
stance the  first  part  of  the  fifth  book.  Adam,  upon  his  first  awaking,  finds  Eve  still 
asleep,  with  an  unusual  discomposure  in  her  looks.  The  posture,  in  which  he  regards 
her,  is  described  with  a  tenderness  not  to  be  expressed ;  as  the  whisper,  with  which  he 
awakens  her,  is  the  softest  that  ever  was  conveyed  to  a  lover's  ear. 

I  cannot  but  take  notice,  that  Milton,  in  the  conferences  between  Adam  and  Eve, 
had  his  eye  very  frequently  upon  the  book  of  "  Canticles,"  in  which  there  is  a  noble 
spirit  of  eastern  poetry,  and  very  often  not  unlike  what  we  meet  with  in  Jlomer,  who  is 
generally  placed  near  the  age  of  Solomon.  I  think  there  is  no  question  but  the  poet, 
in  the  preceding  speech,  remembered  these  two  passages,  which  are  spoken  on  the  like 
occasion,  and  filled  with  the  same  pleasing  images  of  nature.  "  My  beloved  spake,  and 
said  unto  me,  Rise  up,  my  love,  my  fair  one,  and  come  away ;  for  lo,  the  winter  is  past, 
the  raiii  is  over  and  gone  ;  the  flowers  appear  on  the  earth  :  the  time  of  the  singing  of 
birds  is  come,  and  the  voice  of  the  turtle  is  heard  in  our  land ;  the  fig-tree  putteth  forth 
her  green  figs,  and  the  vines  with  the  tender  grape  give  a  good  .smell.  Arise,  my  love, 
my  fair  one,  and  come  away.  Come,  my  beloved,  let  us  go  forth  into  the  field ;  let  us 
get  up  early  to  the  vineyards;  let  us  see  if  the  vine  flourish,  whether  the  tender  grape 
appear,  and  the  pomegranates  bud  forth."     His  preferring  the  garden  of  Eden  to  that 

Where  the  sapient  kinf 
Held  dalhance  with  hia  fair  Egyptian  upouse, 

shows  that  the  poet  had  this  delightful  scene  in  his  mind. 

Eve's  dream  is  full  of  those  high  conceits  engendering  pride,  which,  we  are  told,  the 
devil  endeavoured  to  instil  into  her :  of  this  kind  is  that  part  of  it  where  she  fancies 
herself  awakened  by  Adam  in  the  following  beautiful  lines,  ver.  38,  Ac. : — 

Why  sleep'st  thou,  Eve  ?    Now  is  the  pleasant  time,  kc. 

Heaven  wakes  with  all  his  eyes, 

Whom  to  behold  but  thee,  Nature's  desire  1 


BOOK  v.]  PARADISE  LOST.  225 

But  with  addition  strange  ;  yet  be  not  sad : 

Evil  into  the  mind  of  God  or  man 

May  come  and  go,  so  unapproved ;  and  leave 

No  spot  or  blame  behind  :  which  gives  me  hope 

That  what  in  sleep  thou  didst  abhor  to  dream. 

Waking  thou  never  wilt  consent  to  do. 

Be  not  dishearten'd  then  ;  nor  cloud  those  looks, 

That  wont  to  be  more  cheerful  and  serene 

Than  when  fair  morning  first  smiles  on  the  world : 

And  let  us  to  our  fresh  employments  rise 

Among  the  groves,  the  fountains,  and  the  flowers, 

That  open  now  their  choicest  bosom'd  smells, 

Reserved  from  night,  and  kept  for  thee  in  store. 

So  cheer'd  he  his  fair  spouse,  and  she  was  cheer'd; 
But  silently  a  gentle  tear  let  fall 
From  either  eye,  and  wiped  them  with  her  hair : 
Two  other  precious  drops,  that  ready  stood, 
Each  in  their  crystal  sluice,  he  ere  they  fell 
Kiss'd,  as  the  gracious  signs  of  sweet  remorse, 
And  pious  awe  that  fear'd  to  have  offended. 

So  all  was  clear'd,  and  to  the  field  they  haste. 
But  first,  from  under  shady  arborous  roof 
Soon  as  they  forth  were  come  to  open  sight 
Of  day-spring  and  the  sun,  who,  scarce  uprisen, 
With  wheels  yet  hovering  o'er  the  ocean-brim, 
Shot  parallel  to  the  earth  his  dewy  ray, 
Discovering  in  wide  landskip  all  the  east 
Of  Paradise  and  Eden's  happy  plains, 
Lowly  they  bow'd  adoring,  and  began 
Their  orisons,  each  morning  duly  paid' 
In  various  style ;  for  neither  various  style 
Nor  holy  rapture  wanted  they  to  praise 

In  whose  sight  all  things  joy,  with  ravishment 
Attracted  by  thy  beauty  still  to  gaze. 

An  injudicious  pcet  would  have  made  Adam  talk  through  the  whole  work  in  such 
nntiments  as  these  :  but  flattery  and  falsehood  are  not  the  courtship  of  Milton's  Adam, 
and  could  not  be  heard  by  Eve  in  her  state  of  innocence ;  excepting  only  in  a  dream 
produced  on  purpose  to  taint  her  imagination.  Other  vain  sentiments  of  the  same  kind, 
in  this  relation  of  her  dream,  will  be  obvious  to  every  reader.  Though  the  catastrophe 
of  the  poem  is  finely  presaged  on  this  occasion,  the  particulars  of  it  are  so  artful'y 
shadowed,  that  they  do  not  anticipate  the  story  which  follows  in  the  ninth  book.  I 
shall  only  add,  that  though  the  vision  of  itself  is  founded  upon  truth,  the  circumstances 
of  it  are  full  of  that  wildness  and  inconsistency  which  are  natural  to  a  dream.  Adam, 
conformable  to  his  superior  character  for  wisdom,  instructs  and  comforts  Eve  upon  this 
occasion. — Addison. 

'  Each  morning  duly  paid. 

As  it  is  very  well  known  that  our  author  was  no  friend  to  set  forms  of  prayer,  it  is 
no  wonder  that  he  ascribes  extemporary  effusions  to  our  first  parents  j  but  even  while 
he  attributes  strains  unmeditated  to  them,  he  himself  imitates  the  Psalmist. — Newton. 

He  has  expressed  the  same  notions  of  devotion,  as  Mr.  Thyer  has  observed,  in  similar 
terms,  b.  iv.  7.36,  Ac.  And  it  has  been  said  of  the  poet,  that  he  did  not  in  the  latter 
part  of  his  life  use  any  religious  rite  in  his  family:  but,  as  Dr.  Gillies  remarks, 
unless  the  proofs  be  very  clear;  he  who  observes  how  careful  Milton  is  to  mention  the 
worship  of  Adam  and  Eve,  b.  iv.  720,  v.  137,  ix.  197,  and  xi.  1.36,  will  not  be  easily 
Induced  to  believe  that  he  entirely  neglected  the  worship  of  God  in  his  family. — Todd 
29 


226  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  y. 

Their  Maker,  in  fit  strains  pronounced,  or  sung 

Unmeditated ;  such  prompt  eloquence 

Flow'd  from  their  lips,  in  prose  or  numerous  verse, 

More  tuneable  than  needed  lute  to  harp 

To  add  more  sweetness ;  and  they  thus  began  : 

These  are  thy  glorious  works,6  Parent  of  good, 
Almighty  !  thine  this  universal  frame. 
Thus  wondrous  fair ;  thyself  how  wondrous  then  I 
Unspeakable,  who  sitt'st  above  these  heavens, 
To  us  invisible,  or  dimly  seen 
In  these  thy  lowest  works ;  yet  these  declare 
Thy  goodness  beyond  thought,  and  power  divine. 
Speak,  ye  who  best  can  tell,  ye  sons  of  light, 
Angels ;  for  ye  behold  him,  and  with  songs 
And  choral  symphonies,  day  without  night. 
Circle  his  throne  rejoicing  :  ye  in  heaven ; 
On  earth  join  all  ye  creatures  to  extol 
Him  first,  him  last,  him  midst,  and  without  end. 
Fairest  of  stars,  last  in  the  train  of  night, 
If  better  thou  belong  not  to  the  dawn, 
Sure  pledge  of  day,  that  crown'st  the  smiling  mom 
With  thy  bright  circlet ;  praise  him  in  thy  sphere 
While  day  arises,  that  sweet  hour  of  prime. 
Thou  sun,  of  this  great  world  both  eye  and  soul 
Acknowledge  him  thy  greater ;  sound  his  praise 
In  thy  eternal  course,  both  when  thou  climb'st, 
And  when  high  noon  hast  gain'd,  and  when  thou  fall'st. 
Moon,  that  now  meet'st  the  orient  sun,  now  fly'st, 
With  the  fix'd  stars,  fix'd  in  their  orb  that  flies ; 
And  ye  five  other  wandering  fires,  that  move 
In  mystic  dance  not  without  song,  resound 
His  praise,  who  out  of  darkness  call'd  up  light. 
Air,  and  ye  elements,  the  eldest  birth 
Of  nature's  womb,  that  in  quaternion  run*" 

g  These  are  thy  glorious  works. 

The  Morning  Hymn  is  written  in  imitation  of  one  of  those  psalms,  where,  in  the 
overflowing  of  gratitude  and  praise,  the  psalmist  calls  not  only  upon  the  angels,  but 
upon  the  most  conspicuous  parts  of  the  inanimate  creation,  to  join  with  him  in  extolling 
their  common  Maker.  Invocations  of  this  nature  fill  the  mind  with  glorious  ideas  of 
God's  works,  and  awaken  that  divine  enthusiasm  which  is  so  natural  to  devotion  :  but 
if  this  calling  upon  the  dead  parts  of  nature  is  at  all  times  a  proper  kind  of  worship,  it 
was  in  a  particular  manner  suitable  to  our  first  parents,  who  had  the  creation  fresh 
npon  their  minds,  and  had  not  seen  the  various  dispensations  of  Providence,  nor  con- 
sequently could  be  acquainted  with  those  many  topics  of  praise  which  might  afford 
matter  to  the  devotions  of  their  posterity.  ,  I  need  not  remark  the  beautiful  spirit  of 
poetry  which  runs  through  the  whole  hymn,  or  the  holiness  of  that  resolution  with 
which  it  concludes. — Addison. 

•>  That  in  quaternion  run. 

That  in  a  four-fold  mixture  and  combination  run  a  perpetual  circle,  one  element 
occasionally  changing  into  another,  according  to  the  doctrine  of  Heraclitus,  borrowed 
from  Orpheus  :  "  Et  cum  juatuor  sint  genera  corporum,  vicissitudine  eorum  mundi  con- 
tinuata  natura  est-  nam  ex  terra,  aqua;  ex  aqua,  oritur  aer ;  ex  aere,  aether;  deinde 
retrorsum  vicissim  ex  sethere,  aer;  indo  aqua;  ex  aqua,  terra  infima.  Sic  naturis  his, 
ex  quibus  omnia  constant,  sursus,  deorsus,  ultro,  citro  commeantibus,  mundi  partiuiD 
conjunctio  continetur."     Cicero  de  Nat.  Deor.  ii.  33. — Newton. 


BOOK  v.] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


221 


Perpetual  circle,  multiform,  and  mix 

And  nourish  all  things ;  let  your  ceaseless  change 

Vary  to  our  great  Maker  still  new  praise. 

Ye  mists  and  exhalations,  that  now  rise 

From  hill  or  steaming  lake,  dusky  or  gray, 

Till  the  sun  paint  your  fleecy  skirts  with  gold, 

In  honour  to  the  world's  great  Authour  rise ; 

Whether  to  deck  with  clouds  the  uncolour'd  sky, 

Or  wet  the  thirsty  earth  with  falling  showers, 

Rising  or  falling  still  advance  his  praise. 

His  praise,  ye  winds,  that  from  four  quarters  blow, 

Breathe  soft  or  loud ;  and  wave  your  tops,  ye  pines, 

With  every  plant,  in  sign  of  worship  wave. 

Fountains,  and  ye  that  warble,  as  ye  flow, 

Melodious  murmurs,  warbling  tune  his  praise. 

Join  voices,  all  ye  living  souls :  ye  birds, 

That  singing  up  to  heaven-gate  ascend, 

Bear  on  your  wings  and  in  your  notes  his  praise. 

Ye  that  in  waters  glide,  and  ye  that  walk 

The  earth,  and  stately  tread,  or  lowly  creep ; 

Witness  if  I  be  silent,  morn  or  even, 

To  hill  or  valley,  fountain  or  fresh  shade, 

Made  vocal  by  my  song,  and  taught  his  praise. 

Hail,  universal  Lord  !  be  bounteous  still 

To  give  us  only  good ;  and  if  the  night 

Have  gather'd  aught  of  evil  or  conceal'd, 

Disperse  it,  as  now  light  dispels  the  dark. 

So  pray'd  they  innocent,  and  to  their  thoughts 
Firm  peace  recover'd  soon,  and  wonted  calm. 
On  to  their  morning's  rural  work  they  haste. 
Among  sweet  dews  and  flowers,  ■where  any  row 
Of  fruit-trees  over-woody  reach' d  too  far 
Their  pamper'd  boughs,  and  needed  hands  to  check 
Fruitless  embraces  :  or  they  led  the  vine 
To  wed  her  elm ;  she,  spoused,  about  him  twines 
Her  marriageable  arms,  and  with  her  brings 
Her  dower,  the  adopted  clusters,  to  adorn 
His  barren  leaves.     Them  thus  employ'd  beheld 
With  pity  heaven's  high  King,  and  to  him  call'd 
Raphael,  the  sociable  spirit,  that  deign'd 
To  travel  with  Tobias,  and  secured 
His  marriage  with  the  seventimes-wedded  maid. 

Raphael,  said  he,  thou  hear'st  what  stir  on  earth 
Satan,  from  hell  'scaped  through  the  darksome  gulf 
Hath  raised  in  Paradise ;  and  how  disturb'd 
This  night  the  human  pair ;  how  he  designs 
In  them  at  once  to  ruin  all  mankind : 
Go  therefore,  half  this  day  as  friend  with  friend 
Converse  with  Adam ;  in  what  bower  or  shade 
Thou  find'st  him  from  the  heat  of  noon  retired, 
To  respite  his  day-labour  with  repast. 


228 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[book  y. 


Or  with  repose ;  and  such  discourse  bring  on, 
As  may  advise  hira  of  his  happy  state  ; 
Happiness  in  his  power  left  free  to  will, 
Left  to  his  own  free  will,  his  will  though  free, 
Yet  mutable ;  whence  warn  him  to  beware 
He  swerve  not,  too  secure  :  tell  him  withal 
His  danger,  and  from  whom  ;  what  enemy, 
Late  fallen  himself  from  heaven,  is  plotting  now 
The  fall  of  others  from  like  state  of  bliss  j 
By  violence  ?  no,  for  that  shall  be  withstood ; 
But  by  deceit  and  lies :  this  let  him  know, 
Lest,  wilfully  transgressing,  he  pretend 
Surprisal,  unadmonish'd,  unforwarn'd. 

So  spake  the  Eternal  Father,  and  fulfill'd 
All  justice  :  nor  delay'd  the  winged  saint' 
After  his  charge  received ;  but  from  among 
Thousand  celestial  ardours,  where  he  stood 
Veil'd  with  his  gorgeous  wings,  up  springing  light, 
Flew  through  the  midst  of  heaven  :  the  angelic  quires. 
On  each  hand  parting,  to  his  speed  gave  way 
Through  all  the  empyreal  road ;  till,  at  the  gate 
Of  heaven  arrived,  the  gate  self-open'd  wide 
On  golden  hinges  turning,  as  by  work 
Divine  the  sovran  Architect  had  framed. 
From  hence  no  cloud,  or,  to  obstruct  his  sight. 
Star  interposed,  however  small,  he  sees, 
Not  unconform  to  other  shining  globes. 
Earth,  and  the  garden  of  Grod,  with  cedars  crown'd 
Above  all  hills  :  as  when  by  night  the  glass 
Of  Galileo,  less  assured,  observes 
Imagined  lands  and  regions  in  the  moon : 
Or  pilot,  from  amidst  the  Cyclades 
Delos  or  Samos  first  appearing,  kens 
A  cloudy  spot.     Down  thither  prone  in  flight 

i  Ifor  delay'd  the  winged  saint. 
Raphael's  departure  from  before  the  throne,  and  his  flight  through  the  choirs  of 
angels,  are  finely  imagined.  As  Milton  everywhere  fills  his  poem  with  circumstancea 
that  are  marvellous  and  astonishing,  he  describes  the  gate  of  heaven  as  framed  after 
such  a  manner,  that  it  opened  of  itself  upon  the  approach  of  the  angel  who  was  to  pass 
through  it. 

llaphael's  descent  to  the  earth,  with  the  figure  of  his  person,  is  represented  in  very 
lively  colours.  Several  of  the  French,  Italian,  and  English  poets  have  given  a  loose  to 
their  imaginations  in  the  description  of  angels ;  but  I  do  not  remember  to  have  met 
with  any  so  finely  drawn,  and  so  conformable  to  the  notions  which  are  given  of  them  in 
Scripture,  as  this  in  Milton.  After  having  set  him  forth  in  all  his  heavenly  plumage, 
Bnd  represented  him  as  alighting  upon  the  earth,  the  poet  concludes  his  description 
with  a  circumstance  which  is  altogether  new,  and  imagined  with  the  greatest  strength 
of  fancy : — 

Like  Maia's  son  he  stood, 

And  shook  his  plumes,  that  heavenly  fragrance  fiU'd 
The  circuit  wide. 

Raphael's  reception  by  the  guardian  angels ;  his  passing  through  the  wildernegg  of 
sweets;  his  distant  appearance  to  Adam ;  have  all  the  graces  that  poetry  is  capable  of 
bestowing.  The  author  afterwards  gives  a  particular  description  of  Eve  in  her  domestic 
employments. — Addison. 


BOOK  v.]  PARADISE  LOST.  229 

He  speeds,  and  through  the  vast  ethereal  sky 

Sails  between  worlds  and  worlds,  with  steady  wing: 

Now  on  the  polar  winds,  then  with  quick  fan 

Winnows  the  buxom  air ;  till  within  soar 

Of  towering  eagles,  to  all  the  fowls  he  seems 

A  phoenix,  gazed  by  all  as  that  sole  bird. 

When,  to  enshrine  his  reliques  in  the  Sun's 

Bright  temple,  to  Egyptian  Thebes  he  flies. 

At  once  on  the  eastern  cliff  of  Paradise 

He  lights,  and  to  his  proper  shape  returns 

A  seraph  wing'd  :  six  wings  he  wore,  to  shade 

His  lineaments  divine  :  the  pair  that  clad 

Each  shoulder  broad  came  mantling  o'er  his  breast 

With  regal  ornament ;  the  middle  pair 

Girt  like  a  starry  zone  his  waist,  and  round 

Skirted  his  loins  and  thighs  with  downy  gold 

And  colours  dipp'd  in  heaven ;  the  third  his  feet 

Shadow'd  from  either  heel  with  feather'd  mail, 

Sky-tinctured  grain.     Like  Maia's  son  he  stood, 

And  shook  his  plumes,  that  heavenly  fragrance  fill'd 

The  circuit  wide.     Straight  knew  him  all  the  bands 

Of  angels  under  watch ;  and  to  his  state, 

And  to  his  message  high,  in  honour  rise : 

For  on  some  message  high  they  guess'd  him  bound. 

Their  glittering  tents  he  pass'd,  and  now  is  come 

Into  the  blissful  field,  through  groves  of  myrrh, 

And  flowering  odours,  cassia,  nard,  and  balm ; 

A  wilderness  of  sweets  :  for  nature  here 

Wanton'd  as  in  her  prime,  and  play'd  at  will 

Her  virgin  fancies,  pouring  forth  more  sweet, 

Wild  above  rule  or  art,  enormous  .bliss. 

Him  through  the  spicy  forest  onward  come 

Adam  discern'd,  as  in  the  door  he  sat 

Of  his  cool  bower,  while  now  the  mounted  sun 

Shot  down  direct  his  fervid  rays,  to  warm 

Earth's  inmost  womb,  more  warmth  than  Adam  needs  : 

And  Eve  within,  due  at  her  hour  prepared 

For  dinner  savoury  fruits,  of  taste  to  please 

True  appetite,  and  not  disrelish  thirst 

Of  nectarous  draughts  between,  from  milky  stream^ 

Berry,  or  grape  :  to  whom  thus  Adam  call'd : 

Haste  hither,  Eve,  and  worth  thy  sight  behold. 
Eastward  among  those  trees,  what  glorious  shape 
Comes  this  way  moving ;  seems  another  morn 
Risen  on  mid-noen  ;  some  great  behest  from  Heaven 
To  us  perhaps  he  brings,  and  will  vouchsafe 
This  day  to  be  our  guest.     But  go  with  speed, 
And,  what  thy  stores  contain,  bring  forth,  and  pour 
Abundance,  fit  to  honour  and  receive 
Our  heavenly  stranger :  well  we  may  afford 
Our  givers  th'^.ir  own  gift.<*.  and  large  bestow 


230  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  v. 

From  large  bestow'd,  where  nature  multiplies 
Her  fertile  growth,  and  by  disburdening  grows 
More  fruitful ;  which  instructs  us  not  to  spare. 

To  whom  thus  Eve  :  Adam,  earth's  hallow'd  mould. 
.    Of  God  inspired ;    small  store  will'  serve,  where  store, 
All  seasons,  ripe  for  use  hangs  on  the  stalk; 
Save  what  by  frugal  storing  firmness  gains 
To  nourish,  and  superfluous  moist  consumes : 
But  I  will  haste,  and  from  each  bough  and  brake, 
Each  plant  and  juiciest  gourd,  will  pluck  such  choice 
To  entertain  our  angel-guest,  as  he 
Beholding  shall  confess,  that  here  on  earth 
Grod  hath  dispensed  his  bounties  as  in  heaven. 

So  saying,  with  dispatchful  looks  in  haste 
She  turns,  on  hospitable  thoughts  intent : 
What  choice  to  choose  for  delicacy  best; 
What  order,  so  contrived  as  not  to  mix 
Tastes,  not  well  join'd,  inelegant ;  but  bring 
Taste  after  taste  upheld  with  kindliest  change : 
Bestirs  her  then,  and  from  each  tender  stalk, 
Whatever  earth,-  all-bearing  mother,  yields 
In  India  East  or  West,  or  middle  shore 
In  Pontus  or  the  Punic  coast,  or  where 
Alcinus  reign'd ;  fruit  of  all  kinds,  in  coat 
Rough,  or  smooth  rind,  or  bearded  husk,  or  shell, 
She  gathers,  tribute  large,  and  on  the  board 
Heaps  with  unsparing  hand.     For  drink  the  grape 
She  crushes,  inoflPensive  must,  and  meaths 
From  many  a  berry,  and  from  sweet  kernels  press'd 
She  tempers  dulcet  creams ;  nor  these  to  hold 
Wants  her  fit  vessels  pure;  then  strows  the  ground 
With  rose  and  odours  from  the  shrub  unfumed. 

Meanwhile  our  primitive  great  sire,  to  meet 
His  godlike  guest,  walks  forth;  without  more  train 
Accompanied  than  with  his  own  complete 
Perfections  :  in  himself  was  all  his  state  ; 
More  solemn  than  the  tedious  pomp  that  waits 
On  princes,  when  their  rich  retinue  long 
Of  horses  led,  and  grooms  besmear'd  with  gold, 
Dazzles  the  crowd,  and  sets  them  all  agape. 
Nearer  his  presence  Adam,  though  not  awed, 
Yet  with  submiss  approach  and  reverence  meek. 
As  to  a  superior  nature  bowing  low. 
Thus  said  :  Native  of  heaven,  for  other  place 
None  can  than  heaven  such  glorious  shape  contain; 
Since,  by  descending  from  the  thrones  above, 
Those  happy  places  thou  hast  deign'd  awhile 
To  want,  and  honour  these ;  vouchsafe  with  us 
Two  only,  who  yet  by  sovran  gift  possess 
This  spacious  ground,  in  yonder  shady  bower 
To  rest ;  and  what  the  garden  choicest  bears 


BOOK  v.]  PARADISE  LOST.  231 

To  sit  and  taste,  till  this  meridian  heat 
Be  over,  and  the  sun  more  cool  decline. 

Whom  thus  the  angelic  Virtue  answer'd  mild: 
Adam,  I  therefore  came  :  nor  art  thou  such 
Created,  or  such  place  hast  here  to  dwell, 
As  may  not  oft  invite,  though  spirits  of  heaven, 
To  visit  thee :  lead  on,  then  where  thy  bower 
O'ershades ;  for  these  mid-hours,  till  evening  rise, 
I  have  at  will.     So  to  the  sylvan  lodge 
They  came,  that  like  Pomona's  arbour  smiled, 
With  flowerets  deck'd,  and  fragrant  smells ;  but  Eve, 
Undeck'd  save  with  herself,  more  lovely  fair 
Than  wood-nymph,  or  the  fairest  goddess  feign'd 
Of  three  that  in  Mount  Ida  naked  strove, 
Stood  to  entertain  her  guest  from  heaven ;  no  veil 
She  needed,  virtue-proof;  no  thought  infirm 
Alter'd  her  cheek.     On  whom  the  angel  Hail 
Bestow'd^J  the  holy  salutation  used 
Long  after  to  blest  Mary,  second  E-ve : 
Hail,  mother  of  mankind,  whose  fruitful  womb 
Shall  fill  the  world  more  nunjerous  with  thy  sons, 
Than  with  these  various  fruits  the  trees  of  God 
Have  heap'd  this  table  !  Raised  of  grassy  turf 
Their  table  was,  and  mossy  seats  had  round, 
And  on  her  ample  square  from  side  to  side 
All  autumn  piled;  though  spring  and  autumn  here 
Danced  hand  in  hand.     Awhile  discourse  they  hold: 
No  fear  lest  dinner  cool ;  when  thus  began 
Our  author :  Heavenly  stranger,  please  to  taste 
These  bounties,  which  our  nourisher,  from  whom 
All  perfect  good,  unmeasur'd  out,  descends, 
To  us  for  food  and  for  delight  hath  caused 
The  earth  to  yield;  unsavoury  food,  perhaps. 
To  spiritual  natures:  only  this  I  know, 
That  one  celestial  Father  gives  to  all. 

To  whom  the  angel :  Therefore  what  he  gives 
(Whose  praise  be  ever  sung)  to  man  in  part 
Spiritual,  may  of  purest  spirits  be  found 
No  ingrateful  food :  and  food  alike  those  pure 

)  On  whom  the  angel  Hail 
Bestow'd, 

Though  in  this  and  other  parts  of  the  same  book,  the  subject  is  only  the  housewifery 
of  our  first  parent,  it  is  set  off  with  so  many  pleasing  images  and  strong  expressions, 
as  make  it  none  of  the  least  agreeable  parts  in  this  divine  work. 

The  natural  majesty  of  -Adam,  and,  at  the  same  time,  his  submissive  behaviour  to 
the  Superior  Being  who  had  vouchsafed  to  be  his  guest;  the  solemn  Hail  which  the 
angel  bestows  upon  the  mother  of  mankind,  with  the  figure  of  Eve  ministering  at  the 
table  ;  are  circumstances  which  deserve  to  be  admired. — Annisox. 

Ef  I  may  venture  to  speak  my  frank  opinion,  I  confess  I  do  not  admire  this  descrip. 
tion  of  Eve's  housewifery  and  table-entertainment  of  the  angol:  it  was  not  necessary, 
and  had  been  better  omitted.  The  picture  is  too  earthly,  too  familiar — I  had  almost 
3aid  too  coarse.  It  breaks  in  upon  the  imaginative  spell; — that  dimness  and  raystori- 
ousness  in  which  spiritual  poetry  delights. 


232 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[book  v. 


IntjUigential  substances  require, 

As  doth  your  rational ;  and  both  contain 

Within  them  every  lower  faculty 

Of  sense,  whereby  they  hear,  see,  smell,  touch,  taste/ 

Tasting  concoct,  digest  assimilate, 

And  corporeal  to  incorporeal  turn. 

For  know,  whatever  was  created  needs 

To  be  sustain'd  and  fed  :  of  elements 

The  grosser  feeds  the  purer ;  earth  the  sea ; 

Earth  and  the  sea  feed  air ;  the  air  those  fires 

Ethereal ;  and  as  lowest  first  the  luoon  ; 

Whence  in  her  visage  round  thof.e  spots,  unpurged 

Vapours  not  yet  into  her  substance  turn'd. 

Nor  doth  the  moon  no  nourishment  exhale 

From  her  moist  continent  to  higher  orbs. 

The  sun  that  light  imparts  to  all,  receives 

From  all  his  alimental  recompense 

In  humid  exhalations,  and  at  even 

Sups  with  the  ocean.     Though  in  heaven  the  trees 

Of  life  ambrosial  fruitage  bear,  and  vines 

rield  nectar;  though  from  ofi"  the  boughs  each  mom 

We  brush  mellifluous  dews,  and  find  the  ground 

Cover'd  with  pearly  grain ;  yet  Grod  hath  here 

Varied  his  bounty  so  with  new  delights. 

As  may  compare  with  heaven;  and  to  taste 

Think  not  I  shall  be  nice.     So  down  they  sat, 

And  to  their  viands  fell ;  nor  seemingly 

The  angel,  nor  in  mist,  the  common  gloss 

Of  theologians ;  but  with  keen  dispatch 

Of  real  hunger,  and  concoctive  heat 

To  transubstantiate  :  what  redounds,  transpires 

Through  spirits  with  ease ;  nor  wonder;  if  by  firo 

Of  sooty  coal  the  empiric  alchemist 

Can  turn,  or  holds  it  possible  to  turn, 

Metals  of  drossiest  ore  to  perfect  gold, 

As  from  the  mine.     Meanwhile  at  table  Eve 

Minister'd  naked,  and  their  flowing  cups 

With  pleasant  liquors  crown'd.     0  innocence 

Deserving  Paradise  !  if  ever,  then, 

Then  had  the  sons  of  God  excuse"  to  have  been 

Enamour'd  at  that  sight;  but,in  those  hearts 

Love  unlibidinous  reign'd,  nor  jealousy 

Was  understood,  the  injured  lover's  hell. 

Thus  when  with  meats  and  drinks  they  had  sufficed^ 
Not  burden'd  nature,  sudden  mind  arose 
In  Adam,  not  to  let  the  occasion  pass. 
Given  him  by  this  great  conference,  to  know 


if  ever  then, 


TTien  had  the  tons  of  God  excuse. 
Seme  of  the  Rabbins  say  Eve  was  so  beautiful,  that  the  prince  of  angels  fell  in  love 
with  her.  \ihich  occasioned  his  faU. — Upton. 


BOOK  v.]  PARADISE  LOST.  233 

Of  things  above  his  world,  and  of  their  being 
Who  dwell  in  heaven,  whose  excellence  he  saw 
Transcend  his  own  so  far ;  whose  radiant  formS; 
Divine  effulgence,  whose  high  power,  so  far 
Exceeded  human ;  and  his  wary  speech 
Thus  to  the  empyreal  minister  he  framed : 

Inhabitant  with  God,  now  know  I  well 
Thy  favour,  in  this  honour  done  to  man  j 
Under  whose  lowly  roof  thou  hast  vouchsafed 
To  enter,  and  these  earthly  fruits  to  taste, 
Food  not  of  angels,  yet  accepted  so, 
As  that  more  willingly  thou  couldst  not  seem 
At  heaven's  high  feasts  to  have  fed ;  yet  what  compare  1 

To  whom  the  winged  Hierarch  replied  : 
0  Adam,  one  Almighty  is,  from  whom 
All  things  proceed,  and  up  to  him  return, 
If  not  depraved  from  good ;  created  all 
Such  to  perfection,  one  first  matter  all. 
Endued  with  various  forms,  various  degrees 
Of  substance,  and,  in  things  that  live,  of  life  j 
But  more  refined,  more  spirituous,  and  pure, 
As  nearer  to  him  placed,  or  nearer  tending 
Each  in  their  several  active  spheres  assign' d, 
Till  body  up  to  spirit  work,'  in  bounds 
Proportion'd  to  each  kind.     So  from  the  root 
Springs  lighter  the  green  stalk ;  from  thence  the  leaves 
More  aery  j  last  the  bright  consummate  flower 
Spirits  odorous  breathes :  flowers  and  their  fruit, 
Man's  nourishment,  by  gradual  scale  sublimed, 
To  vital  spirits  aspire,  to  animal. 
To  intellectual ;  give  both  life  ai^d  sense, 
Fancy  and  understanding :  whence  the  soul 
Reason  receives,  and  reason  is  her  being, 
Discursive  or  intuitive  :  discourse 
Is  oftest  yours,  the  latter  most  is  ours. 
Differing  but  in  degree,  of  kind  the  same. 
Worder  not  then,  what  God  for  you  saw  good 
If  I  refuse  not  but  convert,  as  you. 
To  proper  substance.     Time  may  come,  when  men 
With  angels  may  participate,  and  find 
No  inconvenient  diet,  nor  too  light  fare  : 
And  from  these  corporeal  nutriments  perhaps 
Your  bodies  may  at  last  turn  all  to  spirit. 
Improved  by  tract  of  time,  and  wing'd,  ascend 
Ethereal,  as  we-j "  or  may,  at  choice, 

I  Tilt  body  up  to  spirit  work. 
Newton  says  that  this  opinion  is  neittier  orthodox,  nor  philosophy.    I  leave  it  to  be 
deoided  by  theologians  and  metaphysicians. 

m and,  wing'd,  ascend 

Eihtrtal,  a»  we. 
It  is  the  doctriae  of  the  ablest  divines  and  primitive  Fathers  of  the  Catholic  church, 
30 


234  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  v. 

Here  or  in  heavenly  Paradises  dwell  j 

If  ye  be  found  obedient,  and  retain 

Unalterably  firm  his  love  entire, 

Whose  progeny  you  are.     Meanwhile  enjoy 

Your  fill  what  happiness  this  happy  state 

Can  comprehend,  incapable  cf  more. 

To  whom  the  patriarch  of  mankind  replied : 
0  favourable  spirit,  propitious  guest, 
Well  hast  thou  taught  the  way  that  might  direct 
Our  knowledge  and  the  scale  of  nature  set 
From  centre  to  circumference ;  whereon, 
In  contemplation  of  created  things, 
By  steps  we  may  ascend  to  God.     But  say. 
What  meant  that  caution  join'd.  If  ye  be  found 
Obedient  ?  Can  we  want  obedience  then 
To  him,  or  possibly  his  love  desert, 
Who  form'd  us  from  the  dust  and  placed  us  here 
Full  to  the  utmost  measure  of  what  blisa 
Human  desires  can  seek  or  apprehend  ? 

To  whom  the  Angel :  Sou  of  heaven  and  earth, 
Attend :  that  thou  art  happy,  owe  to  God ; 
That  thou  continuest  such,  owe  to  thyself, 
That  is,  to  thy  obedience ;  therein  stand. 
This  was  that  caution  given  thee ;  be  advised. 
God  made  thee  perfect,  not  immutable  : 
And  good  he  made  thee,  but  to  persevere 
He  left  it  in  thy  power ;  ordain'd  thy  will 
By  nature  free,  not  over-ruled  by  fate 
Inextricable,  or  strict  necessity  : 
Our  voluntary  service  he  requires, 
Not  our  necessitated ;  such  with  him 
Finds  no  acceptance,  nor  can  find ;  for  how 
Can  hearts,  not  free,  be  tried  whether  they  serve 
Willing  or  no,  who  will  but  what  they  must 
By  destiny,  and  can  no  other  choose  ? 
Myself,  and  all  the  angelic  host,  that  stand 
In  sight  of  God,  enthroned,  our  happy  state 
Hold,  as  you  yours,  while  our  obedience  holds  j 
On  other  surety  none :  freely  we  serve, 
Because  we  freely  love,  as  in  our  will 
To  love  or  not;  in  this  we  stand  or  fall : 
And  some  are  fallen,  to  disobedience  fallen. 
And  so  from  heaven  to  deepest  hell;  0  fall 
From  what  high  state  of  bliss,  into  what  woe  1 

To  whom  our  great  progenitor :  Thy  words 
Attentive,  and  with  more  delighted  ear, 

ttnt  if  Adam  had  not  sinned,  he  would  never  have  died,  but  would  have  been  trans. 
lated  from  earth  to  heaven ;  and  this  doctrine  the  reader  may  see  illustrated  in  the 
learned  Bishop  Bull's  diseoun  c,  "  Of  the  State  of  Man  before  the  Fall."  Our  author 
DO  doubt,  was  very  well  acquainted  with  the  sense  of  antiquity  in  this  particular;  and, 
aclmitting  the  notion,  what  he  says  is  poetical  at  least,  if  you  will  not  allow  it  to  be 
probable  and  rational. — Newton. 


BOOK  T.]  PARADISE  LOST.  235 

Pivine  instructer,  I  have  heard,  than  when 

Cherubic  songs  by  night  from  neighbouring  hills 

Aereal  music  send  :  nor  knew  I  not 

To  be  both  will  and  deed  created  free; 

Yet  that  we  never  shall  forget  to  Ir.vc 

Our  Maker,  and  obey  him  whose  command 

Sinele  is  yet  so  just,  my  constant  thoughts 

Assured  me,  and  still  assure :  though  what  thou  tell'st 

Hath  pass'd  in  heaven,  some  doubt  within  me  move, 

But  more  desire  to  hear,  if  thou  consent, 

The  full  relation,  which  must  needs  be  strange, 

Worthy  of  sacred  silence  to  be  heard ; 

And  we  have  j'et  large  day ;  for  scarce  the  sun 

Hath  finish'd  half  his  journey,  and  scarce  begins 

His  other  half  in  the  great  zone  of  heaven. 

Thus  Adam  made  request;  and  Raphael," 
After  short  pause  assenting,  thus  began  : 

High  matter  thou  enjoin'st  me,  0  prime  of  men 
Sad  task  and  hard ;  for  how  shall  I  relate 
To  human  sense  the  invisible  exploits 
Of  warring  spirits  ?  how,  without  remorse. 
The  ruin  of  so  many,  glorious  once 
And  perfect  while  they  stood  If  how  last  unfold 
The  secrets  of  another  world,  perhaps 
Not  lawful  to  reveal  ?  yet  for  thy  good 
This  is  dispensed ;  and  what  surmounts  the  reach 
Of  human  sense,  I  shall  delineate  so, 
By  likening  spiritual  to  corporal  forms, 
As  may  express  them  bestj  though  what  if  earth" 
Be  but  the  shadow  of  heaven,  and  things  therein 
Each  to  other  like,  more  than  on  earth  is  thought  ? 

As  yet  this  world  was  not,  and  Chaos  wild 
Reign'd  where  these  heavens  now  roll,  where  earth  now  rests 
Upon  her  centre  poised  j  when  on  a  day,  ' 

B  Raphael. 
Eaphaftl's  behaviour  is  every  way  suitable  to  the  dignity  of  his  nature,  and  to  that 
character  of  a  sociable  spirit  with  which  the  author  has  so  judiciously  introduced  him. 
He  had  received  instructions  to  converse  with  Adam,  as  one  friend  converses  with 
another,  and  to  warn  him  of  the  enemy  who  was  contriving  his  destruction.  Accori- 
ingly,  he  is  represented  as  sitting  down  at  table  with  Adam,  and  eating  of  the  fruits  of 
Paradise.  The  occasion  naturally  leads  him  to  his  discourse  on  the  food  of  angels. 
Alter  having  thus  entered  into  conversation  with  man  upon  mdre  indifferent  subjects, 
he  warns  him  of  his  obedience,  and  makes  a  natural  transition  to  the  history  of  that 
fallen  angel  who  was  engaged  in  the  circumvention  of  our  first  parents. — Addison. 

0  Though  what  %f  earth,  dhe. 
In  order  to  mal<e  Adam -comprehend  these  things,  the  angel  tells  him  that  he  "must 
liken  spiritual  to  corporal  forms,"  and  questions  whether  there  is  not  a  greater  sim'li- 
tude  and  resemblance  between  things  in  heaven  and  things  on  earth  than  is  generally 
Imagined  ;  which  is  suggested  very  artfully  ;  as  it  is,  indeed,  the  best  apology  that  cculd 
be  made  for  those  bold  figures  which  Milton  has  employed,  and  especially  in  his  de- 
scriptions of  the  battles  of  the  angels.  To  the  same  purpose,  says  Mede,  Discourse  x  t 
''If  the  visible  things  of  God  may  be  learned,  as  St.  Paul  says,  from  the  creation  of  the 
R-orld.  why  may  not  the  invisible  and  intelligible  world  be  learned  from  the  fabric  of 
the  visible  ?  the  one  (it  may  be)  being  the  pattern  of  the  other." — Newton. 


236  PARx\DISE  LOST.  [book  t. 

(For  time,  though  in  eternity,  applied 

To  motion,  measures  all  things  durable 

By  present,  past,  and  future)  on  such  day 

As  heaven's  great  year  p  brings  forth,  the  empyreal  host » 

Of  angels,  by  imperial  summons  call'd. 

Innumerable  before  the  Almighty's  throne 

Forthwith,  from  all  the  ends  of  heaven,  appear'd 

Under  their  hierarchs  in  orders  bright : 

Ten  thousand  thousand  ensigns  high  advanced, 

Standards  and  gonfalons  'twixt  van  and  rear 

Stream  in  the  air,  and  for  distinction  serve 

Of  hierarchies,  of  orders,  and  degrees ; 

Or  in  their  glittering  tissues  bear  imblazed 

Holy  memorials,  acts  of  zeal  and  love 

Recorded  eminent.     Thus  when  in  orbs 

Of  circuit  inexpressible  they  stood. 

Orb  within  orb,  the  Father  infinite. 

By  whom  in.  bliss  imbosom'd  sat  the  Son, 

Amidst,  as  from  a  flaming  mount,  whose  top 

Brightness  had  made  invisible,  thus  spake : 

Hear,  all  ye  angels,  progeny  of  light, 
Thones,  dominations,  princedoms,  virtues,  powers; 
Hear  my  decree,""  which  unrevoked  shall  stand : 
This  day  I  have  begot  whom  I  declare 
My  only  Son,  and  on  this  holy  hill 
Him  have  anointed,  whom  ye  now  behold 
At  my  right  hand;  your  head  I  him  appoint; 
And  by  myself  have  sworn,  to  him  shall  bow 
All  knees  in  heaven,  and  shall  confess  him  Lord. 
Under  his  great  vicegerent  reign  abide 
United,  as  one  individual  soul. 
For  ever  happy :  him  who  disobeys, 
Me  disobeys,  breaks  union ;  and  that  day. 
Cast  out  from  God  and  blessed  vision,  falls 
Into  utter  darkness,  deep  ingulf 'd,  his  place 
Ordain'd  without  redemption,  without  end. 

p  As  heaven's  great  year. 

Our  piet  seems  to  have  had  Plato's  great  year  in  his  thoughts.  See  also  Virgil,  Eel.  iv. 
6  and  12. — Uitme. 

Plato's  great  year  of  the  heavens  is  the  revolution  of  all  the  spheres.  Everything 
returns  to  where  it  set  out  when  their  motion  first  began.  See  Auson.  Idyl,  xviii.  15. 
A  proper  time  for  the  declaration  of  the  vicegerency  of  the  Son  of  God.  Milton  has  the 
game  thought  for  the  birth  of  the  angels,  v.  861,  imagining  such  kind  of  revolutions 
long  before  the  angels  or  the  world  were  in  being.  So  far  back  into  eternity  did  the 
vast  mind  of  this  puet  carry  him. — Richardson. 

q  The  empyreal  host. 
See  Job  L  6,  and  1  Kinjjs  xxiL  19. — Newton  ;  and  Dan.  vii.  10. — Todd. 

f  Hear  my  decree. 
We  observe  before,  that  Milton  was  very  cautious,  what  sentiments  and  language  he 
Mcribed  to  the  Almighty,  and  generally  confined  himself  to  the  phrases  and  expressions 
of  Scripture;  and  in  this  particular  speech  the  reader  will  easily  remark  how  much  of 
It  is  copied  from  Holy  Writ,  by  comparing  it  with  the  following  texts:  Psalm  iL  6,  7  i 
Gen,  xxii.  16:  Philip,  ii.  10,  11. — Newton.    Also  to  Heb.  i.  5. — Todd, 


BOOK  v.]  PARADISE  LOST.  237 

So  spake  the  Omnipotent,  and  with  his  words 
All  seem'd  well  pleased ;  all  seem'd,  but  were  not  all. 
That  day,  as  other  solemn  days  they  spent, 
In  song  and  dance  about  the  sacred  hill ; 
Mystical  dance,  which  yonder  starry  sphere 
Of  planets,  and  of  fix'd,  in  all  her  wheels 
Resembles  nearest,  mazes  intricate. 
Eccentric,  intervolved,  yet  regular 
Then  most,  when  most  irregular  they  seemj 
And  in  their  motions  harmony  divine 
So  smoothes  her  charming  tones,  that  God's  own  ear 
Listens  delighted.     Evening  now  approach'd; 
(For  we  have  also  our  evening  and  our  morn. 
We  ours  for  change  delectable,  not  need) 
Forthwith  from  dance  to  sweet  repast  they  turn 
Desirous ;  all  in  circles  as  they  stood. 
Tables  are  set,  and  on  a  sudden  piled 
With  angels'  food ;  and  rubied  nectar  flows 
In  pearl,  in  diamond,  and  massy  gold, 
Fruit  of  delicious  vines,  the  growth  of  heaven. 
On  flowers  reposed,  and  with  fresh  flowerets  crown' d, 
They  eat,  they  drink,  and  in  communion  sweet 
Quafi"  immortality  and  joy,  secure 
Of  surfeit,  where  full  measure  only  bounds 
Excess,  before  the  all-bounteous  King,  who  shower'd 
With  copious  hand,  rejoicing  in  their  joy. 
Now  when  ambrosial  night  with  cloudsi  exhaled 
From  that  high  mount  of  God,  whence  light  and  shade 
Spring  both,  the  face  of  brightest  heaven  had  changed 
To  grateful  twilight,  (for  night  comes  not  there 
In  darker  veil)  and  roseat  dews  disposed 
All  but  the  unsleeping  eyes  of  God »  to  rest ; 
Wide  over  all  the  plain,  and  wider  far 
Than  all  this  globous  earth  in  plain  outspread, 
(Such  are  the  courts  of  God)  the  angelic  throng. 
Dispersed  in  bands  and  files,  their  camp  extend 
By  living  streams '  among  the  trees  of  life, 
Pavilions  numberless  and  sudden  rear'd. 
Celestial  tabernacles,  where  they  slept 
Fann'd  with  cool  winds;  save  those,  who,  in  their  course, 
Melodious  hymns  about  the  sovran  throne 
Alternate  all  night  long  :  but  not  so  waked 
Satan ;  so  call  him  now  ;  his  former  name 
Is  heard  no  more  in  heaven,:  he  of  the  first, 
If  not  the  first  .archangel,  great  in  power, 

•  Unsleeping  eye»  of  God, 

So  the  Psalmist,  Psalm  cxxi.  4 : — "  He  that  keepeth  Israel  shall  neither  slumber  nor 
sleep."     The  author  had  likewise  Homer  in  mind,  H.  ii.  1. — Newton. 

'  By  living  streamB. 
Rer.  vii.  17 : — "  The  Lamb  shall  lead  unto  living  fountains  of  water." — Todd. 


238  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  v. 

In  favour,  and  pre-eminence,  yet  fraught 
With  envy  against  the  Son  of  God,  that  day 
Honour'd  by  his  great  Father,  and  proclaim'd 
Messiah  King  anointed,  could  not  bear 
Through  pride  that  sight,  and  thought  himself  impaired. 
Deep  malice  thence  conceiving  and  disdain. 
Soon  as  midnight  brought  on  the  dusky  hour 
Friendliest  to  sleep  and  silence,  he  resolved 
With  all  his  legions  to  dislodge,  and  leave 
Unworshipp'd,  unobey'd,  the  throne  supreme, 
Contemptuous ;  and  his  next  subordinate 
Awakening,  thus  to  him  in  secret  spake  : 

Sleep'st  thou,  companion  dear  ?  what  sleep  can  close 
Thy  eyelids  ?  and  remember' st  what  decree 
Of  yesterday,  so  late  hath  pass'd  the  lips- 
Of  heaven's  Almighty  ?     Thou  to  me  thy  thoughts 
Wast  wont,  I  mine  to  thee  was  wont  to  impart : 
Both  waking  we  were  one;  how  then  can  now 
Thy  sleep  dissent  ?     New  laws  thou  seest  imposed ; 
New  laws  from  him  who  reigns,  new  minds  may  raise 
In  us  who  serve,  new  counsels  to  debate 
What  doubtful  may  ensue  :  more  in  this  place 
To  utter  is  not  safe.     Assemble  thou 
Of  all  those  myriads  which  we  lead  the  chief; 
Tell  them,  that  by  command,  ere  yet  dim  night 
Her  shadowy  cloud  withdraws,  I  am  to  haste, 
And  all  who  under  me  their  banners  wave. 
Homeward,  with  flying  march,  where  we  possess 
The  quarters  of  the  north ; "  there  to  prepare 

"  The  quarters  of  the  north. 

See  Sannazarius,  de  Partu  Virginis,  iii.  40.  There  are  other  passages  in  the  same 
poem  of  which  Milton  has  made  use. — Jortin. 

Some  have  thought  that  Milton  intended,  but  I  dare  say  he  was  above  intending  here, 
a  reflection  upon  Scotland;  though  being  himself  an  independent,  he  had  no  great 
affection  for  the  Scotch  presbyterians.  He  had  the  authority,  we  see,  of  Sannazarius 
for  fixing  Satan's  rebellion  in  "  the  quarters  of  the  north  ;"  and  he  had  much  better 
authority,  the  same  that  Sannazarius  had, — that  of  the  prophet,  whose  words,  though 
applied  to  the  king  of  Babylon,  yet  alluded  to  this  rebellion  of  Satan,  Isaiah  xiv.  12 : — 
"How  art  thou  fallen  from  heaven,  0  Lucifer,  son  of  the  morning!  For  thou  hast 
said  in  thine  heart,  I  will  ascend  into  heaven,  I  will  exalt  my  throne  above  the  stars  of 
God  ;  I  will  sit  also  upon  the  mount  of  the  congregation  in  the  sides  of  the  north." 
Bt.  Austin  says,  that  the  devil  and  his  angels,  being  averse  from  the  light  and  fervour 
of  charity,  grew  torpid  as  it  were  with  an  icy  hardness ;  and  are  therefore,  by  a  figure, 
placed  in  the  north.  See  his  Epist.  cxi.  sect.  55.  And  Shakspeare  called  Satan  "the 
monarch  of  the  north,"  1  Hen.  VL  a.  v.,  s.  3.  I  have  seen  too  a  Latin  poem  by  Odoricug 
Valraerana,  printed  at  Vienna  in  1627,  and  entitled  "Daemonomachise,  eive  de  Bello 
Intelligentiarum  super  Divini  Verbi  Incarnatione."  This  poem  is  longer  than  the 
Cliad,  for  it  consists  of  five-and-twenty  books,  but  it  equals  the  Iliad  in  nothing  but  in 
length,  for  the  poetry  is  very  indifferent:  however,  in  some  particulars  the  plan  of  this 
poem  is  very  like  "  Paradise  Lost" 

It  opens  with  the  exaltation  of  the  Son  of  God ;  and  thereupon  Lucifer  revolts,  and 
draw?  a  third  Dart  of  the  angels  after  him  into  the  quarters  of  the  north  : — 

Pars  tertia  laevam, 
Hoc  duce  persequitur,  gelidoque,  aquilone  locatur. 

It  is  more  probable  that  Milton  had  seen  this  poem,  than  some  others  from  which  he 
is  charged  with  borrowing  largely.     He  was  indeed  a  universal  scholar,  and  read  all 


BOOK  v.]  PARADISE  LOST.  239 

Fit  entertainraent  to  receive  our  King, 
The  great  Messiah,  and  his  new  commands; 
Who  speedily  through  all  the  hierarchies  j 

Intends  to  pass  triumphant,  and  give  laws. 
So  spake  the  false  archangel,  and  infused 
Bad  influence  into  the  unwary  breast 
Of  his  associate  :  he  together  calls, 
Or  several  one  by  one,  the  regent  powers, 
Under  him  regent ;  tells,  as  he  was  taught. 
That  the  Most  High  commanding,  now  ere  night, 
Now  ere  dim  night  had  disincumber'd  heaven 
The  great  hierarchal  standard  was  to  move; 
Tells  the  suggested  cause,  and  casts  between 
Ambiguous  words  and  jealousies  to  sound 
Or  taint  integrity  :  but  all  obey'd 
The  wonted  signal  and  superiour  voice 
Of  their  great  potentate  ;  for  great  indeed 
His  name,  and  high  was  his  degree  in  heaven : 
His  countenance,  as  the  morning  star  '^  that  guides 
The  starry  flock,  allured  them ;  and  with  lies 
Drew  after  him  the  third  part  of  heaven's  host.'' 
Meanwhile  the  eternal  eye,  whose  sight  discerns 
Abstrusest  thoughts,  from  forth  his  holy  mount, 
And  from  within  the  golden  lamps"  that  burn 
Nightly  before  him,  saw  without  their  light 
Rebellion  rising ;  sa\f  in  whom,  how  spread 
Among  the  sons  of  morn,y  what  multitudes 
Were  banded  to  oppose  his  high  decree ; 
And,  smiling,  to  his  only  Son  thus  said : — 

sorts  of.  authors,  and  took  hints  from  the  moderns  as  well  as  the  ancients.  He  was  a 
great  genius,  but  a  great  genius  formed  by  reading;  and,  as  it  was  said  of  Virgil,  he 
eollected  gold  out  of  the  dung  of  other  authors. — Newton. 

The  commentators  have  not  observed  that  there  is  still  another  poem,  which  Milton 
seems  to  have  copied,  "  L'Angelida  di  Erasmo  di  Valvasone,"  printed  at  Venice  in 
1590,  describing  the  battle  of  the  angels  against  Lucifer.  I  beg  leave  to  add  that 
Milton  seems  also  to  have  attended  to  a  poem  of  Tasso,  not  much  noticed,  on  the 
Creation,  "  Le  Sette  Giornate  del  Mondo  Creato,"  in  1607.— J.  Wahton. 

This  poem  of  Tasso  is  in  blank  verse:  the  measure,  therefore,  as  well  as  the  subject, 
would  particularly  interest  Milton.  There  is  another  poem,  still  less  noticed,  into  which 
also  Milton  might  have  looked,  "  Delia  Creatione  del  Mondo,  Poema  Sacro,  del  Signer 
Gasparo  Murtola,  Giorni  sette,  Canti  sedici,"  printed  at  Venice  in  1608  :  the  printer  of 
which  informs  the  reader  that  this  work  had  been  expected  by  the  learned  with  much 
Impatience. — Todd. 

»  Hia  countenance,  as  the  morning -star. 

This  similitude  is  not  so  new  as  poetical.  Virgil,  in  like  manner,  compares  the 
beautiful  young  Pallas  to  the  morning-star,  ^ii.  viii.  689,  Ac.  But  there  is  a  much 
greater  propriety  in  Milton's  comparing  Satan  to  the  morning-star,  as  he  is  often 
spoken  of  under  the  name  of  Lucifer,  as  well  as  denominated  Lucifer,  son  of  the  morning. 
.—Newton. 

»  The  third  part  of  heaven's  host. 

See  Rev.  xii.  3,  4. — Newton. 

*  TTie  golden  lamps. 

Alluding  to  the  lamps  before  the  throne  of  God,  which  St.  John  saw  in  his  vision,  Eev. 
iv.  5: — "Anl  there  were  seven  lamps  of  fire  bui-ning  before  the  throne." — Nkwtoh, 

7  Sons  of  worn- 
See  Isaiah  xiv.  12. — Todd. 


240  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  v. 

Son,  thou  in  whom  my  glory  I  behold 
In  full  resplendence,  heir  of  all  my  might," 
Nearly  it  now  concerns  us  to  be  sure 
Of  our  omnipotence,  and  with  what  arms 
We  mean  to  hold  what  anciently  we  claim 
Of  deity  or  empire  :  such  a  foe 
Is  rising,  who  intends  to  erect  his  throne 
Equal  to  ours,  throughout  the  spacious  north ; 
Nor  so  content,  hath  in  his  thought  to  try 
In  battel,  what  our  power  is,  or  our  right. 
Let  us  advise,  and  to  this  hazard  draw 
With  speed  what  force  is  left,  and  all  employ 
In  our  defence  :  lest  unawares  we  lose 
This  our  high  place,  our  sanctuary,  our  hill. 

To  whom  the  Son,  with  calm  aspect  and  clear. 
Lightning  divine,  ineffable,  serene, 
Made  answer : — Mighty  Father,  thou  thy  foes 
Justly  hast  in  derision,  and,  secure, 
Laugh'st  at  their  vain  designs  and  tumults  vain, 
Matter  to  me  of  glory,  whom  their  hate 
Illustrates ;  when  they  see  all  regal  power 
Given  me  to  quell  their  pride,  and  in  event 
Know  whether  I  be  dextrous  to  subdue 
Thy  rebels,  or  be  found  the  worst  in  heaven. 

So  spake  the  Son :  but  Satan,  with  his  powers, 
Far  was  advanced  on  winged  speed  :  an  host 
Innumerable  as  the  stars  of  night. 
Or  stars  of  morning,  dew-drops,*  which  the  sun 
Impearls  on  every  leaf  and  every  flower. 
Regions  they  pass'd,  the  mighty  regencies 
Of  seraphim,  and  potentates,  and  thrones, 
In  their  triple  degrees ;  regions,  to  which 
All  thy  dominion,  Adam,  is  no  more 
Than  what  this  garden  is  to  all  the  earth, 
And  all  the  sea,  from  one  entire  globose 
Stretch'd  into  longitude ;  which  having  pass'd, 
At  length  into  the  limits  of  the  north 
They  came ;  and  Satan  to  his  royal  seat, 
High  on  a  hill  far  blazing,  as  a  mount 
Raised  on  a  mount,  with  pyramids  and  towers 
From  diamond  quarries  hewn  and  rocks  of  goldj 
The  palace  of  great  Lucifer,  (so  call 
That  structure  in  the  dialect  of  men 

«  &etV  of  all  my  might. 

*  For  he  is  the  brightness  of  his  Father's  glory,  and  appointed  heir  of  all  things.*— 
Nkwton. 

»  Or  start  of  morning,  dew-dropa. 

Innumerable  as  the  stars,  is  an  old  simile ;  but  this  of  the  stars  of  morning,  rfew- 
drop»,  seems  as  new  as  it  is  beautiful :  and  the  sun  impearls  them — turns  them  by  hia 
reflected  beams  to  seeming  pearls ;  as  the  mom  was  said  before  to  sow  the  earth  with 
orient  pearl,  ver,  2. — Newtou. 


BOOK  v.]  PARADISE  LOST.  241 

Interpreted)  which  not  long  after,  he, 
Affecting  all  equality  with  God, 
In  imitation  of  that  mount  whereon 
Messiah  was  declared  in  sight  of  heaven, 
The  mountain  of  the  Congregation''  call'dj 
For  thither  he  assembled  all  his  train. 
Pretending  so  commanded  to  consult 
About  the  great  reception  of  their  King, 
Thither  to  come  ;  and  with  calumnious  art 
Of  counterfeited  truth  thus  held  their  ears : 

Thrones,  dominations,  princedoms,  virtues,  powere  J 
If  these  magnific  titles  yet  remain 
Not  merely  titular,  since  by  decree 
Another  now  hath  to  himself  engross'd 
All  power,  and  us  eclipsed  under  the  name 
Of  King  anointed,  for  whom  all  this  haste 
Of  midnight  march,  and  hurried  meeting  here. 
This  only  to  consult  how  we  may  best. 
With  what  may  be  devised  of  honours  new, 
Keceive  him  coming  to  receive  from  us 
Knee-tribute  yet  unpaid,  prostration  vile  1 
Too  much  to  one  !  but  double  how  endured, 
To  one,  and  to  his  image  now  proclaim'd? 
But  what  if  better  counsels  might  erect 
Our  minds,  and  teach  us  to  cast  off  thip  yoke  ? 
Will  ye  submit  your  necks,  and  choose  to  bend 
The  supple  knee  ?     Ye  will  not,  if  I  trust 
To  know  ye  right,  or  if  ye  know  yourselves 
Natives  and  sons  of  heaven,  possess'd  before 
By  none;  and  if  not  equal  all,  yet  free," 
Equally  free ;  for  orders  and  degfees 
Jar  not  with  liberty,  but  well  consist. 
Who  can  in  reason  then,  or  right,  assume 
Monarchy  over  such  as  live  by  right 
His  equals  ?  if  in  power  and  splendour  less, 
In  freedom  equal :  or  can  introduce 
Law  and  edict  on  us  ?  who  without  law 
Err  not :  much  less  for  this ''  to  be  our  Lord, 
And  look  for  adoration ;  to  the  abuse 
Of  those  imperial  titles,  which  assert 
Our  being  ordain'd  to  govern,  not  to  serve. 

Thus  far  his  bold  discourse  without  controul 
Had  audience  ;  when  among  the  seraphim,  , 

•>  The  mountain  of  the  congregation. 
Isaiah  xiv.  13 : — "I  will  sit  also  upon  the  mount  of  the  congregation,  in  the  rides  of 
the  north." — Nbwtom. 

e  If  not  eqtial  all,  yet  free. 
Let  those  who  talk  of  absolute  equality,  remember  these  words  of  one  whom  they 
must  allow  to  hare  been  a  lover  of  freedom. — J.  Wartos. 

i  For  thie. 
•'For  this,"  must  be,  "in  right  of  law  or  edict" 
31 


242  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  V, 

Abdiel,  than  whom  none  with  more  zeal  adored 
The  Deity,  and  divine  commands  obey'd, 
Stood  up,  and  in  a  dame  of  zeal  severe 
The  current  of  his  fury  thus  opposed  : 

0  argument  blasphemous,  false,  and  proud  I 
Words  which  no  ear  ever  to  hear  in  heaven 
Expected,  least  of  all  from  thee,  ingrate, 
In  place  thyself  so  high  above  thy  peers. 
Canst  thou  with  impious  obloquy  condemn 
The  just  decree  of  God,  pronounced  and  sworn, 
That  to  his  only  Son,  by  right  endued 
With  regal  sceptre,  every  soul  in  heaveu 
Shall  bend  the  knee,  and  in  that  honour  due 
Confess  him  rightful  King?  unjust,  thou  say'st, 
t  Flatly  unjust,  to  bind  with  laws  the  free, 
And  equal  over  equals  to  let  reign, 
One  over  all  with  unsucceeded  power. 
Shalt  thou  give  law*  to  God  ?  shalt  thou  dispute 
With  him  the  points  of  liberty,  who  made 
Thee  what  thou  art,  and  form'd  the  powers  of  heaven 
Such  as  he  pleased,  and  circumscribed  their  being  ? 
Yet,  by  experience  taught,  we  know  how  good, 
And  of  our  good  and  of  our  dignity 
How  provident  he  is  :  how  far  from  thought 
To  make  us  less,  bent  rather  to  exalt 
Our  happy  state,  under  one  head  more  near 
United.     But  to  grant  it  thee  unjust. 
That  equal  over  equals  monarch  reign  : 
Thyself,  though  great  and  glorious,  dost  thou  count, 
Or  all  angelic  nature  join'd  in  one. 
Equal  to  him  Begotten  Son  ?  by  whom. 
As  by  his  word,  the  mighty  Father  made  ' 
All  things,  even  thee ;  and  all  the  spirits  of  heaven 
By  him  created  in  their  bright  degrees; 
Crown'd  them  with  glory,  and  to  their  glory  named 
Thrones,  dominations,  princedoms,  virtues,  powers, 
Essential  powers  ;  nor  by  his  reign  obscured. 
But  more  illustrious  made ;  since  he  the  head 
One  of  our  number  thus  reduced  becomes ; 
His  laws  our  laws ;  all  honour  to  him  done 
Returns  our  own.     Cease  then  this  impious  rage, 

*  Shalt  thou  give  law  f 
Fiom  Rom.  ix.  20: — "Who  art  thou  that  repliest  against   God?    Shall  the  thing 
formed  say  to  him  that  formed  it,  Why  hast  thou  made  me  thus  ?" — Gillies. 

f  By  whom, 
As  hy  his  word,  the  mighty  Father  made. 

From  Col.  i.  16,  17: — "For  by  him  were  all  things  created  that  are  in  heaven,  and 
that  are  in  earth,  visible  and  invisible,  whether  they  be  thrones,  or  dominions,  or  prin- 
cipalities, or  powers;  all  things  were  created  by  him  and  for  him,  and  he  i"  befrre  all 
things,  and  by  him  all  things  consist."  And  the  conclusion  of  thif  speech  is  token 
from  the  conclusion  of  Psalm  ii. — Newtok. 


BOOK  v.]  '       PARADISE  LOST^ 243 

And  tempt  not  these ;  but  hasten  to  appease 
The  incensed  Father  and  the  incensed  Son, 
While  pardon  may  be  found*  in  time  besought. 

So  spake  the  fervent  angel ;  but  his  zeal 
None  seconded,  as  out  of  season  judged, 
Or  singular  and  rash  :  whereat  rejoiced 
The  Apostate,  and,  more  haughty,  thus  replied : 

That  we  were  form'd  then,  say'st  thou  ?  and  the  work 
Of  secondary  hand  by  task  transferr'd 
From  Father  to  his  Son  'f  strange  point  and  new  ! 
Doctrine  which  we  would  know  whence  learn'd :  who  saw 
When  this  creation  was  ?  "     Remember' st  thou 
Thy  making,  while  the  Maker  gave  thee  being  ? 
We  know  no  time  when  we  were  not  as  now  j 
Know  none  before  us ;  self-begot,  self-raised 
By  our  own  quickening  power,  when  fatal  course 
Had  circled  his  full  orb,  the  birth  mature 
Of  this  our  native  heaven,  ethereal  sons. 
Our  puissance  is  our  own ; '  our  own  right  hand 
Shall  teach  us  highest  deeds,J  by  proof  to  try 
Who  is  our  equal :  then  thou  shalt  behold 
Whether  by  supplicatiou  we  intend 
Address,  and  to  begirt  the  almighty  throne 
Beseeching  or  besieging.     This  report, 
These  tidings  carry  to  the  anointed  King ; 
And  fly,  ere  evil  intercept  thy  flight 

He  said  j  and,  as  the  sound  of  waters  deep,* 
Hoarse  murmur  echoed  to  his  words  applause 
Through  the  infinite  host ;  nor  less  for  that 
The  flaming  seraph  fearless,  though  alone, 
Encompass'd  round  with  foes,  thus  answer'd  bold : 

0  alienate  from  God,  0  spirit  accursed, 

S  While  pardon  may  be  found. 
Jfrom  Isaiah  iv.  6 : — "  Seek  ye  the  Lord  while  he  may  be  found." — Gillies. 

h  Who  saw 
When  this  creation  was  t 
Like  the  Bublime  question  in  Job  xxxviii.  4: — "Where  wast  thou  when  I  laid  the 
'oundalion  of  the  earth."     Milton,  perhaps  with  a  second  reference  to  this  passage, 
observes  at  v.  250,  b.  viii. — 

For  man  to  tell  how  human  life  began 

Ib  hard  j  lor  who  himself  beginning  knew? — Todd. 

"  Our  puissance  is  our  own. 
See  Psalm  xii.  4 : — "  Our  lips  are  our  own :  who  is  Lord  over  us  ?" — Gillikb. 

j  Our  own  right  hand 
Shall  teach  us  highest  deeds. 
From  Psalm  xlv.  4 : — "  Thine  own  right  hand  shall  teach  thee  terrible  things."  And 
Vi|p.  JRn.  X.  773  :— 

D«xtra  mihi  deus,  «t  telumquod  miBsile  libro. — Bxntlst 

k  As  the  sound  of  waters  deep, 
"The  voice  of  a  great  multitude"  applauding,  is  in  like  manner  compared  to  "the 
voice  of  many  waters,"  Rev.  xix.  6. — Newton. 
See  also  Homer.  II.  ii  209.  3U4.— Stillingflebt. 


244  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  v. 

Forsaken  of  all  good  !  I  see  thy  fall 
Determined,  and  thy  hapless  crew,  involved 
In  this  perfidious  fraud,  contagion  spread 
Both  of  thy  crime  and  punishment.     Henceforth 
No  more  be  troubled  how  to  quit  the  yoke 
Of  Grod's  Messiah ;  those  indulgent  laws 
Will  not  be  now  vouchsafed  ;  other  decrees 
Against  thee  are  gone  forth  without  recall  : 
That  golden  sceptre,  which  thou  didst  reject, 
Is  now  an  iron  rod,  to  bruise  and  break 
Thy  disobedience.     Well  thou  didst  advise : 
Yet  not  for  thy  advice  or  threats  I  fly 
These  wicked  tents  devoted : '  lest  the  wrath 
Impendent,  raging  into  sudden  flame, 
Distinguish  not :  for  soon  expect  to  feel 
His  thunder  on  thy  head,  devouring  fire  : 
Then  who  created  thee  lamenting  learn; 
When,  who  can  uncreate  thee,  thou  shalt  know. 

So  spake  the  seraph  Abdiel,  faithful  found 
Among  the  faithless,  faithful  only  he ; 
Among  innumerable  false,  unmoved, 
Unshaken,  unseduced,  unterrified. 
His  loyalty  he  kept,  his  love,  his  zeal : 
Nor  number  nor  example  with  him  wrought 
To  swerve  from  truth,  or  change  his  constant  mind. 
Though  single.     From  amidst  them  forth  he  pass'd, 
Long  way  through  hostile  scorn ;  which  he  sustain'd 
Superiour,  nor  of  violence  fear'd  aught ; 
And,  with  retorted  scorn,  his  back  he  turn'd 
On  those  proud  towers  "*  to  swift  destruction  doom'd. 

•  These  wicked  tents  devoted. 
In  allusion  probably  to  the  rebellion  of  Korah,  Ac,  Numb.  xvi.  26,  where  Moses 
exhorts  the  congregation,  Baying,  "  Depart,  I  pray  you,  from  the  tents  of  these  wicked 
men,  lest  yo  be  consumed  in  all  their  sins." — Newton. 

•n  Proud  towers, 
"  Towers"  may  mean  those  troops  that  had  scorned  and  insulted  him. — Todd. 


BOOK  VI.]  PARADISE  LOST.  245 


BOOI^  VI. 

INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 

Ih  the  notes  on  the  former  books  I  have  made  long  extracts  from  the  beautiful  essays 
of  Addison  on  the  Paradise  Lost :  I  shall  forbear  to  do  it  on  the  present  occasion, 
because  I  find  nothing  relating  to  this  book  importantly  different  from  the  matter  of  the 
notes  cited  from  other  critics. 

The  battle  of  the  rebellious  angels  is  the  grand  feature  of  this  book ;  it  is  generally 
regarded  as  one  of  the  most  admirable  parts  of  the  poem.  I  will  frankly  confess,  that 
I  cannot  entirely  subscribe  to  this  opinion.  In  the  first  place,  the  introduction  of  the 
invention  of  artillery  into  the  combat  is  objectionable : — in  the  war  of  spirits  it  is 
degrading,  and  almost  ludicrous.  In  the  whole  mode  of  carrying  on  this  mighty  effort 
against  heaven,  there  is  too  much  of  earth  and  materialism.  It  will  be  answered,  that 
this  was  of  necessity ;  for  how  was  a  war  of  spirits  to  be  expressed  ?  Perhaps  such  a 
difiiculty  was  insurmountable ;  but  then  the  subject  should  have  been  covered  with  a 
mantle  :  at  least,  the  elements  might  have  been  made  to  contend ; — a  universal  tempest 
of  fire,  wind,  and  water.  Here  everything  is  conducted  almost  in  the  ordinary  manner, 
and  with  the  technical  skill  of  human  warfare,  except  that  the  degree  of  force  is  more 
gigantic. 

It  will  be  pleaded,  that  Milton  had  the  authority  of  the  language  of  Holy  Writ  for 
such  descriptions;  and  that  he  generally  speaks  in  the  very  words  of  the  Bible.  It  is 
true  that  he  adapts  these  words  with  astonishing  skill  and  genius ;  but  he  contrives  to 
go  into  details  which  break  up  the  spell  of  their  mysteries.  The  phraseology  of  these 
Sacred  Writings  referred  to  is  astonishingly  sublime,  picturesque,  and  poetical :  if  Mil- 
ton could  have  stopped  exactly  where  that  stopped,  he  would  have  done  better.  This 
is  a  bold  censure,  but  it  is  sincere.  I  think  that  the  poet  was  sometimes  led  into  this 
by  his  rivalry  of  Homer  and  Virgil,  and  the  other  ancient  classics  He  had  a  great 
advantage  over  them  in  his  subject,  and  he  should  not  have  fallen  from  it :  there  is  no 
poetry  in  Homer  or  Virgil  like  the  poetry  of  the»Bible.  ^ 

I  fully  admit  that  such  was  the  "height  of  Milton's  argument  that  all  human  or 
earthly  imagery  inevitably  sunk  below  it;  and  that  his  task  imposed  upon  him  the  ev'l 
"  magna  componere  parvis."  On  many  occasions  of  his  work,  these  illustrations  not 
only  do  not  offend,  but  create  beautiful  poetry :  the  illustration  derives  reflected  splen- 
dour from  that  which  it  is  placed  to  illustrate. 

Johnson  says,  that  Milton  "  saw  nature  through  the  spectacle  of  books."  As  long  as 
he  enjoyed  his  sight,  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  saw  her  by  his  own  unaided  eyes ;  and 
nothing  can  be  more  fresh  than  many  of  his  descriptions  of  natural  scenery :  this  is 
proved  by  the  simplicity  and  nakedness  of  his  language.  He  does  not  dress  up  the 
moon  and  the  stars,  the  lakes  and  the  valleys,  into  affected  personifications. 

The  richness  of  his  array,  both  of  the  magnificent  and  the  fair,  of  embodied  forms,  is 
sometimes  surprising ;  and  he  allows  the  intervention  of  no  feeble  words  to  weaken  hie 
imagery.  The  condensed  collocation  of  his  language  is  peculiar  to  himself.  Its  breaks 
— its  bursts — the  strong — the  rough  and  the  flowing — the  concise  and  the  gigantic — are 
mingled  with  a  surprising  skill,  and  eloquence,  and  magic.  It  is  easy  to  find  single 
gems  in  other  authors ;  the  galaxy  is  the  wonder,  Milton's  splendour  when  it  began  to 
rise,  did  not  ktop  till  it  blazed. 

Even  supposing  his  Book  of  Battles  to  be  liable  to  the  censure  I  have  hazarded,  still 
the  manner  in  which  it  augments  its  force  as  it  goes  onward,  is  miraculous.  The  cha- 
racter of  Satan  combining  the  height  of  wickedness  with  grandeur  of  power  and  will,  is 
supported  in  a,  state  of  progressive  elevation ;  while  the  Deity,  Father  and  Son,  still 
retains  his  supreraacy;  and,  to  whatever  sublimity  the  rebel  angel  is  lifted,  soars  in 


246  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  vi. 

anapproached  dominion  above  him.  All  this  is  displayed  with  marvellous  splendour 
of  genius  in  the  close  of  the  Sixth  Book,  The  effects  of  Satan's  defeat  are  conceived 
and  described  with  a  superhuman  strength  of  imagination. 

I  have  already  expressed  an  opinion  very  unpopular,  that  the  argumentative  parts  of 
this  composition  are  as  noble  in  poetical  merit  as  the  descriptive.  They  spring  from 
that  visionary  power  which  makes  the  poet,  as  the  fresh  and  fragrant  exhalations  arise 
from  the  fruits  and  flowers  of  the  productive  earth.  If  they  strike  less  at  first,  they 
longer  rotiiin  their  charm.  But  I  would  not  forego  the  imagery :  it  is  the  union  of 
both  which  makes  the  unrivalled  and  inimitable  excellence  of  this  work,  so  far  surpass- 
ing all  other  mere  human  compositions.  Nay,  it  must  not  be  called  merely  human  :  it 
has  all  the  marks  of  inspiration;  and  when  such  large  parts  of  L  are  the  words  of  Holy 
Writ,  can  this  be  wondered  at  ? 


ARGUMENT. 


Raphael  continues  to  relate  how  Michael  and  Gabriel  were  sent  forth  to  battel  ngainst  Satan 
and  his  angels.  The  first  fight  described;  Satan  and  his  powers  retire  under  night:  he 
calls  a  council ;  invents  devilish  engines,  which,  in  the  second  day's  fight,  put  Michael 
and  his  angels  to  some  disorder;  but  they  at  length,  pulling  up  mountains,  overwhelmed 
both  the  force  and  machines  of  Satan:  yet  the  tumult  not  so  ending,  God  on  the  third  day 
sends  Messiah  his  Son,  for  whom  he  had  reserved  the  glory  of  that  victory.  He,  in  the 
power  of  his  Father,  coming  to  the  place,  and  causing  all  his  legions  to  stand  still  on 
either  side,  with  his  chariot  and  thunder  driving  into  the  midst  of  his  enemies,  pursues 
them,  unable  to  resist,  towards  the  wail  of  heaven  ;  which  opening,  they  leap  down  with 
horrour  and  confusion  into  the  place  of  punishment  prepared  for  them  in  the  deep.  Messiah 
returns  with  triumph  to  his  Father. 

All  night  the  dreadless  angel,  unpursued, 

Through  heaven's  wide  champain  held  his  way ;  till  Morn, 

Waked  by  the  circling  hours,"  with  rosy  hand 

TJnbarr'd  the  gates  of  light.     There  is  a  cave 

Within  the  mount  of  God,  fast  by  his  throne, 

Where  light  and  darkness  in  perpetual  round 

Lodge  and  dislodge  by  turns,*  which  makes  through  heaven 

Grateful  vicissitude,  like  day  and  night : 

Light  issues  forth,  and  at  the  other  door 

Obsequious  darkness  enters,  till  her  hour 

To  veil  the  heaven,  though  darkness  there  might  well 

Seem  twilight  here :  and  now  went  forth  the  Morn, 

Such  as  in  highest  heaven,  array'd  in  gold 

Empyreal :  from  before  her  vanish'd  Night, 

Shot  through*  with  orient  beams;  when  all  the  plain, 

Cover'd  with  thick  embattel'd  squadrons  bright, 

Chariots,  and  flaming  arms,  and  fiery  steeds, 

»  The  circling  hours,  toith  rosy  hand. 
How  inferior  is  Gray's  imitation ! — 

Lo,  where  the  rosy-bosomM  hoars. 

b  Lodge  and  dislodge  by  turns. 
The  thought  of  light  and  darkness  lodging  and  dislodging  by  turns,  the  one  issuing 
forth,  and  the  other  entering,  is  plainly  borrowed  from  a  fine  passage  in  Hesiod,  Theog. 
r48. — Newton. 

e  Shot  through, 

Thyer  objects  to  this  as  a  quaint  conceit  below  the  dignity  of  Milton :  on  the  contrary 
it  ia  correctiy  and  beautifully  poetical. 


BOOK  VI.]  PARADISE  LOST. 247 

Reflecting  blaze  on  blaze,*  first  met  his  view : 
War  he  perceived,  war  in  procinct ;  and  found 
Already  known  what  he  for  news  had  thought 
To  have  reported  :  gladly  then  he  raix'd 
Among  those  friendly  powers,  who  him  received 
With  joy  and  acclamations  loud.  That  one, 
That  of  so  many  myriads  fallen,  yet  one 
Return'd  not  lost.     On  to  the  sacred  hill 
They  led  him  high  applauded,  and  present 
Before  the  seat  supreme ;  from  whence  a  voice, 
F^om  midst  a  golden  cloud,  thus  mild  was  heard : 

Servant  of  G-od,  well  done ;  well  hast  thou  fought 
The  better  fight,  who  single  hast  maintain'd 
Against  revolted  multitudes  the  cause 
Of  truth,  in  word  mightier  than  they  in  arms  j 
And  for  the  testimony  of  truth  hast  borne 
Universal  reproach,"  far  worse  to  bear 
Than  violence  ;  for  this  was  all  thy  care, 
To  stand  approved  in  sight  of  God,  though  worlds 
Judged  thee  perverse  :  the  easier  conquest  now 
Remains  thee,  aided  by  this  host  of  friends, 
Back  on  thy  foes  more  glorious  to  return, 
Than  scorn'd  thou  didst  depart ;  and  to  subdue 
By  force,  who  reason  for  their  law  refuse, 
Right  reason  for  their  law,  and  for  their  King 
Messiah,  who  by  right  of  merit  reigns. 
Go,  Michael,'  of  celestial  armies  prince  j 
And  thou,  in  military  prowess  next, 
Gabriel,  lead  forth  to  battel  these  my  sons 
Invincible;  lead  forth  my  armed  saints, 

d  Blaze  on  blaze. 
See  1  Maccabees,  vi.  39.     "Now  when  the  sun  shone  upon  the  shields  of  gold  and 
brass,  the  mountains  glistered  therewith,  and  shined  like  lamps  of  fire." — Todd. 

e  Universal  reproach. 
This  sentiment  is  very  just,  and  not  unlike  what  Florus  says,  in  his  character  of 
Tarquin  the  Proud :  "  In  omnes  superbia,  quae  crudelitate  gravior  est  bonis,  grassatuB," 
lib.  i.  c.  7.     So  also  Spenser,  F.  Q.  iv.  iv.  4. 

For  evil  deeds  may  better  than  bad  ones  be  bore. — Thtkr. 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher  express  th  e  same  sentiment  very  well,  "Beggar's  Bush,"  a.  11.  s,  3. 

A  good  man  bears  a  contumely  worse 
Than  he  would  do  an  inju'v. — Newton. 

f  Go,  Michael, 

As  this  battle  of  the  angels  is  founded  principally  on  Rev.  xii.  7,  8, — "  There  was 
war  in  heaven ;  Michael  and  his  angels  fought  against  the  Dragon :  and  the  Dragon 
fought  and  his  angels,  and  prevailed  not,  neither  was  their  place  found  any  more 
In  heaven, — "  Michael  is  rightly  made  by  Milton  the  leader  of  the  heavenly  armies : 
and  the  name  in  Hebrew  signifies  the  power  of  Ood.  But  it  may  be  censured,  per- 
haps, as  a  piece  of  wrong  conduct  in  the  poem,  that  the  commission  here  given  is 
dot  executed:  they  are  ordered  to  drive  the  rebel  angels  "out  from  God  and  bliss;" 
but  this  is  efieoted  at  last  by  the  Messiah  alone.  Some  reasons  for  it  are  assigned  in 
the  speech  of  God,  v.  680 ;  and  in  that  of  the  Messiah,  v.  801,  of  this  book. — Newton. 

This  circumstance  is,  I  beli  ive,  the  most  indefensible  part  of  the  whole  poem.  The 
commission  is  not  only  given,  but  the  execution  of  it  is  in  a  certain  degree  foreshown. 
See  v.  51,  Ac. — DnJSTKR. 


248  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  vi. 

By  thousands  and  by  millions,  ranged  for  fight, 
Equal  in  number  to  that  godless  crew 
Rebellious :  them  with  fire  and  hostile  arms 
Fearless  assault;  and,  to  the  brow  of  heaven 
Pursuing,  drive  them  out  from  God  and  bliss, 
Into  their  place  of  punishment,  the  gulf 
Of  Tartarus,  which  ready  opens  wide 
His  fiery  chaos  to  receive  their  fall. 

So  spake  the  sovran  voice,  and  clouds  began* 
To  darken  all  the  hill,  and  smoke  to  roll 
In  dusky  wreaths,  reluctant  flames,''  the  sign 
Of  wrath  awaked  :  nor  with  less  dread  the  loud 
Ethereal  trumpet  from  on  high  'gan  blow: 
At  which  command  the  powers  militant, 
That  stood  for  heaven,  in  mighty  quadrate  join'd 
Of  union  irresistible,  moved  on 
In  silence  their  bright  legions,  to  the  sound 
Of  instrumental  harmony,  that  breathed 
Heroic  ardour  to  adventurous  deeds 
Under  their  godlike  leaders,  in  the  cause 
Of  God  and  his  Messiah.     On  they  move 
Indissolubly  firm ;  nor  obvious  hill, 
Nor  straitening  vale,  nor  wood,  nor  strean»,  divides 
Their  perfect  ranks;  for  high  above  the  ground' 
Their  march  was,  and  the  passive  air  upbore 
Their  nin^ble  tread  :  as  when*the  total  kind^ 
Of  birds,  in  orderly  array  on  .wing. 
Came  sumraon'd  over  Eden  to  receive 
Their  names  of  the'e ;  so  over  many  a  tract 

e  And  clouds  began. 
In  this  description  the  author  manifestly  alludes  to  that  of  God  descending  upon 
Mount  Sinai.     Exod.  xix.  16,  <fcc. — Newton. 

h  Reluctant  flame», 

Dunster  says  this  word  reluctant  is  misunderstood  by  Newton:  Inctari  is  to  be  Intei- 
proted  "  prorurapenai  impetus,"  and  that  reluctari  is  the  highest  degree  of  that 
"impetus."  Here  it  is  the  most  violent  exertion  of  the  fire  to  resist  and  break  through 
the  smoke. 

i  For  high  above  the  ground. 

Our  author  attributes  the  same  kind  of  motion  to  the  angels  as  the  ancients  did  to 
their  gods ;  which  was  gliding  through  the  air  without  ever  touching  the  ground  with 
^hoir  feet,  or,  as  Milton  elsewhere  elegantly  expresses  it  (b.  viii.  302),  "  smooth-sliding, 
H-ithout  step ;"  and  Homer,  II.  v.  77&,  compares  the  motions  of  two  goddesses  to  the 
flight  of  doves,  as  Milton  here  compares  the  march  of  the  angels  to  the  birds  coming  on 
Ihe  wing  to  Adam  to  receive  their  names. — Newton. 

J  As  when  the  total  kind. 
Homer  has  used  the  simile  of  a  flight  of  fowls  twice  in  his  Hiad,  to  express  the  num 
ber  and  the  motions,  the  order  and  the  clamours,  of  an  army.  See  II.  ii.  459,  iii.  2,  as 
Virgil  has  done  the  same  number  of  times  in  his  Mneid,  vii.  699,  x.  264.  But  thi» 
simile  exceeds  any  of  those :  first,  as  it  rises  so  naturally  out  of  the  subject,  and  was  a 
comparison  so  familiar  to  A.dam  :  secondly,  the  angels  were  marching  through  the  air, 
and  not  on  the  ground,  which  gives  it  another  propriety;  and  here  I  believe  the  poet 
Intended  the  chief  likeness:  thirdly,  the  total  kind  of  birds  much  more  properlj 
expresses  a  prodigious  number  than  any  particular  species,  or  a  collection  in  any  par« 
ticular  place.  Thus  Milton  has  raised  the  image  in  proportion  to  his  subject.  See  an 
'Essay  upon  Milton's  Imitations  of  the  Ancients,"  p.  9. — Newton. 


BOOK  VI.]  PARADISE  LOST.  249 

Of  heaven  they  inarch'd,  and  many  a  province  wide, 

Tenfold  the  length  of  this  terrene.     At  last, 

Far  in  the  horizon  to  the  north  appear' d 

From  skirt  to  skirt  a  fiery  region,  strctch'd 

In  battailous  aspect,  and  nearer  view^ 

Bristled  with  upright  beams  innumerable 

Of  rigid  spears,  and  helmets  throng'd,  and  shields 

Various,  with  boastful  argument  portray'd, 

The  banded  powers  of  Satan  hasting  on 

With  furious  expedition  ;  for  they  ween'd 

That  self-same  day,  by  fight  or  by  surprise. 

To  win  the  mount  of  God,  and  on  his  throne 

To  set  the  envier  of  his  state,  the  proud 

Aspirer:  but  their  thoughts  proved  fond  and  vain 

In  the  mid  way.     Though  strange  to  us  it  seem'd 

At  first,  that  angel  should  with  angel  war, 

And  in  fierce  hosting'  meet,  who  wont  to  meet 

So  oft  in  festivals  of  joy  and  love 

Unanimous,  as  sons  of  one  great  Sire, 

Hymning  the  Eternal  Father :  but  the  shout 

Of  battel  now  began,  and  rushing  sound 

Of  onset  ended  soon  each  milder  thought. 

High  in  the  midst,  exalted  as  a  god. 

The  apostate  in  his  sun-bright  chariot  sat, 

Idol "  of  majesty  divine,  enclosed 

With  flaming  cherubim  and  golden  shields ; 

Then  lighted  from  his  gorgeous  throne,  for  now 

'Twixt  host  and  host  but  narrow  space  was  left, 

A  dreadful  interval ; "  and  front  to  front 

Presented  stood  in  terrible  array 

Of  hideous  length.     Before  ths  cloudy  van, 

On  the  rpugh  edge  of  battel  ere  it  join'd, 

Satan,  with  vast  and  haughty  strides  advanced, 

Can,e  towering,  arm'd  in  adamant  and  gold. 

Abdiel  that  sight  endured  not,  where  he  stood 

Among  the  mightiest,  bent  on  highest  deeds ; 

And  thus  his  own  undaunted  heart  explores : 

0  heaven  1  that  such  resemblance  of  the  Highest 
Should  yet  remain,  where  faith  and  realty 
Remain  not :  wherefore  should  not  strength  and  might 

k  And  nearer  view. 

To  the  north  appeared  a  fiery  region,  and  nearer  to  the  view  appeared  the  baaded 
powers  of  Satan.  It  appeared  a  fiery  region  indistinctly  at  first,  but  upon  nearer  riew 
it  proved  to  be  Satan's  rebel  army. — Newton. 

This  image  is  amazingly  picturesque  and  magnificent. 

1  Hogting. 
Hosting,  the  mustering  of  armed  men. — Todd. 

«» IdoL 
Idol  must  here  mean  representative. 

n  A  dreadful  interval, 
A  grand  picture,  nobly  expressed. 
32 


250  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  vl 

There  fail  where  virtue  fails  ? »  or  weakest  prove 
Where  boldest,  though  to  sight  unconquerable  K 
His  puissance,  trusting  in  the  Almighty's  aid, 
I  mean  to  try,  whose  reason  1  have  tried 
Unsound  and  false :  nor  is  it  aught  but  just, 
That  he,  who  in  debate  of  truth  hath  won, 
Should  win  in  arms,  in  both  disputes  aliks 
Victor;  though  brutish  that  contest  and  foul, 
When  reason  hath  to  deal  with  force ;  yet  so 
Most  reason  is  that  reason  overcome. 

So  pondering,  and,  from  his  armed  peers 
Forth  stepping  opposite,  half-way  he  met 
His  daring  foe,  at  this  prevention  more 
Incensed,  and  thus  securely  him  defied : 

Proud,  art  thou  met  ?  thy  hope  was  to  have  reach'd 
The  highth  of  thy  aspiring  unopposed  j 
The  throne  of  God  unguarded,  and  his  side 
Abandon'd,  at  the  terrour  of  thy  power 
Or  potent  tongue  :  fool !  not  to  think  how  vain 
Against  the  Omnipotent  to  rise  in  arms ; 
Who  out  of  smallest  things  could,  without  end, 
Have  raised  incessant  armies  to  defeat 
Thy  folly ;  or  with  solitary  hand 
Reaching  beyond  all  limit,  at  one  blow. 
Unaided,  could  have  finish'd  thee,  and  whelm'd 
Thy  legions  under  darkness :  but  thou  seest 
All  are  not  of  thy  train ;  there  be,  who  faith 
Prefer,  and  piety  to  God,  though  then 
To  thee  not  visible,  when  I  alone 
Seem'd  in  thy  world  erroneous  to  dissent 
From  all :  my  sect  thou  seest ;  now  learn  too  late 
How  few  sometimes  may  know,p  when  thousands  err 

Whom  the  grand  foe,  with  scornful  eye  askance. 
Thus  answer'd : — 111  for  thee,  but  in  wish'd  hour 
Of  my  revenge  first  sought  for,  thou  return'st 
From  flight,  seditious  angel !  to  receive 
Thy  merited  reward,  the  first  assay 
Of  this  right  hand  provoked,  since  first  that  tongue 
Inspired  with  contradiction,  durst  oppose 
A  third  part  of  the  gods,  in  synod  met 
Their  deities  to  assert;  who,  while  they  feel 
Vigour  divine  within  them,  can  allow 
Oionipotence  to  none.     But  well  thou  comest 
Brrfore  thy  fellows,  ambitious  to  win 
From  me  some  plume,  that  thy  success  may  show 
Destruction  to  the  rest :  this  pause  between, 

0  There  fail  where  virtite  /ail*. 
This  is  very  sublime,  both  in  thought  and  words. 

P  How  few  tomettmet  may  know. 
Clearly  alluding  to  his  own  singular  opinions  on  certain  topics. 


BOOK  VI.]  PARADISE  LOST.  251 

(Unanswer'd  lest  thou  boast)  to  let  thee  know.— 
At  first  I  thought  that  liberty  and  heaven 
To  heavenly  souls  had  been  all  one ;  but  now 
I  see  that  most  through  sloth  had  rather  serve 
Ministering  spirits,  train'd  up  in  feast  and  song 
Such  hast  thou  arni'd,  the  minstrelsy  of  heaven, 
Servility  with  freedom  to  contend, 
As  both  their  deeds  compared  this  day  shall  prove. 

To  whom  in  brief  thus  Abdiel  stern  replied  : 
Apostate,  still  thou  err'st,  nor  end  wilt  find 
Of  erring,  from  the  path  of  truth  remote  : 
Unjustly  thou  dcpravest  it  with  the  name 
Of  servitude,  to  serve  whom  God  ordains, 
Or  Nature :  God  and  Nature  bid  the  same. 
When  he  who  rules  is  worthiest,  and  excels 
Them  whom  he  governs.     This  is  servitude, 
To  serve  the  unwise,  or  him  who  hath  rebell'd 
Against  his  worthier,  as  thine  now  serve  thee, 
Thyself  not  free,  but  to  thyself  enthral'd ; 
Yet  lewdly  darest  our  ministering  upbraid. 
Reign  thou  in  hell,  thy  kingdom ; «  let  me  serve 
In  heaven  God  ever  bless'd,  and  his  divine 
Behests  obey,  worthiest  to  be  obey'd  : 
Yet  chains  in  hell,  not  realms,  expect :  meanwhile 
From  me  return'd,  as  erst  thou  saidst,  from  flight, 
This  greeting  on  thy  impious  crest  receive. 

So  saying,  a  noble  stroke  he  lifted  high. 
Which  hung  not,  but  so  swift  with  tempest  fell 
On  the  proud  crest  of  Satan,  that  no  sight. 
Nor  motion  of  swift  thought,  less  could  his  shield, 
Such  ruin  intercept;  ten  paces»huge 
He  back  recoil'd ;  the  tenth  on  bended  knee 
His  massy  spear  upstay'd :  as  if  on  earth 
Winds  under  ground,  or  waters  forcing  way. 
Sidelong  had  push'd  a  mountain  from  his  seat,' 
Half  sunk  with  all  his  pines.     Amazement  seized 
The  rebel  thrones,  but  greater  rage,  to  see 
Thus  foil'd  their  mightiest ;  ours  joy  fiU'd,  and  shout 
Presage  of  victory,  and  fierce  desire 
Of  battel :  whereat  Michael  bid  sound 
The  archangel  trumpet :  through  the  vast  of  heaven 
It  sounded,  and  the  faithful  armies  rung 
Hosanna  to  the  Highest :  nor  stood  at  gaze 
The  adverse  legions,  nor  less  hideous  join'd 
The  horrid  shook.     Now  storming  fury  rose, 

q  In  hell,  thy  kingdom. 
Design'd  as  a  contrast  to  Satan's  vaunt,  in  b.  i.  263 : — 

Better  to  roign  in  hell,  than  serve  in  heaven. — NswTOH. 

T  A  mountain  from  his  seat. 
A  more  magnificent  simile  can  scarcely  be  conceived. 


252  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  vi. 

And  clamour  such  as  heard  in  heaven  till  now 
Was  never ;  arms  on  armour  clashing  bray^'d 
Horrible  discord,  and  the  madding  wheels 
Of  brazen  chariots  raged  :  dire  was  the  noise 
Of  conflict ;  over  head  the  dismal  hiss 
Of  fiery  darts  in  flaming  volleys  flew, 
And  flying  vaulted  either  host  with  fire.* 
So  under  fiery  cope  together  rush'd 
Both  battels  main,  with  ruinous  assault 
And  inextinguishable  rage.     All  heaven 
Resounded;  and  had  earth  been  then,  all  earth 
Had  to  her  centre  shook.     What  wonder  ?  when 
Millions  of  fierce  encountering  angels  fought 
On  either  side,  the  least  of  whom  could  wield 
These  elements,  and  arm  him  with  the  force 
Of  all  their  regions ;  how  much  more  of  power 
Army  against  army  numberless  to  raise 
Dreadful  combustion  warring;  and  disturb, 
Though  not  destroy,  their  happy  native  seat : 
Had  not  the  eternal  King  omnipotent. 
From  his  strong  hold  of  heaven,  high  overruled 
And  limited  their  might :  though  number'd  such,* 
As  each  divided  legion  might  have  seem'd 
A  numerous  host ;  in  strength  each  armed  hand 
A  legion  ;  led  in  fight,  yet  leader  seem'd 
Each  warriour,  single  as  in  chief;  expert 
When  to  advance,  or  stand,  or  turn  the  sway 
Of  battel,  open  when,  and  when  to  close 
The  ridges  of  grim  war :  no  thought  of  flight, 
None  of  retreat,  no  unbecoming  deed 
That  argued  fear ;  each  on  himself  relied, 
As  only  in  his  arm  the  moment  lay 
Of  victory :"  deeds  of  eternal  fame 

'  And  flying  vaulted  either  host  with  fl^re. 
Our  author  has  frequently  had  his  eye  upon  Hesiod's  giant-war,  as  well  as  upon 
Uomer,  and  has  imitated  several  passages ;  but  commonly  exceeds  his  original,  as  he 
has  done  in  this  particular.     Hesiod  says  that  the  Titans  were  orershadowed  with 
darts,  Theog.  v.  716. 

Kara  J'  luKiaaav  fitXisaai 
Ttriifvaj. 

but  Milton  has  improved  the  horror  of  the  description;  and  a  "shade  of  darts"  is  not 
aear  so  great  and  dreadful  an  image  as  a  "  fiery  cope,"  or  "  vault  of  flaming  darts." — 
Newton. 

*  Though  numbered  such. 
Each  legion  was  in  number  like  an  army ;  each  single  warrior  was  in  strength  like  u 
legion,  and,  though  led  in  fight,  was  as  expert  as  a  commander-in-chief;  so  that  the 
angels  are  celebrated;  first,  for  their  number;  then,  for  their  strength;  and,  lastly,  for 
their  expertness  in  war. — Newton. 

»  In  hit  arm  the  moment  lay 

Of  victory. 

The  moment — the  weight  that  turns  the  balance,  as  the  word  signifies  in  Latin ; 

Terence,  Andr. :  "  Dum  in  dubio  est  animus,  paulo  memento  hue  vel  illuc  impellitur .' ' 

and,  as  ho  has  employed  here  the  metaphor  of  the  weight,  so  of  the  scale,  v.  245,  using 

as  a  metaphor  what  Homer  makes  a  simile  of,  IL  xii.  433;  and  in  several  particulars 


BOOK  vi.]  PARADISE  LOST.  253 

Were  done,  but  infinite ;  for  wide  was  spread 
That  war  and  various ;  sometimes  on  firm  ground 
A  standing  fight;  then  soaring  on  main  wing, 
Tormented  all  the  air ;  all  air  seem'd  then 
Conflicting  fire.     Long  time  in  even  scale 
The  battel  hung;  till  Satan,  who  that  day 
Prodigious  power  had  shown,  and  met  in  arms 
No  equal,  ranging  through  the  dire  attack 
Of  fighting  seraphim  confused,  at  length 
Saw  where  the  sword  of  Michael  smote,  and  fell'd 
Squadrons  at  once ;  with  huge  two-handed  sway 
Brandish'd  aloft,  the  horrid  edge  came  down 
Wide-wasting  :  such  destruction  to  withstand 
He  hasted,  and  oppose  the  rocky  orb 
Of  tenfold  adamant,  his  ample  shield, 
A  vast  circumference.     At  his  approach. 
The  great  archangel  from  his  warlike  toil 
Surceased ;  and  glad,  as  hoping  here  to  end 
Intestine  war  in  heaven,  the  arch-foe  subdued 
Or  captive  dragg'd  in  chains,  with  hostile  frown 
And  visage  all  inflamed,  first  thus  began  : 

Authour  of  evil,''  unknown  till  thy  revolt, 
Unnamed  in  heaven  ;  now  plenteous  as  thou  seest 
These  acts  of  hateful  strife,  hateful  to  all. 
Though  heaviest  by  just  measure  on  thyself 
And  thy  adherents  :  how  hast  thou  disturb'd 
Heaven's  blessed  peace,  and  into  nature  brought 
Misery  uncreated  till  the  crime 
Of  thy  rebellion  !  how  hast  thou  instill'd 
Thy  malice  into  thousands,  once  upright 
And  faithful,  now  proved  false  I    But  think  not  here 
•  To  trouble  holy  rest ;  heaven  casts  thee  out 
From  all  her  confines :  heaven,  the  seat  of  bliss, 
Brooks  not  the  works  of  violence  and  war. 
Hence  then,  and  evil  go  with  thee  along, 
Thy  off"spring,  to  the  place  of  evil,  hell : 
Thou  and  thy  wicked  crew !  there  mingle  broils, 
Ere  this  avenging  sword  begin  thy  doom ; 
Or  some  more  sudden  vengeance,  wing'd  from  God, 
Precipitate  thee  with  augmented  pain. 

he  has  had  his  eye  upon  Homer,  and  commonly  exceeds  his  master.  Homer  says,  that 
the  Greeks  and  Trojans  "fought  like  burning  fire,"  II.  xiii.  673;  and  how  much  stronger 
la  it  in  Milton,  that  the  war 

Tormented  all  the  air ;  all  air  seem'd  then 
Conflicting  fire ! 

It  would  be  entering  into  too  minute  a  detail  of  criticism  to  mention  every  little  circum- 
stance  that  is  copied  from  Homer :  and,  where  he  does  not  directly  copy  from  Homer 
his  style  and  colouring  are  still  very  much  in  Homer's  manner.  Wonderful  as  his 
genius  was,  he  could  hardly  have  drawn  the  battles  of. the  angels  so  well,  without  first 
reading  those  in  the  Iliad  j  and  Homer  taught  him  to  excel  Homer.— Newton. 

^Authour  of  evil. 
J .  C.  Walker  here  refers  to  "  Chron.  de  Monstrelet,"  i.  39. 


254  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  vi. 

So  spake  the  prince  of  angels ;  to  whom  thus 
The  adversary ; — Nor  think  thou  with  wind 
Of  aery  threats  to  awe  whom  yet  with  deeds 
Thou  canst  not.     Hast  thou  turn'd  the  least  of  these 
To  flight  ?  or  if  to  fall,  but  that  they  rise 
Unvanquish'd,  easier  to  transact  with  me 
That  thou  shouldst  hope,  imperious,  and  with  threats 
To  chase  me  hence  ?  err  not,  that  so  shall  end 
The  strife  which  thou  call'st  evil,  but  we  style 
The  strife  of  glory ;  which  we  mean  to  win, 
Or  turn  this  heaven  itself  into  the  hell 
Thou  fablest;  here  however  to  dwell  free 
If  not  to  reign  :  meanwhile  thy  utmost  force, 
And  join  him  named  Almighty  to  thy  aid, 
I  fly  not ;  but  have  sought  thee  far  and  nigh. 

They  ended  parle,  and  both  address'd  for  fight 
Unspeakable ;  for  who,  though  with  the  tongue 
Of  angels,  can  relate,  or  to  what  things 
Liken  on  earth  conspicuous,  that  may  lift 
Human  imagination  to  such  highth 
Of  godlike  power  ?  for  likest  gods  they  seem'd. 
Stood  they  or  moved,  in  stature,  motion,  arms. 
Fit  to  decide  the  empire  of  great  heaven. 
Now  waved  their  fiery  swords,  and  in  the  air 
Made  horrid  circles ;  two  broad  suns  their  shields 
Blazed  opposite,  while  expectation  stood 
In  horrour:  from  each  hand  with  speed  retired, 
Where  erst  was  thickest  fight,  the  angelic  throng. 
And  left  large  field,  unsafe  within  the  wind 
Of  such  commotion  ;  such  as,  to  set  forth 
Great  things  by  small,  if,  nature's  concord  broke. 
Among  the  constellations  war  were  sprung, 
Two  planets,  rushing  from  aspect  malign 
Of  fiercest  opposition,  in  mid  sky 
Should  combat,  and  their  jarring  spheres  confound. 
Together  both,  with  next  to  Almighty  arm 
Uplifted  eminent,  one  stroke  they  aim'd 
That  might  determine,  and  not  need  repeat, 
As  not  of  power  at  once ;  nor  odds  appear'd 
In  might  or  swift  prevention  :  but  the  sword 
Of  Michael  from  the  armoury  of  God 
Was  given  him  temper'd  so,  that  neither  keen 
Nor  solid  might  resist  that  edge  :  it  met 
The  sword  of  Satan,  with  steep  force  to  smite 
Descending,  and  in  half  cut  sheer ;  nor  stay'd, 
But  with  swift  wheel  reverse,  deep  entering,  shared 
All  his  right  side.     Then  Satan  first  knew  pain. 
And  writhed  him  to  and  fro  convolved ;  so  sore 
The  griding  sword  with  discontinuous  wound 
Pass'd  through  him  :  but  the  ethereal  substance  closed, 
Not  long' divisible;  and  from  the  gash 


BOOK  Ti.]  PARADISE  LOST.  255 

A  stream  of  nectarous  humour  issuing  flow'd 
Sanguine,  such  as  celestial  spirits  may  bleed, 
And  all  his  armour  stain'd,  erewhile  so  bright. 
^  Forthwith  on  all  sides  to  his  aid  was  run 

By  angels  many  and  strong,  who  interposed 

Defence :  while  others  bore  him  on  their  shields 

Back  to  his  chariot,  where  it  stood  retired 

From  off  the  files  of  war  :  there  they  him  laid 

Gnashing  for  anguish,  and  despite,  and  shame, 

To  find  himself  not  matchless,  and  his  pride 

Humbled  by  such  rebuke ;  so  far  beneath 

His  confidence  to  equal  God  in  power. 

Yet  soon  he  heal'd ;  for  spirits  that  live  throughout 

Vital  in  every  part,  not  as  frail  man 

In  entrails,  heart  or  head,  liver  or  reins, 

Cannot  but  by  annihihiting  die ; 

Nor  in  their  liquid  texture  mortal  wound 

Receive,  no  more  than  can  the  fluid  air  : 

All  heart  they  live,*  all  head,  all  eye,  all  ear, 

All  intellect,  all  sense  j  and,  as  they  please. 

They  limb  themselves,  and  colour,  shape,  or  size 

Assume,  as  likes  them  best,  condense  or  rare. 

Meanwhile  in  other  parts  like  deeds  deserved 
Memorial,  where  the  might  of  Gabriel  fought, 
And  with  fierce  ensigns  pierced  the  deep  array 
Of  Moloch,  furious  king ;  who  him  defied, 
And  at  his  chariot-wheels  to  drag  him  bound 
Threaten'd,  nor  from  the  Holy  One  of  heaven 
Refrain'd  his  tongue  blasphemous ;  but  anon, 
Down  cloven  to  the  waist,  with  shatter' d  arms 
And  uncouth  pain  fled  bellowing.     On  each  wing, 
Uriel,  and  Raphael,  his  vaunting  foe. 
Though  huge,  and  in  a  rock  of  diamond  arm'd, 
Vanquish'd  Adramelech  and  Asmodai, 
Two  potent  thrones,  that  to  be  less  than  gods 
Disdain'd,  but  meaner  thoughts  learn'd  in  their  flight. 
Mangled  with  ghastly  wounds  through  plate  and  mail. 
Nor  stood  unmindful  Abdiel  to  annoy 
The  atheist  crew,  but  with  redoubled  blow 
Ariel,  and  Arioch,  and  the  violence 
Of  Ramiel  scorch 'd  and  blasted,  overthrew. 
I  might  relate  of  thousands,^  and  their  names 

w  All  heart  they  live,  &c. 
This  Ib  expressed  very  much  like  Pliny's  account  of  God,  Nat.  Hist  1,  i.  o.  7.    "  Quis- 
quis  est  Deus,  si  modo  est  alius,  quacunque  in  parte,  totus  est  sensus,  totus  visus,  totus 
auditus,  totua  animae,  totus  animi,  totus  sui." — Newton. 

*  /  might  relate  of  thousands. 
The  poet  here  puts  into  the  mouth  of  the  angel  an  excellent  reason  for  not  relating 
more  particulars  of  this  first  battle.     It  would  have  been  improper,  on  all  accounts,  to 
have  enlarged  much  more  upon  it;  but  it  was  proper  that  the  angel  should  appear  tc 
know  more  than  he  chose  to  relate,  or  tka^n  the  poet  was  able  to  mike  him  relate.- 
Nbwton. 


256  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  vi. 

Eternize  here  on  earth :  but  those  elect 
Angels,  contented  with  their  fame  in  heaven, 
Seek  not  the  praise  of  men  :  the  other  sort, 
In  might  though  wondrous  and  in  acts  of  war, 
Nor  of  renown  less  eager,  yet  by  doom 
Cancel' d  from  heaven  and  sacred  memory, 
Nameless  in  dark  oblivi^m  let  them  dwell : 
For  strength  from  truth  divided  and  from  just, 
Illaudable,  naught  merits  but  dispraise 
And  ignominy ;  yet  to  glory  aspires 
Vain-glorious,  and  through  infamy  seeks  fame : 
Therefore  eternal  silence  be  their  doom. 

And  now,  their  mightiest  quell'd,  the  battel  swerved, 
With  many  an  inroad  gored ;  deformed  rout 
Enter'd,  and  foul  disorder ;  all  the  ground 
With  shiver'd  armour  strown,  and  on  a  heap 
Chariot  and  charioteer  lay  overturn'd, 
And  fiery  foaming  steeds;  what  stood,  recoil'd 
O'erwearied,  through  the  faint  Satanic  host 
Defensive  scarce ;  or  with  pale  fear  surprised, 
Then  first  with  fear  surprised,  and  sense  of  pain, 
Fled  ignominious,  to  such  evil  brought 
By  sin  of  disobedience  ;  till  that  hour' 
Not  liable  to  fear,  or  flight,  or  pain. 
Far  otherwise  the  inviolable  saints. 
In  cubic  phalanx  firm,  advanced  entire, 
Invulnerable,  impenetrably  arm'd ; 
Such  high  advantages  their  innocence 
Gave  them  above  their  foes ;  not  to  have  sinn'd, 
Not  to  have  disobey'd ;  in  figbt  they  stood 
Unwearied,  unobnoxious  to  be  pain'd 
By  wound,  though  from  their  place  by  violence  moved." 

Now  Night  her  course  began,  and,  over  heaven 
Inducing  darkness,  grateful  truce  imposed. 
And  silence  on  the  odious  din  of  war  : 
Under  her  cloudy  covert  both  retired, 
Victor  and  vanquish'd.     On  the  foughten  field 
Michael  and  his  angels  prevalent 
Encamping,  placed  in  guard  their  watches  round, 
Cherubic  waving  fixes  :  ■  on  the  other  part,  < 

T  Till  that  hour. 
It  seems  a  very  extraordinary  circumstance  attending  a  battle,  that  not  only  none  of 
the  warriors  on  either  side  were  capable  of  death  by  wound,  but  on  one  side  none  wore 
capable  of  wound,  or  even  of  pain.  This  was  a  very  great  advantage  on  the  side  of  the 
good  angels ;  but  we  must  suppose  that  the  rebel  angels  did  not  know  their  own  weak- 
oesB  till  thia  hour. — Newton. 

*  Though  from  their  place  hy  violence  moved. 

This  circumstance  is  judiciously  added  to  prepare  the  reader  for  what  happena  in  the 
next  fight — Newton. 

»  Cherubic  waving  Jire$. 
Their  watches  were  "  cherubic  waving  fires ;"  that  is,  ehembim  like  fires  wayiog ; 


BOOK  VI.]  PARADISE  LOST.  257 

Satan  with  his  rebellious  disappeared, 
Far  in  the  dark  dislodged ;  and,  void  of  rest, 
His  potentates  to  council  call'd  by  night ; 
And  in  the  midst  thus  undismay'd  began : 

0  now  in  danger  tried,*  now  known  in  arms 
Not  to  be  overpower'd,  companions  dear, 
Found  worthy  not  of  liberty  alone, 
Too  mean  pretence  !  but  what  we  more  aJBFect, 
Honour,  dominion,  glory,  and  renown ; 
Who  have  sustain'd  one  day  in  doubtful  fight, 
(And  if  one  day,  why  not  eternal  days  ?) 
What  heaven's  Lord  had  powerfulest  to  send 
Against  us  from  about  his  throne,  and  judged 
Sufficient  to  subdue  us  to  his  will,    * 
But  proves  not  so  :  then  fallible,  it  seems, 
Of  future  we  may  deem  him,  though  till  now 
Omniscient  thought.     True  is,  less  firmly  arm'd, 
Some  disadvantage  we  endured,  and  pain 
Till  now  not  known,  but,  known,  as  soon  contemn'd ; 
Since  now  we  find  this  our  emp^'real  form 
Incapable  of  mortal  injury. 
Imperishable;  and,  though  pierced  with  wound, 
Soon  closing,  and  by  native  vigour  heal'd. 
Of  evil  then  so  small,  as  easy  think 
The  remedy ;  perhaps  more  valid  arms, 
Weapons  more  violent,  when  next  we  meet, 
May  serve  to  better  us,  and  worse  our  foes  j 
Or  equal  what  between  us  made  the  odds, 
In  nature  none :  if  other  hidden  cause 
Left  them  superiour,  while  we  can  preserve 
Unhurt  our  minds,  and  understanding  sound. 
Due  search  and  consultation  will  disclose. 

He  sat ;  and  in  the  assembly  next  upstood, 
Nisroch,"  of  principalities  the  prime ; 

the  cherubim  being  described  by  our  author,  agreeably  to  Scripture,  as  of  a  fiery  Bub- 
Btauce  and  nature. — Newton. 

b  0  now  in  danger  tried. 

This  speech  of  Satan  is  very  artful :  he  flatters  their  pride  and  vanity,  and  avails 
himself  of  the  only  comfort  that  could  be  drawn  from  this  day's  engagement  (though  it 
was  a  false  comfort),  that  God  was  neither  so  powerful  nor  wise  as  he  was  taken  to  he  • 
he  wns  forced  to  acknowledge  that  they  had  suffered  some  loss  and  pain,  but  endeavours 
to  lessen  it  as  much  as  he  can ;  and  attributes  it  not  to  the  true  cause,  but  to  their  want 
of  better  arms  and  armour,  with  which  he  therefore  proposes  that  they  should  providf 
themselves,  in  order  both  to  defend  themselves,  and  annoy  their  enemies. — Newton. 

The  five  lines  in  which  the  speech  opens  are  splendidly  magnificent.  Instead  of  con- 
sidering the  language  here  used  as  assumed  by  Satan  "  to  flatter  the  pride  and  vanity 
of  his  followers,"  they  may  be  appreciated  as  serving  eminently  to  mark  his  own 
character,  as  more  generally  drawn  by  the  poet  in  the  course  of  this  poem;  the  great 
features  of  which  are  unbounded  ambition  and  undaunted  resolution,  still  proudly 
hoping,  and  still  daringly  contending,  even  in  the  midst  of  adversities. — Dunstee. 


e  Jyisroeh. 
A  god  of  the  Assyrians,  in  whose  temple  Sennacherib  was  killed  by  hia  two  sons,  2 
Kiiigs,  six.  37.     It  is  ::ct  known  who  this  deity  was  :  he  must  have  been  a  principal 


258  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  vi. 

As  one  he  stood  escaped  from  cruel  fight, 
Sore  toil'd,  his  riven  arms  to  havoc  hewn ; 
And,  cloudy  in  aspect,  thus  answering  spake : 

Deliverer  from  new  lords,  leaders  to  free 
Enjoyment  of  our  right  as  gods ;  yet  hard 
For  gods,  and  too  unequal  work  we  find, 
Against  unequal  arms  to  fight  in  pain, 
A.gainst  unpain'd,  impassive ;  from  which  evil 
Kuin  must  needs  ensue  ;  for  what  avails 
Valour  or  strength,  though  matchless,  quell'd  with  pain 
Which  all  subdues,  and  makes  remiss  the  hands 
Of  mightiest  ?    Sense  of  pleasure  we  may  well 
Spare  out  of  life  perhaps,  and  not  repine, 
But  live  content,  wMch  is  the  calmest  life : 
But  pain  is  perfect  misery,  the  worst 
Of  evils,*"  and,  excessive,  overturns 
All  patience.     He  who  therefore  can  invent 
With  what  more  forcible  we  may  offend 
Our  yet  unwounded  enemies,  or  arm 
Ourselves  with  like  defence,  to  me  deserves 
No  less  than  for  deliverance  what  we  owe. 

Whereto  with  look  composed  Satan  replied : 
Not  uninvented  that,  which  thou  aright 
Believest  so  main  to  our  success,  I  bring. 
Which  of  us,  who  beholds  the  bright  surface 
Of  this  ethereous  mould  whereon  we  stand, 
This  continent  of  spacious  heaven,  adorn'd 
With  plant,  fruit,  flower  ambrosial,  gems,  and  gold; 
Whose  eye  so  superficially  surveys 
These  things,  as  not  to  mind  from  whence  they  grow 
Beep  underground,  materials  dark  and  crude, 
Of  spirituous  and  fiery  spume ;  till  touch'd 
With  heaven's  ray,  and  temper'd,  they  shoot  forth 
So  beauteous,  opening  to  the  ambient  light? 
These  in  their  dark  nativity  the  deep 
Shall  yield  us,  pregnant  with  infernal  flame ; 
Which,  into  hollow  engines'  long  and  round, 
Thick-ramm'd,  at  the  other  bore  with  touch  of  fire 
Bilated  and  infuriate,  shall  send  forth 
From  far,  with  thundering  noise,  among  our  foes 
Such  implements  of  mischief,  as  shall  dash 

•dol,  being  worshipped  by  so  great  a  prince,  and  at  the  capital  city  Nineveh ;  irhiohmay 
justify  Hilton  in  calling  biji  "  of  principalities  the  prime."  — Newton. 

^  Pain — the  worst  of  evils, 
Nisroch  is  made  to  talk  agreeably  to  the  sentiments  of  Hieronymus  and  those  philo- 
sophers who  maintained  that  pain  was  the  greatest  of  evils  :  there  might  be  a  possibility 
of  living  without  pleasure,  but  there  was  no  living  in  pain  : — a  notion  suitable  enough 
to  a  deity  of  the  effeminate  Assyrians. — Newton. 

e  Hollow  engines. 
A  dAseription  of  artillery,  of  which  the  first  invention  is  thus  attributed  to  the  author 
of  all  evil. 


BOOK  VI.]  PARADISE  LOST.  259 

Tc  pieces  and  o'erwhelm  whatever  stands 
Adverse,  that  they  shall  fear  we  have  disarm'd 
The  Thunderer  of  his  only  dreaded  bolt. 
Nor  long  shall  be  our  labour ;  yet  ere  dawn, 
Effect  shall  end  our  wish.     Meanwhile  revive ; 
Abandon  fear;  to  strength  and  counsel  join'd 
Think  nothing  hard,  much  less  to  be  despair'd. 

He  ended ;  and  his  words  their  drooping  cheer 
Enlighten'd,  and  their  languish'd  hope  revived : 
The  invention  all  admired,  and  each,  how  he 
To  be  the  inventor  miss'd ; '  so  easy  it  seem'd 
Once  found,  which  yet  unfound  most  would  have  thought 
Impossible  :  yet,  haply,  of  thy  race 
In  future  days,*  if  malice  should  abound, 
Some  one,  intent  on  mischief,  or  inspired 
With  devilish  machination,  might  devise 
Like  instrument  to  plague  the  sons  of  men 
For  sin,  on  war  and  mutual  slaughter  bent. 
Forthwith  from  council  to  the  work  they  flew : 
None  arguing  stood ;  innumerable  hands 
Were  ready ;  in  a  moment  up  they  turn'd 
Wide  the  celestial  soil,  and  saw  beneath 
The  originals  of  nature  in  their  crude 
Conception;  sulphurous  and  nitrous  foam' 
They  found,  they  mingled,  and,  with  subtle  art, 
Concocted  and  adusted  they  reduced 
To  blackest  grain,  and  into  store  convey'd 
Part  hidden  veins  digg'd  up  (nor  hath  this  earth 
Entrails  unlike)  of  mineral  and  stone. 
Whereof  to  found  their  engines  and  their  balls 
Of  missive  ruin ;  part  incentive  reed 
Provide,  pernicious  with  one  touch  to  fire. 
So  all  ere  dayspring,  under  conscious  night, 
Secret  they  finish'd,  and  in  order  set. 
With  silent  circumspection,  unespied. 

Now  when  fair  morn  orient  in  heaven  appear' d, 
Up  rose  the  victor-angels,  and  to  arms 
The  matin  trumpet  sung  :  in  arms  they  stood 
Of  golden  panoply  ;^  refulgent  host, 

f  Admir'd,  and  each,  Tiow  he 
To  he  the  inventor  miss'd. 
This  is  tho  definition  Johnson  gives  of  good  writing. 

g  In  future  days. 
This  speaking  in  the  spirit  of  prophecy  adds  great  dignity  to  poetry.     It  Is  in  the 
3ame  a,)irit  that  Dido  makes  the  imprecation,  Virg.  ^n.  iv.  625:  "  Esoriare  aliqais," 
Ac.     This,  here,  very  properly  comes  from  the  mouth  of  an  angel. — Newtoit. 

•>  Sitlphurona  and  nitrous  foam. 
See  Valvasone,  with  Hayley's  remarks,  in  "  Conjectures  on  the  Origin  of  Paradise 
Lost." 

•  Panoply. 
Armour  from  head  to  foot     IlavoirXia,  Greek,  armour  at  all  points. — Humr. 


260  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  vl 

Soon  banded;  others  from  the  dawning  hills  J 

Look'd  round,  and  scouts  each  coast  light-armed  scour, 

Each  quarter  :  to  descry  the  distant  foe, 

Where  lodged,  or  whither  fled ;  or  if  for  fight, 

In  motion  or  in  halt :  him  soon  they  met 

Under  spread  ensigns  moving  nigh,  in  slow 

But  firm  battalion.     Back  with  speediest  sail, 

Zophiel,  of  Cherubim  the  swiftest  wing. 

Came  flying,  and  in  mid  air  aloud  thus  cried : 

Arm,  warriours,  arm  for  fight ;  the  foe  at  hand, 
Whom  fled  we  thought,  will  save  us  long  pursuit. 
This  day,  fear  not  his  flight ;  so  thick  a  cloud 
He  comes :  and  settled  in  his  face  I  see 
Sad  resolution,  and  secure.     Let  each 
His  adamantine  coat  gird  well,  and  each 
Fit  well  his  helm,  gripe  fast  his  orbed  shield. 
Borne  even  or  high  ;  for  this  day  will  pour  down, 
If  I  conjecture  aught,  no  drizzling  shower. 
But  rattling  storm  of  arrows  barb'd  with  fire. 

So  warn'd  he  them,  aware  themselves;  and  soon 
En  order,  quit  of  all  impediment. 
Instant  without  disturb  they  took  alarm. 
And  onward  moved  embattel'd  ;  when,  behold  I 
Not  distant  far  with  heavy  pace  the  foe 
Approaching  gross  and  huge ;  in  hollow  cube 
Training  his  devilish  enginery,  impaled 
On  every  side  with  shadowing  squadrons  deep, 
To  hide  the  fraud.     At  interview  both  stood 
Awhile ;  but  suddenly  at  head  appear' d 
Satan,  and  thus  was  heard  commanding  loud  : 

Vanguard,  to  right  and  left  the  front  unfold  j 
That  all  may  see,  who  hate  us,  how  we  seek 
Peace  and  composure,  and  with  open  breast 
Stand  ready  to  receive  them,  if  they  like 
Our  overture,  and  turn  not  back  perverse  : 
But  that  I  doubt ;  however  witness,  heaven ; 
Heaven,  witness  thou  anon,  while  we  discharge 
Freely  our  part :  ye,  who  appointed  stand. 
Do  as  you  have  in  charge  ;  and  briefly  touch 
What  we  propound,  and  loud  that  all  may  hear 

So  scoffing  in  ambiguous  words,  he  scarce 
Had  ended ;  when  to  right  and  left  the  front 
Divided,^  and  to  either  flank  retired : 

j  Dawning  hills. 

Thia  spithet  is  usually  applied  to  the  liyht,  but  here  very  poetically  to  the  hillt ;  the 
dawn  first  appearing  over  them,  and  they  seeming  to  bring  the  rising  day;  as  the 
evening-star  is  said  likewise  first  to  appear  on  his  hill-top,  b.  viii.  520. — Newtok. 

Thus  the  morning-sun  always  first  dawm  over  the  Alps. 

k  Divided. 
Nothing  can  be  more  distinct,  picturesque,  and  grand,  than  this  advance  of  Satan's 
army  with  his  masked  artillery. 


BOOK  VI.]  PARADISE  LOST.  261 

Which  to  our  eyes  discover'd,  new  and  strange, 

A  triple  mounted  row  of  pillars  laid 

On  wheels ;  ("for  like  to  pillars  most  they  seem'd, 

Or  hollow'd  bodies  made  of  oak  or  fir 

With  branches  lopp'd,  in  wood  or  mountain  fell'd) 

Brass,  iron,  stony  mould,  had  not  their  mouths 

With  hideous  orifice  gaped  on  us  wide, 

Portending  hollow  truce  :  at  each  behind 

A  seraph  stood,  and  in  his  hand  a  reed 

Stood  waving  tipp'd  with  fire ;  while  we,  suspense, 

Collected  stood,  within  our  thoughts  amusAi : 

Not  long ;  for  sudden  all  at  once  their  reeds 

Put  forth,  and  to  a  narrow  vent  applied 

With  nicest  touch.     Immediate  in  a  flame, 

But  soon  obscured  with  smoke,  all  heaven  appeared, 

From  those  deep-throated  engines  belch' d,  whose  roar 

Embowel'd  with  outrageous  noise  the  air, 

And  all  her  entrails  tore,  disgorging  foul 

Their  devilish  glut,  chain'd  thunderbolts  and  hail 

Of  iron  globes ;  which  on  the  victor  host 

Level' d,  with  such  impetuous  fury  smote. 

That,  whom  they  hit,  none  on  their  feet  might  stand, 

Though  standing  else  as  rocks ;  but  down  they  fell 

By  thousands,  angel  on  archangel  roll'd  ; 

The  sooner  for  their  arms  :  unarm' d  they  might 

Have  easily,  as  spirits,  evaded  swift 

By  quick  contraction  or  remove  ;  but  now 

Foul  dissipation  follow'd,  and  forced  rout; 

Nor  served  it  to  relax  their  serried  files. 

What  should  they  do  ?  if  on  they  rush'd,  repulse 

Repeated,  and  indecent  overthrow 

Doubled,  would  render  them  yet  more  despised, 

And  to  their  foes  a  laughter;  for  in  view 

Stood  rank'd  of  seraphim  another  row, 

In  posture  to  displode  their  second  tire 

Of  thunder  :  back  defeated  to  return 

They  worse  abhorr'd.     Satan  beheld  their  plight, 

And  to  his  mates  thus  in  derision  call'd : 

0  friends,  why  come  not  on  these  victors  proud  ? 
Erewhile  they  fierce  were  coming ;  and  when  we. 
To  entertain  them  fair  with  open  front 
And  breast,  (what  could  we  more  ?)  propounded  terms 
Of  composition,  straight  they  changed  their  minds. 
Flew  off,  and  into  strange  vagaries  fell, 
As  they  would  dance ;  yet  for  a  dance  they  seem'd 
Somewhat  extravagant,  and  wild,  perhaps 
For  joy  of  offer'd  peace  :  but  I  suppose, 
If  our  proposals  once  again  were  heard. 
We  should  compel  them  to  a  quick  "result. 

To  whom  thus  Belial,  in  like  gamesome  mood : 
Leader,  the  terms  we  sent  were  terms  of  weight. 


262  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  vi. 

Of  hard  contents,  and  full  of  force  urged  home ; 
Such  as  we  might  perceive  amused  them  all. 
And  stumbled  many :  who  receives  them  right, 
Had  need  from  head  to  foot  well  understand; 
Not  understood,  this  gift  they  had  besides, 
They  show  us  when  our  foes  walk  not  upright. 
So  they  among  themselves  in  pleasant  vein 
Stood  scoffing,  heighten'd  in  their  thoughts  beyond 
All  doubt  of  victory ;  Eternal  Might 
To  match  with  their  inventions  they  presumed 
So  easy,  and  of  his  thunder  made  a  scorn. 
And  all  his  host  derided  while  they  stood 
Awhile  in  trouble  :  but  they  stood  not  long  ; 
Rage  prompted  them  ^t  length,  and  found  them  arms 
Against  such  hellish  mischief  fit  to  oppose. 
Forthwith  (behold  the  excellence,  the  power. 
Which  God  hath  in  his  mighty  angels  placed  !) 
Their  arms  away  they  threw,  and  to  the  hills, 
(For  earth  hath  this  variety  from  heaven 
Of  pleasure  situate  in  hill  and  dale) 
Light  as  the  lightning  glimpse'  they  ran,  they  flew; 
From  their  foundations  loosening  to  and  fro. 
They  pluck'd  the  seated  hills  with  all  their  load, 
Rocks,  waters,  woods,  and  by  the  shaggy  tops 
Uplifting,  bore  them  in  their  hands.     Amaze, 
Be  sure,  and  terrour,  seized  the  rebel  host. 
When  coming  towards  them  so  dread  they  saw 
The  bottom  of  the  mountains  upward  turn'd ; 
Till  on  those  cursed  engines'  triple  row 
They  saw  them  whelm'd,  and  all  their  confidence 
Under  the  weight  of  mountains  buried  deep ; 
Themselves  invaded  next,  and  on  their  heads 
Main  promontories  flung,  which  in  the  air 
Came  shadowing  and  oppressed  whole  legions  arm'd. 
Their  armour  help'd  their  harm,  crush'd  in  and  bruised 
Into  their  substance  pent,  which  wrought  them  pain 
Implacable  and  many  a  dolorous  groan ; 
Long  struggling  underneath,  ere  they  could  wind 
Out  of  such  prison,  though  spirits  of  purest  light. 
Purest  at  first,  now  gross  by  sinning  grown." 
The  rest,  in  imitation,  to  like  arms 
Betook  them,  and  the  neighbouring  hills  uptore : 

I  Light  at  the  lightning  glimpse. 
Soe  Ezek.  i.  14.  "  And  the  living  creatures  ran  and  returned,  as  the  appearance  of  a 
flash  of  lightning." — Dunster, 

«n  Now  gro«»  by  tinning  grown. 
What  a  fine  moral  does  Milton  here  incuicate,  and  indeed  quite  through  this  book,  by 
showing  that  all  the  weakness  and  pain  of  the  rebel  angels  was  the  natural  consequence 
of  their  sinning!  And,  I  believe,  one  may  observe  in  general  of  our  author,  that  be 
Is  scarcely  ever  so  far  hurried  on  by  the  fire  of  his  Muse,  as  to  forget  the  main  end  of 
all  good  writing — the  recommendation  of  virtue  and  religion, — Thyer. 


BOOK  VT.]  PARADISE  LOST.  263 

So  hilln  amid  the  air  encounter'd  hills, 

Hurl'd  to  and  fro  with  jaculation  dii*e, 

That  uuder  ground  they  fought  in  dismal  shade ; 

Infernal  noise  !  war  seem'd  a  civil  game 

To  this  uproar;  horrid  confusion  heap'd 

Upon  confusion  rose :  and  now  all  heaven 

Had  gone  to  wrack "  with  ruin  overspread, 

Had  not  the  Almighty  Father,  where  he  sits 

Shrined  in  his  sanctuary  of  heaven  secure. 

Consulting  on  the  sum  of  things,  foreseen 

This  tumult,  and  permitted  all,  advised  : 

That  his  great  purpose  he  might  so  fulfil, 

To  honour  his  anointed  Son  avenged 

Upon  his  enemies;  and  to  declare 

All  power  on  him  transferr'd :  whence  to  his  Son, 

The  Assessour  of  his  throne,  he  thus  began  : 

Effulgence  of  my  glory,  Son  beloved ; 
Son,  in  whose  face  invisible  is  beheld 
Visibly,  what  by  Deity  I  am ; 
And  in  whose  hand  what  by  decree  I  do, 
Second  Omnipotence ;  two  days  are  pass'd. 
Two  days,  as  we  compute  the  days  of  heaven. 
Since  Michael  and  his  powers  went  forth  to  tame 
These  disobedient :  sore  hath  been  their  fight, 
As  likeliest  was,  when  two  such  foes  met  arm'd  : 
For  to  themselves  I  left  them ;  and  thou  know'st 
Equal  in  their  creation  they  were  form'd, 
Save  what  sin  hath  impair'd ;  which  yet  hath  wrought 
Insensibly,  for  I  suspend  their  doom  : 
Whence  in  perpetual  fifjht  they  needs  must  last 
Endless,  and  no  solution  will  be  found. 
War  wearied  hath  perform'd''*what  war  can  do, 

n  And  now  all  heaven 
Had  gone  »  wrack. 
It  is  remarked  by  the  critics,  in  praise  of  Homer's  battles,  that  they  rise  in  horror 
one  above  another  to  the  end  of  the  Iliad.    The  same  may  be  said  of  Milton's  battles. 
In  the  first  day's  engagement,  when  they  fought  under  a  cope  of  fire  with  burning 
arrows,  it  was  said, 

All  heaven 
Resounded ;  and,  had  earth  been  then,  all  earth 
Had  to  her  centre  shook  : 

but  now,  when  thev  fought  with  mountains  and  promontories,  it  is  said  "  all  heaven 
had  gone  to  wrack,''  had  not  the  Almighty  Father  interposed,  and  sent  forth  his  Son, 
in  the  fulness  of  his  divine  glory  and  majesty,  to  expel  the  rebel  Angela  out  of  hea- 
ven.   Compare  Homer's  Iliad,  viii.  130. 


"EvOa  KE  Xoiydj  triv,  koX  aur\xo-va  ipyo.  ylvovro' 
Et  lift  ap'  dfu  v6tiae  naTrip  avSpcbv  re  Qtiiv  re, — N) 


Newton. 

■0  JYar  wearied  hath  perform' d. 
And  indeed  within  the  compass  of  this  one  book  we  have  all  the  variety  of  battles 
that  can  well  be  conceived.  We  have  a  single  combat  and  a  general  engagement.  The 
first  day's  fight  is  with  darts  and  swords,  in  imitation  of  the  ancients  j  the  second  day's 
fight  is  with  artillery,  in  imitation  of  the  modems ;  but  the  images  in  both  are  raised 
proportionably  to  the  superior  nature  of  the  beings  here  described :  and,  when  the  poet 
has  Driefly  comprised  all  that  has  any  foundation  m  fact  and  reality,  he  has  recourse  to 


264  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  vi. 

And  to  disorder'd  rage  let  loose  the  reins, 
With  mountains,  as  with  weapons,  arm'd ;  which  makes 
Wild  work  in  heaven,  and  dangerous  to  the  main. 
Two  days  are  therefore  pass'd,  the  third  is  thine : 
VoT  thee  I  have  ordain'd  it,  and  thus  far 
Have  sufFer'd,  that  the  glory  may  be  thine 
Of  ending  this  great  war,  since  none  but  thou 
Can  end  it.     Into  thee  such  virtue  and  grace 
Immense  I  have  transfused  that  all  may  know 
In  heaven  and  hell  thy  power  above  compare ; 
And,  this  perverse  commotion  govern'd  thus, 
To  manifest  thee  worthiest  to  be  heir, 
Of  all  things  to  be  heir ;  and  to  be  King 
By  sacred  unction,!"  thy  deserved  right. 
Go  then,  thou  mightiest  in  thy  Father's  might 
Ascend  my  chariot,  guide  the  rapid  wheels 
That  shake  heaven's  basis,  bring  forth  all  my  war, 
My  bow  and  thunder ;  my  almighty  arms  « 
Gird  on,  and  sword  upon  thy  puissant  thigh  j 
\     Pursue  these  sons  of  darkness ;  drive  them  out 
From  all  heaven's  bounds  into  the  utter  deep : 
There  let  them  learn,  as  likes  thern,  to  despise 
God,  and  Messiah  his  anointed  King. 

He  said ;  and  on  his  Son  with  rays  direct 
Shone  full :  he  all  his  Father  full  express'd 
Ineffably  into  his  face  received ; 
And  thus  the  Filial  Godhead  answering  spake : 

0  Father,  0  Supreme  of  heavenly  thrones, 
First,  Highest,  Holiest,  Best ;  thou  always  seek'st 
To  glorify  thy  Son,""  I  always  thee, 
As  is  most  just :  this  I  my  glory  account, 
My  exaltation,  and  my  whole  delight, 
That  thou,  in  me  well  pleased,  declarest  thy  will 
Fulfill'd,  which  to  fulfil  is  all  my  bliss. 
Sceptre  and  power,  thy  giving,  I  assume ; 
And  gladlier  shall  resign,  when  in  the  end 
Thou  shalt  be  all  in  all,"  and  I  in  thee 

the  fiction  of  the  poets  in  their  description  of  the  giants'  war  with  the  gods.  And^ 
when  war  hath  thus  performed  what  war  can  do,  he  rises  still  higher,  and  the  Sun  of 
God  is  sent  forth  in  the  majesty  of  the  Almighty  Father,  agreeably  to  Scripture ;  so 
much  doth  the  sublimity  of  Holy  Writ  transcend  all  that  is  true,  and  all  that  is  feigned, 
in  description. — Newton. 

p  By  sacred  unction. 

Psalm  xlv.  7 : — "  God  hath  anointed  thee  with  the  oil  of  gladness  above  thy  fellows.* 
— Gillies. 

q  My  almighty  arms. 

Ps.  xlv.  3,  4 : — "  Gird  thy  sword  upon  thy  thigh,  0  most  mighty,  with  thy  glory  and 
;hy  majesty :  and  in  thy  majesty  ride  prosperously." — Newton. 

f  To  glorify  thy  Son. 
In  reference  to  St.  John  xvii.  4,  5. — Todd. 

•  Thou  shalt  be  all  in  all. 
We  may  still  observe,  that  Milton  generally  makes  the  divine  persons  talk  in  the 


BOOK   VI.] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


265 


For  ever ;  and  in  me  all  whom  thou  lovest : 

But  whom  thou  hatest,  I  hate ;  and  can  put  on 

Thy  terrours,  as  I  put  thy  mildness  on, 

Image  of  thee  in  all  things ;  and  shall  soon, 

Arm'd  with  thy  might,  rid  heaven  of  these  rebell'i 

To  their  prepared  ill  mansion  driven  down, 

To  chains  of  darkness,*  and  the  undying  worm;" 

That  from  thy  just  obedience  could  revolt, 

Whom  to  obey  is  happiness  entire. 

Then  shall  thy  saints  unmix'd,  and  from  the  impure 

Far  separate,  circling  thy  holy  mount, 

Unfeigned  halleluiahs  to  thee  sing, 

Hymns  of  high  praise,  and  I  among  them  chief. 

So  said,  he,  o'er  his  sceptre  bowing,  rose 
From  the  right  hand  of  Glory  where  he  sat ; 
And  the  third  sacred  morn^  began  to  shine. 
Dawning  through  heaven  :  forth  rush'd  with  whirlwind  sound* 
The  chariot  of  paternal  Deity, 
Flashing  thick  flames,  wheel  within  wheel  undrawn,' 

style  and  language  of  Scripture.  This  passage  is  manifestly  taken  from  1  Cor.  xv. 
24  and  28.    Immediately  afterwards,  when  it  is  said, 

I  ill  thee 
For  ever ;  and  in  me  all  whom  thou  lovest ; 

this  is  an  allusion  to  John  xvii.  21  and  23.     And  when  it  is  added, 

But  whom  thou  hatest,  I  hate, 

the  allusion  is  to  Psalm  cxxxix.  21. — Newton. 

t  To  chains  of  darkness. 

2  Pet.  ii.  4: — "  God  spared  not  the  angels  that  sinned,  but  cast  them  down  to  hell, 
and  delivered  them  into  ckains  of  darkntss^ — Todd. 

»  Undying  worm, 
Mark  ix.  44 : — "  Their  worm  dieth  not." — HumE. 

»  And  the  third  sacred  morn. 
Milton,  by  continuing  the  war  for  three  days,  and  reserving  the  victory  upon  tha 
third  for  the  Messiah  alone,  plainly  alludes  to  the  circumstances  of  his  death  and  resur- 
rection. Our  Saviour's  extreme  sufferings  on  the  one  hand,  and  his  heroic  behaviour 
on  the  other,  made  the  contest  seem  to  be  more  equal  and  doubtful  upon  the  first  day ; 
and  on  the  second,  Satan  triumphed  in  the  advantages  he  thought  he  had  gained, 
when  Christ  lay  buried  in  the  earth,  and  was  to  outward  appearance  in  an  irrecoverable 
state  of  corruption.  But  as  the  poet  represents  the  Almighty  Father  speaking  to  hia 
Son,  V.  699  :— 

Two  days  are  therefore  past,  the  third  is  thine; 

For  thee  I  have  ordain'd  it;  and  thus  far 

Have  suffer'd,  that  the  glory  may  be  thine 

Of  ending  this  great  war,  smee  none  but  thou 

Can  end  it : 

which  he  most  gloriously  did,  when  "the  third  sacred  mom  began  to  shine,"  by  van- 
quishing  with  his  own  Almighty  arm  the  powers  of  hell,  and  rising  again  from  the 
grave :  and  thus,  as  St.  Paul  says.  Rom.  i.  4 : — "  He  was  declared  to  be  the  Son  of  God 

with  power,  according  to  the  spirit  of  holiness,  by  the  resurrection  from  the  dead." 

Greenwood. 

^  Forth  ru»h'd  with  whirhrind  sound. 
Ezek,  i.  4: — "And  I  looked,  and  behold,  a  whirlwind  came  out  of  the  north,  a  great 
cloud,  and  a  fire  enfolding  itself."     Or  perhaps  Milton  here  drew  Isaiah  likewise  to  hia 
assistance,  Ixvi.  1 5 : — "  For,  behold,  the  Lord  will  come  with  fire,  and  with  his  chariota 
like  a  whirlwind." — Newton. 

»  Wheel  within  wheel  undrawn. 
As  in  Ezek.  i,  5,  16,  19,  20: — "Also  out  of  the  midst  thereof  came  the  likeness  of 
34 


266  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  vi. 

Itself  instinct  with  spirit,  but  convoy'd 

By  four  cherubic  shapes  j  four  faces  each  ^ 

Had  wondrous ;  as  with  stars,  their  bodies  all 

And  wings  were  set  with  eyes ;  with  eyes  the  wheels 

Of  beryl,  and  careering  fires  between;* 

Over  their  heads  a  crystal  firmament," 

Whereon  a  sapphire  throne,  inlaid  with  pure 

Amber,  and  colours  of  the  showery  arch. 

He,  in  celestial  panoply*  all  arm'd 

Of  radiant  Urim,  work  divinely  wrought, 

Ascended ;  at  his  right  hand  Victory 

Sat  eagle-wing'd  ;  beside  him  hung  his  bow 

And  quiver  with  three-bolted  thunder  stored  ; 

And  from  about  him  fierce  effusion  rolFd 

Of  smoke,"  and  bickering  flame,  and  sparkles  dire 

Att<>nded  with  ten  thousand  thousand  saints,* 

He  otward  came ;  far  off  his  coming  shone  : 

And  twenty  thousand  (I  their  number  heard) 

Chariots  of  God,  half  on  each  hand  were  seen, 

four  living  creatures,  and  their  appearance  was  it  were  a  wheel  in  the  middle  of  a 
wheel:  and  when  the  living  creatures  went,  the  wheels  went  by  them;  for  the  spirit 
of  the  living  creature  was  in  the  wheels." — Newton. 

y  Four  /aces  each. 
Ae  in  Ezek.  i.  6: — "And  every  one  had  four  faces:"  again,  ch.  x.  12: — "And  their 
whole  body,  and  their  wings,  and  the  wheels  were  full  of  eyes  round  about." — Newton. 

*  The  wheels, 
Of  beryl,  and  careering  fires  between. 
The  beryl  is  a  precious  stone  of  a  sea-green  colour,  and  careering  fires  are  lightnings 
"darting  out  by  fits,"  a  metaphor  taken  from  the  running  in  tilts.    See  Ezek.  i.  16,  and 
13: — "The  appearance  of  wheels  and  their  work  was  like  a  beryl:  and  the  fire  was 
bright;  and  out  of  the  fire  went  forth  lightning." — Newton. 

Milton  has  again  described  this  part  of  the  prophetic  vision,  and  with  additional 
Bublimity,  v.  848 : — 

One  spirit  in  them  ruled,  and  every  eye 
Glared  lightning,  and  ghot  forth  pernicious  fire 
Among  the  accursed. 

This  is  like  the  bold  and  tremendous  painting  of  ^schylus.  Prom.  Vinct  v.  356,  ed. 
Bchutz. 

'Ef  6nnaT(i)v  S'  l^arpaitrt  yopyijyiriv  atkai. — ToDD. 

»  A  crystal  firmament. 
Mee  Ezek.  i.  22,  26,  27,  28 : — "And  the  likeness  of  the  firmament  upon  the  heads  of 
the  living  creatures,  was  as  the  colour  of  the  terrible  crystal,  stretched  forth  over  their 
baads  above :  and  above  the  firmament,  that  was  over  their  heads,  was  the  likeness  of  a 
tbf  one,  as  the  appearance  of  a  sapphire  stone :  and  I  saw  as  the  colour  of  amber,  as  the 
appearance  of  the  bow  that  is  in  the  cloud  in  the  day  of  rain." — Newton. 

b  He  in  celestial  panoply. 
An  allusion  to  Ephes.  vi.  11: — "Put  on  the  whole  armour  (irai>a«X(<ii')  of  God;"  and 
to  the  contexture  of  gems  in  Aaron's  breast-plate,  Exod.  xxviii. — Todd. 

e  Fierce  effusion  rolVd 
Of  smoke. 
See  Psalm  xviii.  8 : — "  There  went  up  a  smoke  out  of  his  nostrils,  and  fire  out  of  hii 
mouth  devoured."    And  see  Psalm  1.  3. — Hume, 

i  Ten  thousand  thousand  saints. 
See  St.  Jude,  14: — "Behold  the  Lord  cometh  with  ten  thousand  of  his  saints." 
Pealm  Ixviii.  17 : — "  The  chariots  of  God  are  twenty  thousand."  Kev.  vii.  4 :— "  I  heexd 


BOOK  VI.]  PARADISE  LOST.  261 

He  on  the  wings  of  cherub"  rode  sublime 
On  the  crystalline  skj,  in  sapphire  throned, 
Illustrious  far  and  wide;  but  by  his  own 
First  seen  ;  them  unexpected  joy  surprised, 
When  the  great  ensign  of  Messiah  blazed 
Aloft  by  angels  borne,  his  sign '  in  heaven ; 
Under  whose  conduct  Michael  soon  reduced 
m^  army,  circumfused  on  either  wing. 
Under  their  Head  «  imbodied  all  lU  one. 
Before  him  Power  Divine  his  waj  prepared  : 
At  his  command  the  uprooted  hills  retired. 
Each  to  his  place;  they  heard  his  voice  and  went' 
Obsequious  :  heaven  his  wonted  face  renew'd, 
And  with  fresh  flowerets  hill  and  valley  smiled. 

This  saw  his  hapless  foes,  but  sto'xl  ohdured, 
And  to  rebellious  fight  rallied  their  powers. 
Insensate,  hope  conceiving  from  despair  : 
In  heavenly  spirits  could  such  perverseness  dwell  ? 
But  to  convince  the  proud  what  signs  avail. 
Or  wonders  move  the  obdurate  to  relent  ? 
They,  harden'd  more '  by  what  might  most  reclaim 
Grieving  to  see  his  glory,  at  the  sight 
Took  envy ;  and  aspiring  to  his  highth, 
Stood  re-embattel'd  fierce,  by  force  or  fraud 
Weening  to  prosper,  and  at  length  prevail 
Against  God  and  Messiah,  or  to  fall 
In  universal  ruin  last ;  and  now 
To  final  battel  drew,  disdaining  flight. 
Or  faint  retreat ;  when  the  great  Son  of  God 
To  all  his  host  on  either  hand  thus  spake  : 

Stand  stilU  in  bright  array,  ye  saints ;  here  stand, 
Ye  angels  arm'd ;  this  day  from'battel  rest : 
Faithful  hath  been  your  warfare,  and  of  God 

tlje  number  of  them."    Let  it  be  remarked,  how  much  of  his  sublimity,  even  in  the 
lublimest  parts  of  his  works,  Milton  owes  to  Scripture. — Newton. 

•  Wings  of  cherub  rode. 
See  Psalm  xviii.  10 : — "He  rode  upon  a  cherub." — Greenwood. 

'  Hit  aign. 
See  Matth.  xxiv.  50 : — "There  shall  appear  the  sign  of  the  Son  of  Man  in  heaven." 
— Gillies. 

K  Under  their  head. 
See  Rom.  xii.  6 : — "  We,  being  many,  are  one  body  in  Christ."    And  CoL  i,  18  : — 
"He  is  the  head  of  tho  body." — Greenwood. 

>>  7%ey  heard  hi»  voice,  and  went. 
Habakk.  iii.  6: — "The  everlasting  mountains  were  scattered;  tho  perpetual  hills  did 
bow." — Todd. 

I  Harden'd  more. 
As  Pharaoh  was,  Exod.  xiv. — Hche. 

i  Stand  still. 
As  in  Exod  xiy.  13,  14: — "Stand  still,  and  see  the  salvation  of  the  Lord,  which  he 
dill  show  you  to-day.    The  Lord  shall  fight  for  you,  and  ye  shall  hold  your  peace.*—' 

ftllXIKH. 


268  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  tl 

Accepted,  fearless  in  his  righteous  cause : 
And  as  ye  have  received  so  have  ye  done, 
Invincibly  :  but  of  this  cursed  crew 
The  punishment  to  other  hand  belongs ; 
Vengeance  is  his,"  or  whose  he  sole  appoints : 
Number  to  this  day's  work  is  not  ordain' d, 
Nor  multitude ;  stand  only,  and  behold 
God's  inaignation  on  these  godless  pour'd 
By  Me ;  not  you,  but  Me,  they  have  despised, 
Yet  envied ;  against  Me  is  all  their  lage, 
Because  the  Father,  to  whom  in  heaven  supreme 
Kingdom  and  power,  and  glory  appertains, 
Hath  honour'd  Me  according  to  his  will. 
Therefore  to  Me  their  doom  he  hath  assign'd; 
That  they  may  have  their  wish,  to  try  with  Me 
In  battel  which  the  stronger  proves ;  they  all, 
Or  I  alone  against  them  ;  since  by  strength 
They  measure  all,  of  other  excellence 
Not  emulous,  nor  care  who  them  excels; 
Nor  other  strife  with  them  do  I  vouchsafe. 

So  spake  the  Son ;  and  into  terrour  changed 
His  countenance,  too  severe  to  be  beheld, 
And  full  of  wrath  bent  on  his  enemies. 
At  once  the  Four '  spread  out  their  starry  wings 
With  dreadful  shade  contiguous,  and  the  orbs 
Of  his  fierce  chariot  roll'd  as  with  the  sound 
Of  torrent  floods,  or  of  a  numerous  host, 
He  on  his  impious  foes  right  onward  drove,  , 

Gloomy  as  night;™  under  his  burning  wheels" 

k  Vengeance  is  his. 
Soe  Deut.  xxxii.  35: — "To  me  belongeth  vengeance."    And  Eom.  xii.  19:— "Ven- 
geance is  mine;  I  will  repay,  saith  the  Lord." — Newton. 

1  At  mice  the  four. 
Whenever  he  mentions  the  four  cherubim,  and  the  Messiah's  chariot,  he  still  copies 
from  Ezekiel's  vision.     See  ch.  i.  9,  19,  24. — Newton. 

m  Gloomy  as  night. 
From  Homer,  H.  xiL  462,  where  the  translator  uses  Milton's  words  >— 
Nw«rJ  Bofii  AraKayrot  iwiiria. 
A  similar  expression,  translated  in  these  words  of  Milton,  is  also  in  Odyss.  xL  609. — 
Kewton. 

o  Under  his  burning  icheels. 
Job  xxvi.  11 : — The  pillars  of  heaven  tremble,  and  are  astonished  at  his  reproof."- 
Ddme. 

This  sublime  passage  owes  part  of  its  magnificence  to  another  sacred  description, 
Daniel,  vii.  9,  of  ihe  Ancient  of  Days : — "  His  throne  was  as  the  fiery  flame,  and  hie 
wheels  as  burning  fire."  Milton's  diction  is  here  superior  even  to  Hesiod's  celebrated 
lines,  Theog.  v.  841  :— 

XlooaX  S'  iir'  aOavaroim  fiiyai  irs\tiii<^si^  "OXw^iroj 
'Opwittvoio  iyaKTos'  err£<rr«j'dx« 5«  Si  yaXa. 

The  majesty  of  the  exception,  which  Milton  adds,  affords  to  the  whole  passage  a 
aolemnity  unparalleled  and  inimitable : — 

Under  his  burning  wheels 
The  Rtedfast  empyrean  snook  throughout, 
All  t  It  the  throne  itself  of  God — Todb. 


BOOK  VI.]  PARADISE  LOST.  269 

The  stedfast  empyrean  shook  throughout, 
All  but  the  throne  itself  of  God.     Full  soon 
Among  them  he  arrived ;  in  his  right  hand 
Grasping  ten  thousand  thunders,  which  he  sent 
Before  him,  such  as  in  their  souls  infix'd 
Plagues :  they,  astonish'd,  all  resistance  lost, 
Ah  courage  ;  down  their  idle  weapons  dropp'd  : 
O'er  shields,  and  helms,  and  helmed  heads  he  rode 
Of  thrones  and  mighty  seraphim  prostrate  j 
That  wish'd  the  mountains"  now  might  be  again 
Thrown  op  them,  as  a  shelter  from  his  ire. 
Nor  less  on  either  side  tempestuous  fell 
His  arrows  from  the  fourfold-visaged  Four. 
Distinct  with  eyes,  and  from  the  living  wheels 
Distinct  alike  with  multitude  of  eyes; 
One  spirit  in  them  ruled ;  and  every  eye 
Glared  lightning,  and  shot  forth  pernicious  fire 
Among  the  accursed,  that  wither'd  all  their  strength, 
And  of  their  wonted  vigour  left  them  drain' d, 
Exhausted,  spiritless,  afflicted,  fallen. 
Yet  half  his  strength  he  put  not  forth, p  but  check'd 
His  thunder  in  mid  volley ;  for  he  meant 
Not  to  destroy,  but  root  them  out  of  heaven : 
The  overthrown  he  raised ;  and  as  a  herd 
Of  goats  or  timorous  flock  together  throng'd 
Drove  them  before  him  thunder-struck,  pursued 
With  terrours  and  with  furies  i  to  the  bounds 
And  crystal  wall  of  heaven ;  which,  openijig  wide, 
Roll'd  inward,  and  a  spacious  gap  disclosed 
Into  the  wasteful  deep :  the  monstrous  sight 
Struck  them  with  horrour  backw&rd,  but  far  worse 
Urged  them  behind :  headlong  themselves  they  threw 
Down  from  the  verge  of  heaven  :  eternal  wrath 
Burn'd  after  them  to  the  bottomless  pit. 

Hell  heard  the  unsufiFerable  noise ;  hell  saw 
Heaven  ruining  from  heaven,  and  would  have  fled 
Affrighted ;  but  strict  fate  had  cast  too  deep 
Her  dark  foundations,  and  too  fast  had  bound 
Nine  days  they  fell :  confounded  Chaos  roar'd, 

o  That  wish'd  the  mountains. 
See  Rev.  vi.  16 : — "They  said  to  the  mountains,  Fall  on  us,  and  hidn  us  from  the  face 
of  him  that  sitteth  on  the  throne,  and  from  the  wrath  of  the  Lamb:"  which  is  very 
applicable  here,  as  they  had  been  overwhelmed  with  mountains,  v.  655.     What  was  so 
terrible  before,  they  wished  as  a  shelter  now. — Newton. 

P  Half  his  strength  he  put  not  forth. 
This  fin^  thought  is  somewhat  like  that  of  the  Psalmist,  Ixxviii.  33 : — "  But  ho,  being 
full  of  compassion,  forgave  their  iniquity,  and  destroyed  them  not;  yea,  many  a  time 
turned  ho  his  anger  away,  and  did  not  stir  up  all  his  wrath." — Newton. 

q  With  terrours  and  with  furies. 
Seo  Job  vi.  4: — "The  terrors  of  God  do  set  themselves  in  array  against  mo."    And 
the  fury  of  the  Lord  is  a  common  expression  in  Scripture : — "  They  are  full  of  the  fury 
of  the  Lord,"  Isaiah  11.  20. — Nbwto>. 


2T0  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  ti. 

And  felt  tenfold  confusion  in  their  fall 
Through  his  wild  anarchy ;  so  huge  a  rou' 
Incumber'd  him  with  ruin :  hell  at  last' 
Yawning  received  them  whole,  and  on  them  closed; 
Hell,  their  fit  habitation,  fraught  with  fire 
Unquenchable,  the  house  of  woe  and  pain. 
Disburden'd  heaven  rejoiced,  and  soon  repair'd 
Her  mural  breach,  returning  whence  it  roU'd. 

Sole  victor,  from  the  expulsion  of  his  foes, 
Messiah  his  triumphal  chariot  turn'd  : 
To  meet  him"  all  his  saints,  who  silent  stood 
Eye-witnesses  of  his  almighty  acts. 
With  jubilee  advanced ;  and  as  they  went, 
Shaded  with  branching  palm  each  order  bright, 
Sung  triumph,  and  him  sung  victorious  King, 
Son,  Heir,  and  Lord,  to  him  dominion  given. 
Worthiest  to  reign  : '  he,  celebrated,  rode 
Triumphant  through  mid  heaven,  into  the  courts 
And  temple  of  his  mighty  Father  throned 
On  high;  who  into  glory"  him  received. 
Where  now  he  sits  at  the  right  hand  of  bliss. 

Thus,  measuring  things  in  heaven^  by  things  on  earthy 
At  thy  request,  and  that  thou  mayst  beware 
By  what  is  past,  to  thee  I  have  reveal'd 
What  might  have  else  to  human  race  been  hid; 
The  discord  which  befell,  and  war  in  heaven 
Among  the  angelic  powers,  and  the  deep  fall 
Of  those  too  high  aspiring,  who  rebell'd 
With  Satan  j  he  who  envies  now  thy  state, 

t  Hell  at  la»t 
Yawning  received  them, 
ThiB  is  a  fine  imitation  of  Isaiah  v.  14 : — "  Therefore  hell  hath  enlarged  herself,  and 
opened  her  mouth  without  measure:  and  their  glury  and  their  multitude,  and  their 
(>omp,  and  he  that  rejoiceth,  shall  descend  into  it" — Todd. 

•  To  meet  him. 
See  Rev.  ziL  10. — Stillinofleet. 

»  Worthiest  to  reign. 
The  angels  here  sing  the  same  divine  song  which  St.  John  heard  them  sing  in  his 
rLiion,  Rev.  It.  11. — Newton. 

«  Who  into  glory. 
See  1  Tim.  iii.  16: — "Received  up  into  glory;"  and  Heb.  i.  3: — ^"Sat  down  on  the 
right  hand  of  the  Majesty  on  high." — Qillies. 

*  Hiua,  measuring  things  in  heaven. 
He  repeats  the  same  kind  of  apology  here  in  the  conclusion,  that  he  made  in  the 
beginning  of  his  narration.  See  b.  v.  673,  Ac.  And  it  is  indeed  the  best  defence  that 
can  be  made  for  the  bold  fictions  in  this  book,  which,  though  some  cold  readers  perhaps 
may  blame,  yet  the  coldest,  I  conceive,  cannot  but  aJuiire.  It  is  reinarkaljle  too  with 
what  art  and  beauty  the  poet,  from  the  height  and  sublimity  of  the  rest  of  the  book, 
descends  here,  at  the  close  of  it,  like  the  lark  from  her  loftiest  notes  in  the  clouds,  to 
th"}  most  prosaic  simplicity  of  language  and  numbers;  a  simplicity,  which  not  only 
Kives  it  variety,  but  the  grentest  majesty ;  as  Milton  himself  seems  to  have  thought, 
By  always  choosing  to  give  the  speeches  of  God  and  the  Messiah  in  that  style,  though 
these  I  suppose  are  the  parts  of  this  poem  which  Dryden  censures  as  the  flat*  which 
lie  often  met  with  for  thirty  or  forty  linos  together. — Newton. 


BOOK  VI]  PARADISE  LOST.  271 

Who  DOW  is  plotting  how  he  may  seduce 

Thee  also  from  obedience,  that,  with  him 

Bereaved  of  happiness,  thou  mayst  partake 

His  punishment,  eternal  misery; 

Which  would  be  all  his  solace  and  revenge, 

As  a  despite  done  against  the  Most  High, 

Thee  once  to  gain  companion  of  his  woe. 

But  listen  not  to  his  temptations ;  warn 

Thy  weaker ;  *  let  it  profit  thee  to  have  heard, 

By  terrible  example,  the  reward 

Of  disobedience  :  firm  they  might  have  stood, 

Yet  fell :  remember^  and  fear  to  transgress. 

w  TJiy  weaker. 
As  St.  Peter  caUs  tlio  wife,  "  the  weaker  vessel,"  1  Pet.  iii.  7.— Nkwtok. 


273  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  vn. 


BOOK  vn. 

INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 

The  seventh  bo'^k  is  nothing  but  delight; — all  beauty,  and  hope,  and  smiles:  it  hm 
little  of  the  awful  sublimity  of  the  preceding  books ;  and  it  has  much  less  of  that  grand 
invention  which  sometimes  astonishes  with  a  painful  emotion,  but  which  is  the  first 
power  of  a  poet :  at  the  same  time,  there  is  poetical  invention  in  filling  up  the  details. 

In  every  description  Milton  has  seized  the  mo^t  picturesque  feature,  and  found  the 
most  expressive  and  poetical  words  for  it.  On  the  mirror  of  his  mind  all  creation  wai 
delineated  in  the  clearest  and  most  brilliant  forms  and  colours ;  and  he  has  reflected 
them  with  such  harmony  and  enchantment  of  language  as  has  never  been  equalled. 

The  globe,  with  all  its  rich  contents,  thus  lies  displayed  before  us,  like  a  landscape 
ander  the  freshness  of  the  dewy  light  of  the  opening  morning,  when  the  shadows  of 
night  first  fly  away. 

Here  is  to  be  found  everything  which  in  descriptive  poetry  has  the  greatest  spell : 
1,11  majesty  or  grace  of  forms,  animate  or  inanimate;  all  variety  of  mountains,  and 
valleys,  and  forests,  and  plains,  and  seas,  and  lakes,  and  rivers ;  the  vicissitudes  of 
suns,  and  of  darkness;  the  flame  and  the  snow;  the  murmur  of  the  breeze;  the  roar 
of  the  tempest. 

One  great  business  of  poetry  is  to  teach  men  to  see,  and  feel,  and  think  upon  the 

beauties  of  the  creation,  and  to  have  gratitude  and  devotion  to  their  Maker :  this  can 

•  best  be  effected  by  a  poet's  eye  and  a  poet's  tongue.     Poets  can  present  things  in  lights 

which  can  warm  the  coldest  hearts:  he  who  can  create  himself,  can  best  represent  what 

Is  already  created. 

ARGUMENT. 
Rafhaki.,  at  the  request  of  Adam,  relates  how  and  wherefore  this  world  was  first  created ; 
that  ttod,  after  the  expelling  of  Satan  and  his  ailgels  out  of  heaven,  declared  his  pleasure 
to  create  another  world,  and  other  creatures  to  dwell  therein  ;  sends  his  Son  with  glory 
and  attendance  of  angels,  to  perform  the  work  of  creation  in  six  days  ;  the  angels  cele- 
brate with  hymns  the  performance  .hereof,  and  his  reascension  into  heaven. 

Descend  from  heaven,"  Urania,''  by  that  name 

If  rightly  thou  art  called,  whose  voice  divine 

Following,  above  the  Olympian  hill  I  soar, 

Above  the  flight  of  Pegasean  wing. 

The  meaning,  not  the  name  I  call ;  for  thou 

Nor  of  the  Muses  nine,  nor  on  the  top 

Of  Old  Olympus  dwell'st;  but  heavenly-born, 

Before  the  hills  appear'd,'  or  fountain  flow'd, 

a  Descend  from  heaven. 
"DcBcende  coelo,"  Hor.  Od,  iii  4,  1,  He  invokes  the  heavenly  Muse  as  he  had  done 
oefcre,  b,  i.  6  :  and  as  he  had  said  in  the  beginning  that  he  "  intended  to  soar  above 
the  Aonian  mount,"  so  now  he  says  very  truly  that  he  had  effected  what  he  intended, 
and  "  soars  above  the  Olympian  hill,  above  the  flight  of  Pegasean  wing ;"  that  is,  hid 
(ubject  was  more  sublime  than  the  loftiest  flight  of  heathen  poets. — Newton. 

b  Urania. 
The  word  Urania,  in  Greek,  signifies  "heavenly." — Newtok. 

c  Before  the  hills  appeared. 
Prom  Prov,  viii,  24,  25,  and  30,  where  the  phrase  of  Wisdom  always  "rejoicing*' 
before  God,  is  "  playing,"  according  to  the  Vulgate  Latin ;  "  ludena  coram  eo  omni  tem- 
pore."—Newtos. 


BOOK  vn.]  PARADISE  LOST.  273 

Thou  with  Eternal  Wisdom  didst  converse, 
Wisdom  thy  sister,  and  with  her  didst  play 
In  presence  of  the  Almighty  Father,  pleased 
With  thy  celestial  song.     Up-led  by  thee, 
Into  the  heaven  of  heavens  I  have  presumed, 
An  earthly  guest,  and  drawn  empyreal  air, 
Thy  tempering :  with  like  safety  guided  down, 
Return  me  to  my  native  element  j 
Lest  from  this  flying  steed  unrein'd,  (as  once 
Bellerophon,  though  from  a  lower  clime) 
Dismounted,  on  the  Aleian  field  I  fall, 
Erroneous  there  to  wander,  and  forlorn. 
Half  yet  remains  unsung,''  but  narrower  bound 
Within  the  visible  diurnal  sphere : 
Standing  on  earth,  not  rapt  above  the  pole. 
More  safe  I  sing  with  mortal  voice,  unchanged 
To  hoarse  or  mute,  though  fallen  on  evil  days," 
On  evil  days  though  fallen,  and  evil  tongues ; 
In  darkness,  and  with  dangers  compass'd  round, 
•  And  solitude  ;  yet  not  alone,  while  thou 

Visit' st  my  slumbers  nightly,  or  when  morn 
Purples  the  east :  still  govern  thou  my  song, 
Urania,  and  fit  audience  find,  though  few : 
But  drive  far  off  the  barbarous  dissonance 
Of  Bacchus  and  his  revellers,'  the  race 
Of  that  vile  rout  that  tore  the  Thracian  bard 
In  Rhodope,  where  woods  and  rocks  had  ears 
To  rapture,  till  the  savage  clamour  drown'd 
Both  harp  and  voice ;  nor  could  the  Muse  defend 
Her  son.     So  fail  not  thou,  who  thee  implores: 
For  thou  art  heavenly,  she  an  ejnpty  dream. 
Say,  goddess,  what  ensued,  when  Raphael, 
The  affable  archangel,  had  forwarn'd 
Adam,  by  dire  example,  to  beware 
Apostasy,  but  what  befell  in  heaven 
To  those  apostates ;  lest  the  like  befall 
In  Paradise  to  Adam  or  his  race. 
Charged  not  to  touch  the  interdicted  tree, 

*  Half  yet  remains  unsung. 
Half  of  the  episode,  not  of  the  whole  work,  is  here  meant.     The  episode  has  two 
principal  parts,  the  war  in  heaven,  and  the  new  creation. — Newton. 

«  Though /alien  on  evil  days. 
^  The  repetition  and  turn  of  the  words  is  very  beautiful :  a  lively  picture  this,  in  a  few 
lines,  of  the  poet's  wretched  condition.  Though  he  was  blind,  "  in  darkness;  and  with 
dangers  compass'd  round,  and  solitude,"  obnoxious  to  the  government,  and  having  a 
world  of  enemies  among  the  royal  party,  and  therefore  obliged  to  live  very  much  in 
privacy  and  alone,  he  was  not  become  hoarse  or  mute.  And  what  strength  of  mind 
was  it,  that  could  not  only  support  him  under  the  weight  of  these  misfortunes,  but 
enable  him  to  soar  to  such  heights  as  no  human  genius  ever  reached  before  ! — Nbwtok. 

f  0/  Bacchua  and  his  revellers. 
It  is  not  improbable  that  the  poet  intended  this  as  an  oblique  satire  upon  the  disso- 
lutenessof  Charles  the  Second  and  his  court;  from  whom  he  seems  to  apprehend  the 
35 


274  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  vii. 

If  they  trangress,  and  plight  that  sole  command, 

So  easily  obey'd  amid  the  choice 

Of  all  tastes  else  to  please  their  appetite, 

Though  wandering.     He,  with  his  consorted  Eve, 

The  story  heard  attentive,  and  was  fiU'd 

With  admiration  and  deep  muse,  to  hear 

Of  things  so  high  and  strange  j  things,  to  their  thought 

So  unimaginable,  as  hate  in  heaven, 

And  war  so  near  the  peace  of  God  and  bliss, 

With  such  confusion  :  but  the  evil,  soon 

Driven  back,  redounded  as  a  flood  on  those 

From  whom  it  sprung ;  impossible  to  mix 

With  blessedness.     Whence  Adam  soon  repeal'd 

The  doubts  that  in  his  heart  arose ;  and  now 

Led  on,  yet  sinless,  with  desire  to  know 

What  nearer  might  concern  him ;  how  this  world 

Of  heaven  and  earth  conspicuous  first  began ; 

When,  and  whereof  created ;  for  what  cause ; 

What  within  Eden,  or  without  was  done 

Before  his  memory  :  as  one,  whose  drouth  ' 

Yet  scarce  allay'd,  still  eyes  the  current  stream, 

Whose  liquid  murmur  heard  new  thirst  excites, 

Proceeded  thus  to  ask  his  heavenly  guest : 

Great  things  and  full  of  wonder  in  our  ears. 
Far  differing  from  this  world,  thou  hast  reveal' d. 
Divine  interpreter  !  by  favour  sent 
Down  from  the  empyrean,  to  forewarn 
Us  timely  of  what  might  else  have  been  our  loss. 
Unknown,  which  human  knowledge  could  not  reach; 
For  which  to  the  infinitely  Good  we  owe 
Immortal  thanks,  and  his  admonishment 
Keceive,  with  solemn  purpose  to  observe 
Immutably  his  sovran  will,  the  end 
Of  what  we  are.     But  since  thou  hast  vouchsafed 
Gently,  for  our  instruction,  to  impart 
Things  above  earthly  thought,  which  yet  concern'd 
Our  knowing,  as  to  highest  Wisdom  seem'dj 
Deign  to  descend  now  lower,  aad  relate 
What  may  no  less  perhaps  avail  us  known ; 
How  first  began  this  heaven  which  we  behold 
Distant  so  high,  with  moving  fires  adorn'd 
Innumerable ;  and  this  which  yields  or  fills 
All  space,  the  ambient  air  wide  interfused. 
Embracing  round  this  florid  earth  :  what  cause 
Moved  the  Creator,  in  his  holy  rest 
Through  all  eternity,  so  late  to  build 

late  of  Orpheus,  who,  though  he  is  said  to  have  charmed  woods  and  rocks  with  his 
liriue  songs,  was  torn  to  pieces  by  the  Bacchanalian  women  of  Rhodope,  a  mountain 
of  Thrace ;  nor  could  the  Muse  Calliope,  his  mother,  defend  him :  "  so  fail  not  thou 
who  thee  implores."  Nor  was  his  wish  ineffectual;  for  the  government  suffered  him  to 
'ive  and  die  unmnlested. — Newton. 


BOOK  vn.]  PARADISE  LOST.  275 

In  Chaos ;  and  the  work  begun,  how  soon 

Absolved ;  if  unforbid  thou  mayst  unfold 

What  we,  not  to  explore  the  secrets,  ask, 

Of  his  eternal  empire,  but  the  more 

To  magnify  his  works,  the  more  we  know : 

And  the  great  light  of  day«  yet  wants  to  run 

Much  of  his  race  though  steep ;  suspense  in  heaven, 

Held  by  thy  voice,  thy  potent  voice,  he  hears; 

And  longer  will  delay  to  hear  thee  tell 

His  generation,  and  the  rising  birth 

Of  Nature  from  the  unapparent  deep : 

Or  if  the  star  of  evening  and  the  moon 

Haste  to  thy  audience,  night  with  her  will  bring 

Silence ;  and  Sleep,  listening  to  thee,  will  watch  j 

Or  we  can  bid  his  absence,  till  thy  song 

End,''  and  dismiss  thee  ere  the  morning  shine. 

Thus  Adam  his  illustrious  guest  besought; 
And  thus  the  godlike  angel  answer'd  mild  : 

This  also  thy  request,  with  caution  ask'd, 
Obtain ;  though  to  recount  almighty  works 
What  words  or  tongue  of  seraph  can  suffice, 
Or  heart  of  man  suffice  to  comprehend  ? 
,  Yet  what  thou  canst  attain,  which  best  may  serve 
To  glorify  the  Maker,  and  infer 
Thee  also  happier,  shall  not  be  withheld 
Thy  hearing ;  such  commission  from  above 
I  have  received,  to  answer  thy  desire 
Of  knowledge  within  bounds ;  beyond,  abstain 
To  ask ;  nor  let  thine  own  inventions '  hope 
Things  not  reveal' d,  which  the  invisible  King,  J 

« 

S  And  the  great  light  of  day. 

Mr.  Thyer  is  of  opinion  that  there  is  not  a  greater  instance  of  our  author's  exquisite 
tkill  in  the  art  of  poetry  than  this  and  the  following  lizDS.  There  is  nothing  mora 
really  to  be  expressed  than  Adam's  telling  Raphael  his  desire  to  hear  the  continuance 
of  his  relation :  and  yet  the  poet,  by  a  series  of  strong  and  noble  figures,  has  worked  it 
np  into  half  a  score  of  as  fine  lines  as  any  in  the  poem.  Lord  Shaftesbury  has  observed, 
that  Milton's  beauties  generally  depend  upon  solid  thought,  strong  reasoning,  noble 
passion,  and  a  continued  thread  of  moral  doctrine;  but  in  this  place  he  has  shewn  what 
an  exalted  fancy  and  mere  force  of  poetry  can  do. — Newton. 

Lord  Shaftesbury  had  not  a  very  accurate  idea  of  Milton's  genius;  which,  if  it  had 
all  the  qualities  here  ascribed  to  it,  was  not  less  rich  and  gigantic  in  imagination  and 
Invention. 

h  Bid  his  absence,  till  thy  song 
End, 

The  sun  did  stand  still  at  the  voice  of  Joshua. — Newton. 

Milton's  favourite  Ovid  touches  upon  the  suspense  of  day : — 


-•t  euntem  mnlta  loquendo 


Detinuit  sermon*  diam. 

i  Thine  own  inventiotu. 

So  in  Psalm  cvi.  29 :  "  Thus  they  provoked  him  to  anger  with  their  own  tnoentton*. 
— Pbarcb. 

J  7%*  invisible  Ki*g. 

As  God  is  styled,  1  Tim,  L  17,  "  The  invisible  King."  go  this  is  the  properest  epithet 
that  could  h*ve  been  employed  here,  when  be  ia  ipeaking  of  "things  not  revealed- 


216  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  vii. 

Only  Omniscient,  hath  suppress'd  in  night, 
To  none  communicable  in  earth  or  heaven ; 
Enough  is  left  besides  to  search  and  know : 
But  knowledge  is  as  food,  and  needs  no  less 
Her  temperance  over  appetite,  to  know 
In  measure  what  the  mind  may  well  contain  j 
Oppresses  else  with  surfeit,  and  soon  turns 
Wisdom  to  folly,  as  nourishment  to  wind." 

Know  then,  that,  after  Lucifer  from  heaven 
(So  call  him,  brighter  once  amidst  the  host 
Of  angels,  than  that  star  the  stars  among) 
Fell  with  his  flaming  legions  through  the  deep 
Into  his  place,  and  the  great  Son  return'd 
Victorious  with  his  saints,  the  Omnipotent 
Eternal  Father  from  his  throne  beheld 
Their  multitude,  and  to  his  Son  thus  spake : 

At  least  our  envious  foe  hath  fail'd,  who  thought 
All  like  himself  rebellious ;  by  whose  aid 
This  inaccessible  high  strength,  the  seat 
Of  Deity  supreme,  us  dispossessed. 
He  trusted  to  have  seized,  and  into  fraud 
Drew  many,  whom  their  place  ^  knows  here  no  morej 
Yet  far  the  greater  part  have  kept,  I  see, 
Their  station ;  heaven,  yet  populous,  retains 
Number  sufficient  to  possess  her  realms 
Though  wide,  and  this  high  temple  to  frequent 
With  ministeries  due,  and  solemn  rites  : 
But,  lest  his  heart  exalt  him  in  the  harm  ♦ 

Already  done,  to  have  dispeopled  heaven, 
My  damage  fondly  deem'd,  I  can  repair 
That  detriment,  if  such  it  be  to  lose 
Self-lost ;  and  in  a  moment  will  create 
Another  world,  out  of  one  man  a  race 
Of  men  innumerable,  there  to  dwell 
Not  here ;  till  by  degrees  of  merit  raised, 
They  open  to  themselves  at  length  the  way 
Up  hither,  under  long  obedience  tried  ; 
And  earth  be  changed  to  heaven,  and  heaven  to  earth, 
One  kingdom,  joy  and  union  without  end. 
Meanwhile  inhabit  lax,  ye  powers  of  heaven ; 
And  thou,  my  Word,  begotten  Son,  by  thee 
This  I  perform ;  speak  thou,  and  be  it  done  I 

nippressed  in  night,  to  none  communicable  in  earth  or  heaven,"  neither  to  men  not 
fcngels ;  as  it  is  said  of  the  day  of  judgment.  Matt  xxiv.  36  :  "  Of  that  day  andhour 
knowetfa  no  man  :  no  not  the  angels  of  heaven,  but  my  Father  only." — Newton. 

k  Nourishment  to  wind. 
See  St  Paul,  1  Cor.  viii.  1 :  "Knowledge  puffeth  up."— Todd. 

J  Whom  their  place. 
See  Job  rii.  10 :  "Neither  shall  his  place  know  him  any  more."— Nbwtoh. 


BOOK  VII.]  PARADISE  LOST.  211 

My  overshadowing  Spirit"  and  Might  with  thee 
I  send  along :  ride  forth,  and  bid  the  deep 
Within  appointed  bounds  be  heaven  and  earth ; 
Boundless  the  deep,  because  I  Am,  who  fill 
Infinitude ;  nor  vacuous  the  space  ; 
Though  I,  uncircurascribed  myself,  retire, 
And  put  not  forth  my  goodness,  which  is  free 
To  act  or  not :  necessity  and  chance 
Approach  not  me,  and  what  I  will  is  fate. 

So  spake  the  Almighty,  and  to  what  he  spake, 
His  Word,  the  filial  Godhead,  gave  effect. 
Immediate  are  the  acts  of  God,  more  swift 
Than  time  or  motion  ;  but  to  human  ears 
Cannot  without  process  of  speech  be  told, 
So  told  as  earthly  notion  can  receive. 
Great  triumph  and  rejoicing  was  in  heaven, 
When  such  was  heard  declared  the  Almighty's  willj 
Glory  they  sung  to  the  Most  High,  good  will 
To  future  men,  and  in  their  dwellings  peace : 
Glory  to  him,  whose  just  avenging  ire 
Had  driven  out  the  ungodly  from  his  sight 
And  the  habitations  of  the  just;  to  him 

Glory  and  praise,  whose  wisdom  had  ordain'd  ' 

Good  out  of  evil  to  create ;  instead 
Of  spirits  malign,  a  better  race  to  bring 
Into  their  vacant  room,  and  thence  diffuse 
His  good  to  worlds  and  ages  infinite. 

So  sang  the  hierarchies :  meanwhile  the  Sou 
On  his  great  expedition  now  appear'd, 
Girt  with  omnipotence,  with  radiance  crown'd 
Of  majesty  divine  :  sapience  and  love 
Immense,  and  all  his  Father  in  him  shone. 
About  his  chariot  numberless  were  pour'd 
Cherub  and  seraph,  potentates  and  thrones, 
And  virtues,  winged  spirits,  and  chariots  wing'd 
From  the  armoury  of  God  j  where  stand  of  old 
Myriads,  between  two  brazen  mountains  lodged 
Against  a  solemn  day,  harness'd  at  hand, 
Celestial  equipage;  and  now  came  forth 
Spontaneous,  for  within  them  spirit  lived, 
Attendant  on  their  Lord  :  heaven  open'd  wide 
Her  ever-during  gates,  harmonious  sound. 
On  golden  hinges  moving,  to  let  forth 
The  King  of  Glory,  in  his  powerful  Word 
And  Spirit,  coming  to  create  new  worlds. 
On  heavenly  ground  they  stood ;  and  from  the  shore 

"•  J/y  overshadowing  Spirit. 

See  Luke  i.  35:  "The  Holy  Ghost  shall  come  upon  thee,  and  the  power  of  the 
Highest  shall  avershadow  thee." — Newton. 


278  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  vii. 

They  view'd "  the  vast  immeasurable  abyss 
Outrageous  as  a  sea,  dark,  wasteful,  wild, 
Up  from  the  bottom  turn'd  by  furious  winds 
And  surging  waves,  as  mountains,  to  assault 
Heaven's  highth,  and  with  the  centre  mix  the  pole. 

Silence,  ye  troubled  waves,"  and  thou  deep,  peace, 
Said  then  the  omnific  Word ;  your  discord  end ! 
Nor  Btay'd ;  but,  on  the  wings  of  cherubim 
Uplifted,  in  paternal  glory  rode 
Far  into  Chaos,  and  the  world  unborn ; 
For  Chaos  heard  his  voice :  him  all  his  train 
Follow'd  in  bright  procession,  to  behold 
Creation  and  the  wonders  of  his  might. 
Then  stay'd  the  fervid  wheels ;  and  in  his  hand 
He  took  the  golden  compasses,p  prepared 
In  God's  eternal  store,  to  circumscribe 
This  universe,  and  all  created  things  : 
One  foot  he  centred,  and  the  other  turn'd 
Round  through  the  vast  profundity  obscure ; 
And  said.  Thus  far  extend,  thus  far  thy  bounds; 
This  be  thy  just  circumference,  0  world  ! 
Thus  God  the  heaven  created,'  thus  the  earth, 
Matter  unform'd  and  void  :  darkness  profound 
Cover'd  the  abyss ;  but  on  the  watery  calm 
His  brooding  wings  the  Spirit  of  God  outspread, 
And  vital  virtue  infused,  and  vital  warmth, 
Throughout  the  fluid  mass ;  but  downward  purged 
The  black,  tartjvreous,  cold,  infernal  dregs, 
Adverse  to  life :  then  founded,  then  conglobed 
Like  things  to  like ;  the  rest  to  several  place 
Disparted,  and  between  spun  out  the  air; 
And  earth,  self-balanced,  on  her  centre  hung. 

Let  there  be  light,  said  God ;  ■■  and  forthwith  light 

"  From  the  shore' 
They  view'd. 
Here  is  a  most  magnificent  picture,  breathing  all  the  powers  of  jwetry. 

o  Silence,  ye  troubled  loavea. 
How  much  does  the  brevity  of  the  command  add  to  the  sublimity  and  majesty  of  it 
It  is  the  same  liind  of  beauty  that  Longinus  admires  in  the  Mosaic  history  of  the  crea- 
tion :  it  is  of  the  same  strain  with  the  same  "  Omnific  Word's"  calming  the  tempest  in 
the  Gospel,  when  he  said  to  the  raging  sea,  "  Peace,  be  still."  Mark  iv.  39.  And  how 
elegantly  has  he  turned  the  commanding  words,  silence  and  peace,  making  one  the  first 
and  the  other  the  last  in  the  sentence,  and  thereby  giving  the  greater  force  and  em- 
phasis to  both ! — Newton. 

p  He  took  the  golden  compasses. 
See  Prov.  viii.  27  :  "When  he  prepared  the  heavens  I  was  there  :  when  he  set  a  cant 
pass  upon  the  face  of  the  deep." — Richardson. 

q  Thus  God  the  heaven  created. 
The  reader  will  naturally  remark  how  exactly  Milton  copies  Moses  in  his  acconnt  of 
the  creation.     The  seventh  book  of  Paradise  Lost  may  be  called  a  larger  sort  of  para- 
phrase upon  the  first  chapter  of  Genesis  :  Milton  not  only  observes  the  same  series  and 
order,  but  preserves  the  very  words  as  much  as  he  can. — Newton. 
r  Let  there  be  light,  said  God. 
Gen.  L  3. — "And  God  said,  Let  there  be  light;  and  there  was  light"    This  is  the 


BOOK  VII.]  PARADISE  LOST.  219 

Ethereal,  first  of  things,  quintessence  pure. 

Sprung  from  the  deep ;  and  from  her  native  east 

To  journey  through  the  aery  gloom  began. 

Sphered  in  a  radiant  cloud,  for  yet  the  sun 

Was  not ;  she  in  a  cloudy  tabernacle 

Sojourned  the  while.     God  saw  the  light  was  good; 

And  light  from  darkness  by  the  hemisphere 

Divided  :  light  the  day,  and  darkness  night 

He  named.     Thus  was  the  first  day  even  and  mom : 

Nor  past  uncelebrated,  nor  unsung 

By  the  celestial  quires,  when  orient  light 

Exhaling  first  from  darkness  they  beheld : 

Birth-day  of  heaven  and  earth :  with  joy  and  shout • 

The  hollow  universal  orb  they  fill'd, 

And  touch'd  their  golden  harps,  and  hymning  praised 

God  and  his  works ;  Creator  him  they  sung. 
Both  when  first  evening  was,  and  when  first  morn. 

Again,  God  said.  Let  there  be  firmament* 
Amid  the  waters,  and  let  it  divide 
The  waters  from  the  waters :  and  God  made 
The  firmament,  expanse  of  liquid,  pure, 
Transparent,  elemental  air,  diflfused 
In  circuit  to  the  uttermost  convex 
Of  this  great  round ;  partition  firm  and  sure, 
The  waters  underneath  from  those  above 
Dividing :  for  as  earth,  so  he  the  world 
Built  on  circumfluous  waters  calm,  in  wide 
Crystalline  ocean,  and  the  loud  misrule 
Of  Chaos  far  removed ;  lest  fierce  extremes 
Contiguous  might  distemper  the  whole  frame : 
And  heaven  "  he  named  the  firmament :  so  even 
And  morning  chorus  sung  the' second  day. 

The  earth  was  form'd,  but  in  the  womb  as  yet 
Of  waters,  embryon  immature  involved, 
Appear'd  not :  over  all  the  face  of  earth 

passage  that  Longinus  particularly  admires;  and  no  doubt  its  sublimity  is  greatly 
owing  to  its  conciseness :  but  our  poet  enlarges  upon  it,  endeavouring  to  give  some 
account  how  light  was  created  the  first  day,  when  the  sun  was  not  formed  till  the 
fourth  day.  He  says  that  it  was  sphered  in  a  radiant  cloud,  and  so  journeyed  round 
the  earth  in  a  cloudy  tabernacle ;  and  herein  is  he  justified  by  the  authority  of  some 
commentators,  though  others  think  this  light  shone  but  imperfectly,  and  did  not  appear 
in  full  lustre  till  the  fourth  day. — Newton. 

»  With  joy  and  ghout. 
Job.  xxxviii.  4,  7.  "Where  wast  thou  when  I  laid  the  foundations  of  the  earth ;  wher 
■ie  morning  stars  sang  together,  and  all  the  sons  of  God  shouted  for  joy  ?" — Newton. 

t  Let  there  be  firmament. 
See  Gen.  i.  6 : — "  Firmament"  signifies  expansion. — Newton. 

<"  And  heaven. 
So  Gen.  i.  8.     According  to  the  Hebrews,  there  were  three  heavens.     The  first  is  the 
air,  wherein  the  clouds  move,  and  the  birds  fly;  the  second  is  the  starry  heaven;  and 
the  third  is  the  habitation  of  the  angels  and  the  seat  of  God's  giory.     Milton  is  speak- 
ing here  of  the  first  heaven,  as  he  mentions  the  others  in  other  places. — Newton. 


280  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  til 

Main  ocean  flow'd,  not  idle ;  but,  with  warm 

Prolific  humour  softening  all  her  globe, 

Fermented  the  great  mother  to  conceive. 

Satiate  with  genial  moisture;  when  God  said, 

Be  gather'd  now,  ye  waters'^  under  heaven, 

Into  one  place,  and  let  dry  land  appear. 

Immediately  the  mountains  huge  appear 

Emergent,  and  their  broad  bare  backs  upheave 

Into  the  clouds  :  their  tops  ascend  the  sky : 

So  high  as  heaved  the  tumid  hills,  so  low 

Down  sunk  a  hollow  bottom  broad  and  deep, 

Capacious  bed  of  waters  :  thither  they 

Hasted  with  glad  precipitance,  uproll'd. 

As  drops  on  dust  conglobing  from  the  dry : 

Part  rise  in  crystal  wall,  or  ridge  direct, 

For  haste ;  such  flight  the  great  command  irapress'd 

On  the  swift  floods :  as  armies  at  the  call 

Of  trumpets  (for  of  armies  thou  hast  heard) 

Troop  to  their  standard ;  so  the  watery  throng. 

Wave  rolling  after  wave,  where  way  they  found, 

If  steep,  with  torrent  rapture ;  if  through  plain, 

Soft  ebbing :  nor  withstood  them  rock  or  hill ; 

But  they,  or  under  ground,  or  circuit  wide 

With  serpent  errour  wandering,  found  their  way, 

And  on  the  washy  ooze  deep  channels  wore ; 

Easy,  ere  God  had  bid  the  ground  be  dry, 

All  but  within  those  banks,  where  rivers  now 

Stream,  and  perpetual  draw  their  humid  train 

The  dry  land,  earth ;  ^  and  the  great  receptacle 

Of  congregated  waters,  he  call'd  seas  : 

And  saw  that  it  was  good ;  and  said,  Let  the  earth 

Put  forth  the  verdant  grass,  herb  yielding  seed, 

And  fruit-tree  yielding  fruit  after  her  kind, 

Whose  seed  is  in  herself  upon  the  earth. 

He  scarce  had  said,  when  the  bare  earth,  till  then 

Desert  and  bare,  unsightly,  unadorn'd. 

Brought  forth  the  tender  grass,  whose  verdure  clad 

Her  universal  face  with  pleasant  green ; 

Then  herbs  of  every  leaf,  that  sudden  flower' d,* 

Opening  their  various  colours,  and  made  gay 

Her  bosom,  smelling  sweet :  and  these,  scarce  blown, 

Forth  flourish'd  thick  the  clustering  vine,  forth  crept 

The  swelling  gourd,  up  stood  the  corny  reed 

»  Be  gather'd  now,  ye  waters. 
See  Qen.  i.  9 ;  and  Psalot  civ.  6,  et  seq. — Newton. 

w  The  dry  land,  earth. 
Theas  are  again  the  words  of  Genesis  formed  into  verse,  i.  10,  11.     But  when  he 
comes  to  the  descriptive  part,  he  then  opens  a  finer  vein  of  poetry. — Newtoh. 

»  Sudden  flower' d. 
See  Esdras  vi.  44. — Toss. 


BOOK  VII.] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


281 


Embattled  in  her  field,  and  the  humble  shrub, 

And  bush  with  frizzled  hair  implicit :  last 

Rose,  as  in  dance,  the  stately  trees,  and  spread 

Their  branches  hung  with  copious  fruit,  or  gemm'd 

Their  blossoms :  with  high  woods  the  fields  were  crown'd, 

With  tufts  the  valleys,  and  each  fountain-side ; 

With  borders  long  the  rivers  :  that  earth  now 

Seem'd  like  to  heaven,  a  seat  where  gods  might  dwell, 

Or  wander  with  delight,  and  love  to  haunt 

Her  sacred  shades :  though  God  had  yet  not  rain'd 

Upon  the  earth,  and  man  to  till  the  ground 

None  was  j  but  from  the  earth  a  dewy  mist 

Went  up,  and  water' d  all  the  ground,  and  each 

Plant  of  the  field  j  which,  ere  it  was  ia  the  earth, 

God  made,  and  every  herb,  before  it  grew 

On  the  green  stem  :  God  saw  that  it  was  good : 

So  even  and  morn  recorded  the  third  day. 

Again  the  Almightj'^  spake,  Let  there  be  lights 
High  in  the  expanse  of  heaven,  to  divide 
The  day  from  night ;  and  let  them  be  for  signs, 
For  seasons,  and  for  days,  and  circling  years ; 
And  let  them  be  for  lights,  as  I  ordain 
Their  office  in  the  firmament  of  heaven, 
To  give  light  on  the  earth ;  and  it  was  so. 
And  God  made  two  great  lights,  great  for  their  use 
To  man,  the  greater  to  have  rule  by  day, 
The  less  by  night,  altern ;  and  made  the  stars. 
And  set  them  in  the  firmament  of  heaven 
To  illuminate  the  earth,  and  rule  the  day 
In  their  vicissitude,  and  rule  the  night. 
And  light  from  darkness  to  divide.     God  saw, 
Surveying  his  great  work,  that  it  was  good ; 
For  of  celestial  bodies  first  the  sun, 
A  mighty  sphere,  he  framed,  unlightsome  first, 
Though  of  ethereal  mould  :  then  formed  the  moon 
Globose,  and  every  magnitude  of  stars, 
And  sow'd  with  stars  the  heaven,  thick  as  a  field 
Of  light  by  far  the  greater  part  he  took, 
Transplanted  from  her  cloudy  shrine,  and  placed 
In  the  sun's  orb,  made  porous  to  receive 
And  drink  the  liquid  light ;  firm  to  retain 
Her  gather'd  beams,  great  palace  now  of  light. 
Hither,  as  to  their  fountain,  other  stars 
Repairing,  in  their  golden  urns  draw  light. 
And  hence  the  morning  planet  gilds  her  horns  j 
By  tincture  or  reflection  they  augment 
Their  small  peculiar,  though  from  human  sight 
So  far  remote,  with  diminution  seen. 
First  in  his  east  the  glorious  lamp  was  seen, 
Regent  of  day,  and  all  the  horizon  round 
Invested  with  bright  rays,  jocund  to  run 
36 


282  PAEADISE  LOST.  [book  vn. 

His  longitude  through  heaven's  high  road ;  the  gray 
Dawn,  and  the  Pleiades,  before  him  danced/ 
Shedding  sweet  influence ; »  less  bright  the  moon, 
But  opposite  in  level'd  west  was  set, 
His  mirrour,  with  full  face  borrowing  her  light 
From  him ;  for  other  light  she  needed  none 
In  that  aspect,  and  still  that  distance  keeps 
Till  night;  then  in  the  east  her  turn  she  shines, 
Revolved  on  heaven's  great  axle,  and  her  reign 
With  thousand  lesser  lights  dividual  holds, 
With,  thousand  thousand  stars,  that  then  appear'd 
Spangling  the  hemisphere  :  then  first  adorn'd 
With  their  bright  luminaries,  that  set  and  rose, 
Glad  evening  and  glad  morn  crown'd  the  fourth  day. 

And  God  said,  Let  the  waters'  generate 
Reptile  with  spawn  abundant,  living  soul : 
And  let  fowl  fly  above  the  earth,  with  wings  I 

Display'd  on  the  open  firmament  of  heaven. 
And  God  created  the  great  whales,  and  each 
Soul  living,  each  that  crept,  which  plenteously 
The  waters  generated  by  their  kinds  : 
And  every  bird  of  wing  after  his  kind ; 
And  saw  that  it  was  good,  and  bless'd  them,  saying, 
Be  fruitful,  multiply,  and  in  the  seas. 
And  lakes,  and  running  streams,  the  waters  fill : 
And  let  the  fowl  be  multiplied  on  the  earth. 
Forthwith  the  sounds  and  seas,  each  creek  and  bay. 
With  fry  innumerable  swarm,  and  shoals 
Of  fish  that  with  their  fins,  and  shining  scales, 
Glide  under  the  green  wave,  in  sculls*  that  oft 
Bank  the  mid  sea :  part  single,  or  with  mate, 
Graze  the  sea-weed  their  pasture,  and  through  groves 
Of  coral  stray ;  or,  sporting  with  quick  glance, 

y  The  Pleiades,  be/ore  him  danced. 
These  are  beautiful  images,  and  very  much  resemble  the  famous  picture  of  the 
Morning  by  Guido,  where  the  sun  is  represented  in  his  chariot,  with  Aur^^ra  flying 
before  him,  shedding  flowers,  and  seven  beautiful  nymph-like  figures,  dancing  before 
nnd  about  his  chariot,  which  are  commonly  taken  for  the  hours,  but  possibly  may  be 
the  Pleiades,  as  they  are  seven  in  number,  and  it  is  not  easy  to  assign  a  reason  v,  by 
the  Hours  should  be  signified  by  that  number  particularly.  The  picture  is  on  a  ceiling 
at  Rome ;  but  there  are  copies  of  it  in  England,  and  an  excellent  print  by  Jac.  Frey. 
The  Pleiades  are  seven  stars  in.  the  neck  of  the  constellation  Taurus,  which,  rising 
about  the  time  of  the  vernal  equinox,  are  called  by  the  Latins  "  Vergiliae."  Our  poet 
therefore,  in  saying  that  the  Pleiades  danced  before  the  sun  at  his  creation,  intimates 
very  plainly  that  the  creation  was  in  the  spring,  according  to  the  common  opinion, 
Virg,  Georg.  ii.  338,  Ac. — Newion. 

>  Shedding  tweti  influence. 
See  Job  xxxviiL  31 : — "  Canet  thou  bind  the  sweet  influences  of  the  Pleiades  ?"— 
Home. 

*  And  God  eaid,  Let  the  toatert. 
This,  and  eleven  verses  following,  are  almost  word  for  word  from  Genesis,  i.  20 — 22 
the  poet  afterwards  branches  out  his  general  account  of  the  fifth  day's  creation  into 
the  several  particulars. — Newton. 

b  Seulii  is  undoubtedly  ahoal*. 


BOOK  VII.]  PARADISE  LOST.  283 

SLow  to  the  sun  their  waved  coats  dropt  with  gold ; 

Or,  in  their  pearly  shells  at  ease,  attend 

Moist  nutriment ;  or  under  rocks  their  food 

In  jointed  armour  watch  :  on  smooth  the  seal 

And  bended  dolphins  play  :  part  huge  of  bulk, 

Wallowing  unwieldy,  enormous  in  their  gait, 

Tempest  the  ocean  :  there  leviathan, 

Hugest  of  living  creatures,  on  the  deep 

Stretch' d  like  a  promontory,  sleeps  or  swims. 

And  seems  a  moving  land;  and  at  his  gills 

Draws  in,  and  at  his  trunk  spouts  out,  a  sea. 

Meanwhile  the  tepid  caves,  and  fens,  and  shores. 

Their  brood  as  numerous  hatch,  from  the  egg  that  soon 

Bursting  with  kindly  rupture  forth  disclosed 

Their  callow  young ;  but  feather'd  soon  and  fledge 

They  suram'd  their  pens ;  and,  soaring  the  air  sublime, 

With  clang  despised  the  ground,  under  a  cloud 

In  prospect;  there  the  eagle  and  the  stork 

On  cliffs  and  cedar-tops  •=  their  eyries  build  : 

Part  loosely  wing  the  region ;  part,  more  wise, 

In  common,  ranged  in  figure,  wedge  their  way, 

Intelligent  of  seasons,*  and  set  fox-th 

Their  aery  caravan,  high  over  seas 

Flying,  and  over  lands,  with  mutual  wing 

Easing  their  flight ;  so  steers  the  prudent  crane 

Her  annual  voyage,  borne  on  winds ;  the  air 

Floats  as  they  pass,  fann'd  with  unnumber'd  plumes : 

From  branch  to  branch  the  smaller  birds  with  song 

Solaced  the  woods,  and  spread  their  painted  wings 

Till  even ;  nor  then  the  solemn  nightingale  * 

Ceased  warbling,  but  all  night  tuned  her  soft  lays : 

Others,  on  silver  lakes  and  rivers,  bathed 

Their  downy  breast ;  the  swan  with  arched  neck, 

Between  her  white  wings  mantling  proudly,  rows 

Her  state  with  oary  feet;  yet  oft  they  quit 

The  dank,  and,  rising  on  stiff  pennons,  tower 

The  mid  aereal  sky  :  others  on  ground 

Walk'd  firm ;  the  crested  cock,  whose  clarion  sounds 

The  silent  hours ;  and  the  other,  whose  gay  train 

Adorns  him,  colour'd  with  the  florid  hue 

Of  rainbows  and  starry  eyes.     The  waters  thus 

With  fish  replenish'd,  and  the  air  with  fowl, 

Evening  and  morn  solemnized  the  fifth  day. 

<:  On  cliffs  and  eedar-tops. 
See  Job  zxxix.  27,  28. — Newton. 

d  Intelligent  of  seasons. 
See  Jerem.  viii.  7. — Newton. 

e  The  solemn  nightingale, 
Milton's  fondness  and  admiration  of  the  nightingale  may  be  seen,  as  Newton  has 
remarked,  in  '  II  Peneeroso,'  in  his  first  sonnet,  and  again  in  '  Paradise  Lost,'  b.  iiL  38 ; 
b.  iv.  648,  771;  b.  v.  40  ;  b.  viii.  518.— Todd. 


284 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[book  VII. 


The  sixth,  and  of  creation  last,  arose 
With  evening  harps  and  matin ;  when  God  said, 
Let  the  earth  bring  forth  soul  living  in  her  kind, 
Cattle,  and  creeping  things,  and  beast  of  the  earth, 
Each  in  their  kind.     The  earth  obey'd,  and  straight 
Opening  her  fertile  womb,  teem'd  at  a  birth 
Innumerous  living  creatures,  perfect  forms, 
Limb'd  and  full  grown  :  out  of  the  ground  uprose, 
As  from  his  lair,  tlie  wild  beast,  where  he  wons 
tu  forest  wild,  in  thicket,  brake,  or  den ; 
Among  the  trees  in  pairs  they  rose,  they  walk'dj 
The  cattle  in  the  fields  and  meadows  green : 
Those  rare  and  solitary,  these  in  flocks 
Pasturing  at  once,  and  in  broad  herds  upsprung. 
The  grassy  clods  now  calved ;  now  half  appear'd 
The  tawny  lion,  pawing  to  get  free 
His  hinder  parts ;  then  springs,  as  broke  from  bonds, 
And  rampant  shakes  his  brinded  mane :  the  ounce, 
The  libbard,  and  the  tiger,  as  the  mole 
Rising,  the  crumbled  earth  above  them  threw 
In  hillocks  :  the  swift  stag  from  under  ground 
Bore  up  his  branching  head :  scarce  from  his  mould, 
Behemoth,  biggest  born  of  earth,  upheaved 
His  vastness :  fleeced  the  flocks  and  bleating  rose. 
As  plants  ;  ambiguous  between  sea  and  land 
The  river-horse,  and  scaly  crocodile. 
At  once  came  forth  whatever  creeps  the  ground. 
Insect  or  worm :  those  waved  their  limber  fans 
For  wings,  and  smallest  lineaments  exact 
In  all  the  liveries  deck'd  of  summer's  pride, 
With  spots  of  gold  and  purple,  azure  and  green  j 
These  as  a  line  their  long  dimension  drew, 
Streaking  the  ground  with  sinuous  trace;  not  all 
Minims  of  nature ;  some  of  serpent  kind. 
Wondrous  in  length  and  corpulence,  involved 
Their  snaky  folds,  and  added  wings.     First  crept 
The  parsimonious  emmet,  provident 
Of  future ;  in  small  room  large  heart  enclosed  j 
Pattern  of  just  equality,''  perhaps 
Hereafter,  joined  in  her  popular  tribes 
Of  commonalty  :  swarming  next  appear'd 
The  female  bee,  that  feeds  her  husband  drone 
Doliciously,  and  builds  her  waxen  cells 
With  honey  stored  :  the  rest  are  numberless, 
And  thou  their  natures  know'st,  and  gavest  them  names, 
Needless  to  thee  repeated;  nor  unknown 

I  Pattern  o/jtut  equality. 
We  see  that  Milton,  upon  oee.\sion,  discovers  his  principles  of  government.    Hf  en- 
larges upon  the  same  thought  in  his  'Ready  Way  to  establish  a  free  Commonwealth, 
Prose  W.  i.  .'91.     He  commends  the  ants  or  emmets  for  living  in  a  republic,  as  the 
bees  are  said  to  live  under  a  monarchy. —  Newton. 


BOOK  VII.]  PARADISE  LOST.  285 

The  serpent,  subtlest  beast  of  all  the  field,  ^ 

Of  huge  extent  sometimes,  with  brazen  eyes 
And  hairy  mane  terrific,  though  to  thee 
Not  noxious,  but  obedient  at  thy  call. 

Now  heaven  in  all  her  glory  shone,  and  roll'd 
Her  motions,  as  the  great  first  Mover's  hand 
First  wheel'd  their  course :  earth  in  her  rich  attire 
Consummate  lovely  smiled  :  air,  water,  earth, 
By  fowl,  fish,  beast,  was  flown,  was  swum,  was  walk'd, 
Frequent;  and  of  the  sixth  day  yet  remain'd : 
There  wanted  yet  the  master-work,  the  end 
Of  all  yet  done ;  a  creature,  who,  not  prone 
And  brute  as  other  creatures,  but  endued 
With  sanctity  of  reason,  might  erect 
His  stature,  and  upright  with  front  serene 
Govern  the  rest,  self-knowing ;  and  from  thence 
Magnanimous  to  correspond  with  Heaven, 
But  grateful  to  acknowledge  whence  his  good 
Descends ;  thither,  with  heart,  and  voice,  and  eyes, 
Directed  in  devotion,  to  adore 
And  worship  God  Supreme,  who  made  him  chief 
.  Of  all  his  works :  therefore  the  Omnipotent 
Eternal  Father  (for  where  is  not  he 
Present?)  thus  to  his  Son  audibly  spake : 

Let  us  make  now  man  e  in  our  image,  man 
In  our  similitude,  and  let  them  rule 
Over  the  fish  and  fowl  of  sea  and  air. 
Beast  of  the  field,  and  over  all  the  earth. 
And  every  creeping  thing  that  creeps  the  ground. 

This  said,  he  forui'd  thee,  Adam,  thee,  0  man, 
Dust  of  the  ground,  and  in  thy  nostrils  breathed 
The  breath  of  life;  in  his  own  image  he 
Created  thee,  in  the  image  of  God 
Express ;  and  thou  becamest  a  living  soul. 
Male  he  created  thee ;  but  thy  consort 
Female,  for  race;  then  bless'd  mankind,  and  said, 
Be  fruitful,  multiply,  and  fill  the  earth ; 
Subdue  it,  and  throughout  dominion  hold 
Over  fish  of  the  sea,  and  fowl  of  the  air, 
And  every  living  thing  that  moves  on  the  earth. 
Wherever  thus  created,  (for  no  place 
Is  yet  distinct  by  name,)  thence  as  thou  know'st. 
He  brought  thee  into  this  delicious  grove. 
This  garden,  planted  with  the  trees  of  God, 
Delectable  both  to  behold  and  taste; 

e  Let  it»  make  now  man. 
The  author  keeps  closely  to  Scripture  in  his  account  of  the  formation  of  man,  as  well 
as  of  the  other  creatures.  See  Gen.  i.  26,  27,  28.  There  are  scarcely  any  alterations 
but  f  hat  were  requisite  for  the  verse,  or  were  occasioned  by  the  change  of  the  person, 
as  the  angel  is  spealiing  to  Adam.  And  what  additions  are  made  are  plainly  of  the 
same  original  — Newton. 


286  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  vii. 

And  freely  all  their  pleasant  fruit  for  food 
Gave  thee ;  all  sorts  are  here  that  all  the  earth  yields, 
Variety  without  end;  but  of  the  tree, 
Which,  tasted,  works  knowledge  of  good  and  evil, 
Thou  mayst  not ;  in  the  day  thou  eat'st,  thou  diest : 
Death  is  the  penalty  imposed ;  beware, 
And  govern  well  thy  appetite ;  lest  sin 
Surprise  thee,  and  her  black  attendant,  death. 
Here  finish'd  he,  and  all  that  he  had  made 
ViewM_  and  behold  all  was  entirely  good ; 
So  even  and  morn  accomplish'd  the  sixth  day : 
Yet  not  till  the  Creator,  from  his  work 
Desisting,  though  unwearied,  up  return'd, 
Up  to  the  heaven  of  heavens,  his  high  abode  j 
Thence  to  behold  this  new-created  world. 
The  addition  of  his  empire  how  it  show'd 
In  prospect  from  his  throne,  how  good,  how  fair, 
Answering  his  great  idea.     Up  he  rode, 
Follow'd  with  acclamation,  and  the  sound 
Syraphonious  of  ten  thousand  harps,  that  tuned 
Angelic  harmonies :  the  earth,  the  air 
Resounded  (thou  reraember'st,  for  thou  heard'st) 
The  heavens  and  all  the  constellations  rung. 
The  planets  in  their  station  listening  stood, 
While  the  bright  pomp  ascended  jubilant. 
Open,  ye  everlasting  gates !  ^  they  sung  j 

h  Open,  ye  everlasting  gates  ! 
See  Psalm  xxiv.  7 : — "  Lift  up  your  heads,  0  ye  gates ;  and  be  ye  lifted  up,  ye  ever- 
lasting doors ;  and  the  King  of  Glory  shall  come  in."  This  hymn  was  sung  when  the 
ark  of  God  was  carried  up  into  the  sanctuary  on  Mount  Sion,  and  is  understood  as  a 
prophecy  of  our  Saviour's  ascension  into  heaven ;  and  therefore  is  fitly  applied  by  our 
author  to  the  same  Divine  Person's  ascending  thither,  after  he  had  created  the  world. 
— Newton, 

In  the  seventh  book  the  author  appears  in  a  kind  of  composed  and  sedate  majesty  ; 
and  though  the  sentiments  do  not  give  so  great  an  emotion  as  those  in  the  former  book, 
they  abound  with  magnificent  ideas.  The  sixth  book,  like  a  troubled  ocean,  represents 
greatness  in  confusion ;  the  seventh  affects  the  imagination  like  the  ocean  in  a  calm ; 
and  fills  the  mind  of  the  reader,  without  producing  in  it  anything  like  tumult  or 
agitation. 

Longinus,  among  the  rules  which  he  lays  down  for  succeeding  in  the  sublime  way 
of  writing,  proposes  to  his  reader,  that  he  should  imitate  the  most  celal: rated  authors 
who  have  gone  before  him,  and  have  been  engaged  in  works  of  the  same  nature ;  as  in 
particular,  that,  if  he  writes  on  a  poetical  subject,  he  shall  consider  how  Homer  would 
have  spoken  on  such  an  occasion.  By  this  means  one  great  genius  often  catches  the 
flame  from  another;  and  writes  in  his  spirit  without  copying  servilely  after  him 
There  are  a  thousand  shining  passages  in  Virgil,  which  have  been  lighted  up  by  Homer 

Milton,  though  his  own  natural  strength  of  genius  was  capable  of  furnishing  out  a 
perfect  work,  has  doubtless  very  much  raised  and  ennobled  his  conceptions  by  such  an 
imitation  as  that  which  Longinus  has  recommended. 

In  this  book,  which  gives  us  an  account  of  the  six  days'  work,  the  poet  rece'.ved  but 
very  few  assistances  from  heathen  writers,  who  were  strangers  to  the  wonders  of  crea- 
tion :  but  as  there  are  many  glorious  strokes  of  poetry  upon  this  subject  in  Holy  Writ, 
the  author  has  numberless  allusions  to  them  through  the  whole  course  of  this  book. 
Ihe  great  critic  I  have  before  mentioned,  though  a  heathen,  has  taken  notice  of  the 
■nblime  manner  in  which  the  lawgiver  of  the  Jews  has  described  the  creation  in  the 
first  book  of  Genesis ;  and  there  are  many  other  passages  in  Scripture,  which  rise  up  tc 
the  same  majesty,  where  this  subject  is  touched  upon.    Milton  has  shown  hia  judgment 


BOOK  VII.]  PARADISE  LOST.  287 

Open,  ye  heavens  !  your  living  doors ;  let  in 

The  great  Creator,  from  his  work  return'd 

Magnificent,  his  six  days'  work,  a  world ; 

Open,  and  henceforth  oftj  for  God  will  deign 

To  visit  oft  the  dwellings  of  just  men. 

Delighted  ;  and  with  frequent  intercourse 

Thither  will  send  his  winged  messengers 

On  errands  of  supernal  grace.     So  sung 

The  glorious  train  ascending  :  he  through  heaven, 

That  open'd  wide  her  blazing  portals,  led 

To  God's  eternal  house  direct  the  way ; 

A  broad  and  ample  road,  whose  dust  is  gold, 

And  pavement  stars,  as  stars  to  thee  appear, 

Seen  in  the  galaxy,  that  milky  way. 

Which  nightly,  as  a  circling  zone,  thou  seest 

Powder'd  with  stars.     And  now  on  earth  the  seventh 

Evening  arose  in  Eden,  for  the  sun 

Was  set,  and  twilight  from  the  east  came  on. 

Forerunning  night ;  when  at  the  holy  mount 

Of  heaven's  high-seated  top,  the  imperial  throne 

Of  Godhead,  fix'd  for  ever  firm  and  sure, 

The  Filial  Power  arrived,  and  sat  him  down 

With  his  great  Father ;  for  he  also  went 

Invisible,  yet  stay'd,  (such  privilege 

Hath  Omnipresence,)  and  the  work  ordain'd, 

Authuor  and  End  of  all  things  ;  and,  from  work 

very  remarkably  in  making  use  of  such  of  these  as  were  proper  for  his  poem;  and  in 
duly  qualifying  those  high  strains  of  Eastern  poetry,  which  were  suited  to  readers, 
whose  imaginations  were  set  to  a  higher  pitch  than  those  of  colder  climates. 

Adam's  speech  to  the  angel,  where  he  desires  an  account  of  what  passed  within  the 
regions  of  nature  before  the  creation,  is  very  great  and  solemn.  The  lines  in  which  he 
tells  that  the  day  is  not  too  far  spent  for  him  tS  enter  upon  such  a  subject,  are  exquisite 
in  their  kind,  v.  98. 

The  angel's  encouraging  our  first  parents  in  a  modest  pursuit  after  knowledge,  and 
the  causes  which  he  assigns  for  the  creation  of  the  world,  are  very  just  and  beautiful. 
The  Messiah,  by  whom,  as  we  are  told  in  Scripture,  the  heavens  were  made,  comes  forth 
in  the  power  of  his  Father,  surrounded  with  a  host  of  angels,  and  clothed  with  such  a 
majesty  as  becomes  his  entering  upon  a  work,  which,  according  to  our  conceptionSy 
appears  the  utmost  exertion  of  Omnipotence.  What  a  beautiful  description  has  our 
author  raised  up 3n  that  hint  in  one  of  the  prophets!  "And  behold  there  came  four 
chariots  out  from  between  two  mountains,  and  the  mountains  were  mountains  of  brass :" 
About  his  chariots  numberless  were  poured,  &c 

I  have  before  taken  notice  of  those  chariots  of  God,  and  of  these  gates  of  heaven ; 
and  shall  here  only  add,  that  Homer  gives  us  the  same  idea  of  the  latter,  as  opening  of 
themselves ;  though  he  afterwards  takes  off  from  it  by  telling  us  that  the  Hours  first 
of  all  removed  those  prodigious  heaps  of  clouds  which  lay  as  a  barrier  before  them. 

I  do  not  know  anything  in  the  whole  poem  more  sublime  than  the  description  which 
follows;  where  the  Messiah  is  represented  at  the  head  of  his  angels  as  looking  down 
into  the  chaos,  calming  its  confusion,  riding  into  the  midst  of  it,  and  drawing  the  first 
outline  of  the  creation. 

The  thought  of  the  golden  compasses,  v.  225,  is  conceived  altogether  in  Homer's 
spirit;  and  ij  a  very  noble  incident  in  this  wonderful  description.  Homer,  when  he 
speaks  of  the  gods,  ascribes  to  them  several  arms  and  instruments,  with  the  same  great- 
ness of  imagination.  Let  the  reader  only  peruse  the  description  of  Minerva's  aegis,  or 
buckler,  in  the  fifth  book ;  with  her  spear  which  would  overturn  whole  squadrons,  and 
her  helmet  that  was  sufiBcient  to  cover  an  army  drawn  out  of  a  hundred  cities.  The 
golden  comcasses  in  the  above-mentioned  passage  appear  a  very  natural  instrument  in 


288  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  vii. 

Now  resting,  bless'd  and  hallow'd  the  seventh  day, 
As  resting  on  that  day  from  all  his  work. 
But  not  in  silence  holy  kept :  the  harp 
Had  work,  and  rested  not ;  the  solemn  pipe, 
And  dulcimer,  all  organs  of  sweet  stop. 
All  sounds  on  fret  by  .string  or  golden  wire, 
Temper'd  soft  tunings,  intermix'd  with  voice 
Choral  or  unison  ;  of  incense  clouds, 
Fuming  from  golden  censers,  hid  the  mount. 
Creation  and  the  six  days'  acts  they  sung. 
Great  are  thy  works,  Jehovah  !  infinite 
Thy  power !  what  thought  can  measure  thee,  or  tongue 
Relate  thee  ?     Greater  now  in  thy  return 
Than  from  the  giant  angels  :  thee  that  day 
Thy  thunders  magnified ;  but  to  create 

the  hands  of  him,  whom  Plato  somewhere  calls  the  Divine  Geometrician.  As  ptvetry 
delights  in  clothing  abstracted  ideas  in  allegories  and  sensible  images,  we  find  a  mag- 
nificent description  of  the  creation,  formed  after  the  same  manner,  in  one  of  the  pro- 
phets, wherrin  he  describes  the  Almighty  Architect  as  measuring  the  waters  in  the 
hollow  of  his  hand,  meting  out  the  heavens  with  his  span,  comprehending  the  dust  of 
the  earth  in  a  measure,  weighing  the  mountains  in  scales,  and  the  hills  in  a  balance. 
Another  of  them,  describing  the  Supreme  Being  in  this  great  work  of  creation,  repre- 
sents him  as  laying  the  foundations  of  the  earth,  and  stretching  a  line  upon  it;  and  ii. 
another  place,  as  garnishing  the  heavens,  stretching  out  the  north  over  the  empty  place, 
and  hanging  the  earth  upon  nothing.  This  last  noble  thought  Milton  has  expressed  in 
the  following  verse : — 

And  earth  self-balanced  on  her  centre  hung 

The  beauties  of  description  in  this  book  lie  so  very  thick,  that  it  is  impossible  to  enu- 
merate them  in  these  remarks.  The  poet  has  employed  on  them  the  whole  energy  of 
our  tongue :  the  several  great  scenes  of  the  creation  rise  up  to  view,  one  after  another. 
In  such  a  manner,  that  the  reader  seems  pr.esent  at  this  wonderful  work,  and  to  assist 
among  the  choirs  of  angels,  who  are  the  spectators  of  it.  How  glorious  is  the  conclu- 
sion of  the  first  day !  v.  252,  <fec.  We  have  the  same  elevation  of  thought  in  the  third 
day,  when  the  mountains  were  brought  forth,  and  the  deep  was  made :  we  have  also 
the  rising  of  the  whole  vegetable  world  described  in  this  day's  work,  which  is  filled  with 
all  the  graces  that  other  poets  have  lavished  on  their  description  of  the  spring,  and 
leads  the  reader's  imagination  into  a  theatre  equally  surprising  and  beautiful.  The 
several  glories  of  the  heavens  make  their  appearances  on  the  fourth  day. 

One  would  wonder  how  the  poet  could  be  so  concise  in  his  description  of  the  six  days 
as  to  comprehend  them  within  the  bounds  of  an  episode :  and,  at  the  same  time,  so  par- 
ticular, as  to  give  us  a  lively  idea  of  them.  This  is  still  more  remarkable  in  his  account 
of  the  fifth  and  sixth  days,  in  which  he  has  drawn  out  to  our  view  the  whole  animal 
creation  from  the  reptile  to  the  behemoth.  As  the  lion  and  the  leviathan  are  two  of  the 
noblest  productions  in  the  world  of  living  creatures,  the  reader  will  find  a  most  exqui- 
site spirit  of  poetry  in  the  account  which  our  author  gives  us  of  them.  The  sixth  dfiy 
concludes  with  the  formation  of  man ;  upon  which,  the  angel  takes  occasion,  as  he  did 
after  the  battle  in  heaven,  to  remind  Adam  of  his  obedience,  which  was  the  principal 
design  of  his  visit. 

The  poet  afterwards  represents  the  Messiah  returning  into  heaven  and  taking  a 
survey  of  his  great  work.  There  is  something  inexpressibly  sublime  in  this  part  of  the 
poem,  where  the  author  describes  the  great  period  of  time  filled  with  so  many  glorious 
circumstances:  when  the  heavens  and  earth  were  finished;  when  the  Messiah  ascended 
np  in  triumph  through  the  everlasting  gates;  when  he  looked  down  with  pleasure  upon 
his  new  creation;  when  every  part  of  nature  seemed  to  rejoice  in  its  existence;  "when 
the  morning  stars  sang  together,  and  all  the  sons  of  God  shouted  for  joy." 

The  accounts  which  Raphael  gives  of  the  battle  of  angels  and  creation  of  the  world, 
have  in  them  those  qualifications  which  the  critics  judge  requisite  to  an  episode :  they 
are  nearly  related  to  the  principal  action,  and  have  a  just  connexion  with  the  fable.— 
Addison. 

This  criticism  of  Addison  is  so  beautiful,  so  just,  and  so  perfect,  that  I  know  not  that 
r  can  find  anything  to  add  to  it 


BOOK  VII.]  PARADISE  LOST.  289 

Is  greater  than  created  to  destroy. 
Who  can  impair  thee,  Mighty  King,  or  bound 
Thy  empire  ?  easily  the  proud  attempt 
Of  spirits  apostate,  and  their  counsels  vain, 
Thou  hast  repell'd  ',  while  impiously  they  thought 
Thee  to  diminish,  and  from  thee  withdraw 
The  number  of  thy  worshippers.     "Who  seeks 
To  lessen  thee,  against  his  purpose  serves 
To  manifest  the  more  thy  might :  his  evil 
Thou  usest,  and  from  thence  Greatest  more  good. 
Witness  this  new-made  world,  another  heaven 
From  heaven-gate  not  far,  founded  in  view 
On  the  clear  hyaline,  the  glassy  sea ; 
Of  amplitude  almost  immense,  with  stars 
,        Numerous,  and  every  star  perhaps  a  world 
Of  destined  habitation ;  but  thou  know'st 
Their  seasons  :  among  these  the  seat  of  men, 
Earth  with  her  nsther  ocean  circumfused. 
Their  pleasant  dwelling-place.     Thrice  happy  men, 
And  sons  of  men,  whom  God  hath  thus  advanced  I 
Created  in  his  image,  there  to  dwell 
A.nd  worship  him ;  and  in  reward  to  mle 
Over  his  works,  on  earth,  in  sea,  or  air, 
And  multiply  a  race  of  worshippers 
Holy  and  just :  thrice  happy,  if  they  know 
Their  happiness,  and  persevere  upright ! 
So  sung  they,  and  the  empyrean  rung 
With  halleluiahs  :  thus  was  sabbath  kept. — 
And  thy  request  think  now  fulfill'd,  that  ask'd 
How  first  this  world  and  face  of  things  began. 
And  what  before  thy  memory  was  done 
From  the  beginning ;  that  postdi-ity, 
Inform'd  by  thee,  might  know :  if  else  thou  seek'st 
Aught,  not  surpassing  human  measxire,  say. 


3t 


290  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  viii. 


BOOK  vm. 

INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 

TSo  praise  can  bo  deemed  too  high  for  this  eighth  book  of  Paradise  Lost.  Milton 
speaks  as  the  historian  of  idealism;  never  as  a  rhetorician :  he  has  never  any  factitious 
warmth  ;  what  he  relates  he  first  sees :  the  richness  of  his  imagination  is  united  with 
extreme  and  surprising  simplicity :  he  rejects  all  adornment.  The  imagination,  which 
creates  a  whole  series  of  characters  and  actions,  resulting  from  each  other, — those 
actions  at  the  same  time  springing  from  high  minds  and  high  passions, — performs  the 
greatest  and  rarest  work  of  genius :  thus  we  are  filled  with  the  most  delightful 
astonishment,  when  we  read  Milton's  picture  of  the  creation  of  Adam  and  Eve :  the 
beauty,  the  glow,  the  enthusiasm,  the  rapture  running  through  all  the  senses,  and  all 
the  veins;  the  unalloyed  grandeur  of  the  man,  the  celestial  grace  of  the  woman;  the 
majesty  of  his  movements,  the  delicacy  of  hers;  the  inconceivable  happiness  of 
thoughts  and  words  with  which  their  admiration  of  each  other  is  expressed  ;  the  breaks, 
the  turns  of  language,  the  inspired  brilliance,  and  flow  of  the  strains;  yet  the  inimitable 
chastity  and  transparence  of  the  whole  style ; — fill  a  sensitive  reader  with  an  unfeigned 
wonder  and  exaltation,  which  it  would  be  vain  to  attempt  adequately  to  record. 

I  need  not  say,  that  all  the  art  and  skill  alone  of  all  the  poets  of  the  earth  would 
never  have  reached  those  thoughts,  though  natural  and  human,  yet  mixed  with  intel- 
lectual sublimity  and  exalted  passion,  which  the  poet  ascribes  to  Adam  and  Eve ;  and 
in  which  his  beautiful  language  could  only  be  attained  by  following  those  thoughts  in 
a  congenial  tone.  This  is  the  real  secret  of  Milton's  great  superiority  in  the  true 
language  of  poetry :  it  is  miserable,  when  flat  thoughts  are  covered  by  sounding  or 
gaudy  words. 

The  mind  of  him  who  undertakes  to  write  poetry  can  only  be  worked  into  a  duo 
temperament  by  the  force  of  a  warm  and  pregnant  imagination:  in  that  state  he  need 
not  seek  for  phrases  or  ideas :  these  rise  out  of  the  ideal  position  to  which  his  genius 
has  transported  him  :  they  are  not  the  results  of  slow  reflection,  or  reasoning,  or  memory. 
Admit  the  circumstances,  and  nature  points  out  the  spntiments :  but  it  is  the  great  poet 
alone  who  can  invent  the  circumstances ;  and  of  all  men,  Milton  could  invent  them 
with  the  most  fertility  and  splendour. 

There  is  another  consideration  which  makes  Milton's  invention  deserving  of  the  most 
unlimited  praise:  he  was  bound  down  by  his  awe  of  religion,  and  his  search  after  truth 
and  wisdom.  When  imagination  may  indulge  itself  in  wanton  flights,  it  may  easily 
blaze  by  its  erratic  courses :  here  the  poet  had  to  keep  within  a  prescribed  track  :  he 
had  therefore  all  his  mighty  powers  at  command;  he  threw  his  light  where  it  was 
required. 

Again  I  must  say  something  of  the  argumentative  parts  of  the  poem  as  applied  to 
this  eighth  book :  these  are  as  profound  and  excellent  as  those  in  the  former  books. 
They  are  not,  as  Dryden  has  hinted,  flat  and  unprofitable ;  but  the  reverse.  They  are 
exalted,  closely-argued,  nakedly  but  vigorously  expressed,  sagacious,  moral,  instructive, 
comprehensive,  deep  in  the  knowledge  of  life,  consolatory,  and  fortifying.  Whoever 
supposes  them  unpoetieal,  has  a  narrow  and  mean  conception  of  poetry;  they  are 
Dover  out  of  place,  but  result  from  the  leading  characters  of  the  poem ;  and  are  quite 
as  essential  to  it,  even  as  its  grand,  or  beautiful,  and  breathing  imagery 


BOOK  VIII.]  PARADISE  LOST.  291 


ARGUMENT. 

Adam  inquires  concerning  celestini  motions;  is  doubtfully  answered,  und  exhortea  to  search 
rather  things  more  worthy  of  knowledge:  Adam  assents;  and,  still  desirous  to  detain 
Raphael,  relates  to  him  what  he  remembered  since  liis  own  creation;  his  placing  in 
Paradise;  his  talk  with  God  concerning  solitude  and  fit  society;  his  first  meet;ng  and 
nuptials  with  Eve;  his  discourse  with  the  angel  thereupon;  who,  after  admonitions 
repeated,  departs. 

The  angel  ended,*  and  in  Adam's  ear 
vSo  charming  left  his  voice,  that  he  awhile 
Thought  him  still  speaking,  still  stood  fix'd  to  hear , 
Then,  as  new-waked,  thus  gratefully  replied  : 

What  thanks  sufficient,  or  what  recompense 
Equal,  have  I  to  render  thee,  divine 
Historian,  who  thus  largely  hast  allay'd 
Jhe  thirst  I  had  of  knowledge,  and  vouchsafed 
This  friendly  condescension  to  relate 
Things  else  by  me  unsearchable ;  now  heard 
With  wonder,  but  delight,  and,  as  is  due  v 

With  glory  attributed  to  the  high 
Creator  ?     Something  yet  of  doubt  remains, 
Which  only  thy  solution  can  resolve. 
When  I  behold*  this  goodly  frame,  this  world, 
Of  heaven  and  earth  consisting,  and  compute 
Their  magnitudes ;  this  earth,  a  spot,  a  grain, 
An  atom,  with  the  firmament  compared 
And  all  her  nuinber'd  stars,  that  seem  to  roll 
Spaces  incomprehensible  (for  such 
Their  distance  argues,  and  their  swift  return 
Piurnal),  merely  to  officiate  light 
Round  this  opacous  earth,  this  punctual  spot. 
One  day  and  night ;  in  all  their  vast  survey 
Useless  besides;  reasoning  I  oft  admire. 
How  Nature,  wise  and  frugal,  could  commit 
Such  disproportions,  with  superfluous  hand 

»  The  angel  ended. 

This  eighth  book  made  a  part  of  the  seventh  book  in  the  first  edition. 

Milton  has  here  imitated  the  graceful  suspension  in  the  narrative  of  UlyBses;  seo 
the  eleventh  book  of  the  Odyssey :  and  Pope,  when  translating  the  passage,  ingeniously 
framed  his  version  of  Milton's  own  words : — 

He  ceased  ;  but  left  so  charming  in  their  ear 
/  His  voice,  that  listening  still  they  seem'd  to  hear. 

b  When  I  behold,  dkc, 
Milton,  after  having  given  so  noble  an  idea  of  the  creation  of  the  new  world,  takes  a 
proper  oecai'ion  to  show  the  two  great  systems,  usually  called  the  Ptolemaic  and  the 
Copernican :  one  making  the  earth,  the  other  the  sun,  to  be  the  centre  ,•  and  this  he 
does  by  introducing  Adamproposing  very  judiciously  the  difBculties  that  occur  in  the 
first,  and  which  was  tho  system  most  obvious  to  him.  The  reply  of  the  angel  touches 
on  the  expedients  the  Ptolemaics  invented  to  solve  those  difficulties,  and  to  patch  up 
their  system ;  and  then  intimates  that  perhaps  the  sun  is  the  centre ;  and  so  opens  that 
system,  and  withal  the  noble  improvements  of  the  new  philosophy ;  not  however 
determining  for  one  or  the  other:  on  the  contrary,  he  exhorts  our  progenitor  to  apply 
his  thoughts  rather  to  what  more  nearly  coucoms  him,  and  is  wit?tin  his  reach.— 

ElCHARDSON, 


292  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  tiii. 

£to  many  nobler  bodies  to  create, 

Greater  so  manifold,  to  this  one  use, 

For  aught  appears,  and  on  their  orbs  impose 

Such  restless  revolution  day  by  day 

Repeated ;  while  the  sedentary  earth. 

That  better  might  with  far  less  compass  move, 

Served  by  more  noble  than  herself,  attains 

Her  end  without  least  motion,  and  receives, 

As  tribute,  such  a  sumless  journey  brought 

Of  incorporeal  speed,  her  warmth  and  light ; 

Speed,  to  describe  whose  swiftness  number  fails. 

So  spake  our  sire,  and  by  his  countenance  seem'd 
Entering  on  studious  thoughts  abstruse ;  which  Eve 
Perceiving,"  where  she  sat  retired  in  sight, 
•With  lowliness  majestic  from  her  seat, 
And  grace  that  won  who  saw  to  wish  her  stay, 
•Bose,  and  went  forth  among  her  fruits  and  flowers, 
To  visit  how  they  prosper'd,  bud  and  bloom, 
Her  nursery ;  they  at  her  coming  sprung, 
And,  touch'd  by  her  fair  tendance,  gladlier  grew. 
Yet  went  she  not,  as  not  with  such  discourse 
Delighted,  or  not  capable  her  ear 
Of  what  was  high  :  such  pleasure  she  reserved, 
Adam  relating,  she  sole  auditress : 
■Her  husband  the  relater  she  preferr'd 
Before  the  angel,  and  of  him  to  ask 
Chose  rather;  he,  she  knew,  would  intermix 
Grateful  digressions,  and  solve  high  dispute 
With  conjugal  caresses  :  from  his  lip 
Not  words  alone  pleased  her.     0  !  when  meet  now 
v^uch  pairs  in  love  and  mutual  honour  join'd  ? 
With  goddess-like  demeanour  forth  she  went, 
\JIot  unattended ;  for  on  her,  as  queen, 
A  pomp  of  winning  Graces'*  waited  still, 
vf^nd  from  about  her  shot  darts  of  desire 
Into  all  eyes,  to  wish  her  still  in  sight. 
And  Raphael  now,  to  Adam's  doubt  proposed, 
Benevolent  and  facile  thus  replied : 

»  Which  Eve 
Perceiving. 
What  a  lovely  picture  has  the  poet  here  drawn  of  Eve !  As  it  did  not  become  her  to 
boar  a  part  in  the  conversation,' she  modestly  sits  at  a  distance,  but  yet  within  view: 
she  stays  as  long  as  the  angel  and  her  husband  are  discoursing  of  things  which  it 
might  concern  her  and  her  duty  to  know ;  but  when  they  enter  upon  abstruser  points, 
then  she  decently  retires.  This  is  preserving  the  decorum  of  character :  and  so  Cepha- 
luB  in  Plato's  '  Republic,'  and  Sc8evola  in  Cicero's  treatise  'de  Oratore,' stay  only  as 
long  as  it  was  suitable  for  persons  of  their  character;  and  are  made  to  withdraw  when 
the  discourse  was  less  proper  for  them  to  hear.  Eve's  withdrawing  is  juster  and  more 
beautiful  than  these  instances.  She  rises  to  go  forth  with  lowliness,  but  yet  with 
majesty  and  grace.     What  modesty  and  what  dignity  is  here ! — Newton. 

d  A  pomp  of  winning  Gracei. 
Gray  has  imitated  this  in  the  opening  of  his  poem,  '  The  Progress  of  Poosy.'    Gray 
may  be  perpetually  tracked  in  his  imitations  of  Milton's  expressions. 


BOOK  viii.]  PARADISE  LOST.  293 

To  ask  or  search,  I  blame  thee  not ;  for  heaven 
Is  as  the  book  of  Grod  before  thee  set, 
"^herein  to  read  his  wondrous  works,  and  learn 
His  seasons,  hours,  or  days,  or  months,  or  years  : 
\This  to  attain,*  whether  heaven  move  or  earth, 
Ifmports  not,  if  thou  reckon  right :  the  rest 
From  man  or  angel  the  great  Architect 
Did  wisely  to  conceal,  and  not  divulge 
His  secrets  to  be  scann'd  by  them  who  ought 
ilather  admire ;  or  if  they  list  to  try 
'.jCpnjecture,  he  his  fabric  of  the  heavens 
Hath  left  to  their  disputes ;  perhaps  to  move 
His  laughter  at  their  quaint  opinions  wide 
Hereafter,  when  they  come  to  model  heaven 
And  calculate  the  stars :  how  they  will  wield 
The  mighty  frame ;  how  build,  unbuild,  contrive, 
>3^o  save  appearances ;  how  gird  the  sphere 
With  centric  and  eccentric  scribbled  o'er, 
Cycle  and  epicycle,  orb  in  orb  : 
Already  by  thy  reasoning  this  I  guess, 
vWho  art  to  lead  thy  offspring,  and  supposest 
ifhat  bodies  bright  and  greater  should  not  serve 
v^he  less  not  bright ;  nor  heaven  such  journeys  run, 
Earth  sitting  still,  when  she  alone  receives 
vThe  benefit.     Consider  first,  that  great 
Or  bright  infers  not  excellence  :  the  earth, 
'^Ehough,  in  comparison  of  heaven,  so  small, 
Nor  glistering,  may  of  solid  good  contain 
jyiore  plenty  than  the  sun  that  barren  shines; 
Whose  virtue  on  itself  works  no  effect, 
But  in  the  fruitful  earth ;  thei;e  first  received, 
tlis  beams,  unactive  else,  their  vigour  find. 
Yet  not  to  earth  are  those  bright  luminaries 
Ofiicious ;  but  to  thee,  earth's  habitant. 
And  for  the  heaven's  wide  circuit,  let  it  speak 
The  Maker's  high  magnificence ;  who  built 
xSo  spacious,  and  his  line  stretch'd  out  so  far, 
That  man  may  know  he  dwells  not  in  his  own ;       ' 
An>edifice  too  large  for  him  to  fill. 
Lodged  in  a  small  partition ;  and  the  rest 

•  m»  to  attain. 

It  imports  not,  it  matters  not,  whether  heaven  move  or  earth,  whether  the  Ptolemaic 
or  Copernican  system  be  true.  This  knowledge  we  may  still  attain ; — the  rest,  other 
more  curious  points  of  inquiry  concerning  the  heavenly  bodies,  God  hath  done  wisely 
to  conceal. — Newton. 

See  Psalm  cxxxix.  5 : — "  Such  knowledge  is  too  wonderful  and  excellent  for  me  j  I 
cannot  attain  unto  it" — Dunster. 

f  That  man  may  know  he  dwells  not  in  hit  own. 
A  fine  reflection,  and  confirmed  by  the  authority  of  the  greatest  philosophers,  wlic 
seem  to  attribute  the  first  notions  of  religion  in  man  to  his  observing  the  grandeur  of 
the  universe.    See  Cicero,  Tuso  Disp.  lib.  i.  sect.  28,  and  De  Nat.  Deor.  lib.  IL  sect,  6. 

— STILLIIfOrLEET 


294 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[book  vm. 


Ordain'd  for  uses  to  his  Lord  best  known 
The  swiftness  of  those  circles  attribute, 
.^Though  numberless,  to  his  omnipotence. 
That  to  corporeal  substances  could  add 
Speed  almost  spiritual :  me  thou  think'st  not  slow, 
Who  since  the  morning  hour  set  out  from  heaven 
Where  Grod  resides,  and  ere  mid-day  arrived 
In  Eden  ;  distance  inexpressible 
By  numbers  that  have  name.     But  this  I  urge, 
Admitting  motion  in  the  heavens,  to  show 
Invalid  that  which  thee  to  doubt  it  moved ; 
Not  that  I  so  affirm,  though  so  it  seem 
To  thee,  who  hast  thy  dwelling  here  on  earth. 
God,  to  remove  his  ways  from  human  sense, 
(Placed  heaven  from  earth  so  far,  that  earthly  sight 
If  it  presume,  might  err  in  things  too  high, 
(And  no  advantage  gain.     What  if  the  sun 
Be  centre  to  the  world ;  and  other  stars, 
t^y  his  attractive  virtue  and  their  own 
Incited,  dance  about  him  various  rounds  ; 
vThcir  wandering  course,  now  high,  now  low,  then  hid, 
Progressive,  retrograde,  or  standing  still, 
In  six  thou  seest ;  s  and  what  if  seventh  to  these 
The  planet  earth,  so  steadfast  though  she  seem, 
vjnsensibly  three  different  motions  move  ? 
Which  else  to  several  spheres  thou  must  ascribe, 
Moved  contrary  with  thwart  obliquities ; 
Or  save  the  sun  his  labour,  and  that  swift 
.Nocturnal  and  diurnal  rhomb  supposed. 
Invisible  else  above  all  stars,  the  wheel 
Pf  day  and  night ;  which  needs  not  thy  belief. 
If  earth  industrious  of  herself,  fetch  day 
.Travelling  east,  and  with  her  part  averse 
From  the  sun's  beam  meet  night,  her  other  part 
Still  luminous  by  his  ray.     What  if  that  light, 
Sent  from  her  through  the  wide  transpicuous  air 
To  the  terrestrial  moon  be  as  a  star, 
Enlightning  her  by  day,  as  she  by  night 
This  earth  ?  reciprocal,  if  land  be  there. 
Fields  and  inhabitants :  her  spots  thou  seest 
vAs  clouds,''  and  clouds  may  rain,  and  rain  produce 
Fruits  in  her  soften' d  soil,  for  some  to  eat 


g  In  six  thou  seest. 
In  the  moon,  and  the  "five  other  wandering  fires,"  as  they  are  called,  b.  v.  177. — 
Newton. 

h  Her  spots  thou  seest 
As  clouds. 
It  seems  by  this,  and  by  another  passage,  b.  v.  419,  as  if  our  author  thought  that  the 
spots  in  the  moon  were  clouds  and  vapours  :  but  the  most  probable  opinion  is,  that  they 
are  her  seas  and  waters,  which  reflect  only  part  of  the  sun's  rays,  and  absorb  the  rest; 
They  cannot  possibly  be  clouds  and  vapours,  because  they  are  observed  to  be  fixed  and 
permanent. — Newton. 


BOOK  vin.]  PARADISE  LOST.  295 

Allotted  there ;  and  other  suns  perhaps, 
With  their  attendant  moons,  thou  wilt  descry, 
Communicating  male  and  female  light; 
Which  two  great  sexes  animate  the  world, 
Stored  in  each  orb  perhaps  with  some  that  live : 
"Pot  such  vast  room  in  nature  unpossess'd 
>  By  living  soul,  desert  and  desolate, 
Only  to  shine,  yet  scarce  to  contribute 
Each  orb  a  glimpse  of  light,  convey'd  so  far 
i5own  to  this  habitable,  which  returns 
Li^ht  back  to  them,  is  obvious  to  dispute. 
But  whether  thus  these  things,  or  whether  not  j 
Whether  the  sun  predominant  in  heaven 
Rise  on  the  earth ;  or  earth  rise  on  the  sun  j 
He  from  the  east  his  flaming  road  begin, 
Or  she  from  west  her  silent  course  advance, 
With  inoffensive  pace  that  spinning  sleeps 
On  her  soft  axle ;  while  she  paces  even^ 
vAnd  bears  thee  soft  with  the  smooth  air  longj 
Solicit  not  thy  thoughts  with  matters  hid ; 
Leave  them  to  God  above ;  him  serve  and  fear. 
Of  other  creatures,  as  him  pleases  best, 
Wherever  placed,  let  him  dispose ;  joy  thou 
In  what  he  gives  to  thee,  this  Paradise 
And  thy  fair  Eve ;  heaven  is  for  thee  too  high 
To  know  what  passes  there ;  be  lowly  wise  : 
Think  only  what  concerns  thee,  and  thy  being; 
Dream  not  of  other  worlds ;  what  creatures  there 
Live,  in  what  state,  condition,  or  degree  : 
Contented  that  thus  far  hath  been  reveal'd,  , 

Not  of  earth  only,  but  of  highest  heaven. 

To  whom  thus  Adam,  clear'd  of  doubt,  replied : 
How  fully  hast  thou  satisfied  me,  pure, 
Intelligence  of  heaven,  angel  serene  ! 
■  And,  freed  from  intricacies,  taught  to  live 
The  easiest  way ;  nor  with  perplexing  thoughts 
J'o  interrupt  the  sweet  of  life,  from  which 
God  hath  bid  dwell  far  off  all  anxious  cares, 
'^nd  not  molest  us ;  unless  we  ourselves 
Seek  them  with  wandering  thoughts,  and  notions  vain 
'\But  apt  the  mind  or  fancy  is  to  rove 
Uncheck'd,  and  of  her  roving  is  no  end; 
Till  warn'd,  or  by  experience  taught,  she  learn, 
That  not  to  know  at  large  of  things  remote 
From  use,  obscure  and  subtle ;  but  to  know 
That  which  before  us  lies  in  daily  life. 
Is  the  prime  wisdom  :•  what  is  more,  is  fume. 

'  Is  the  prime  wisdom. ' 
An  excellent  piece  of  satire  this,  and  a  fine  reproof  of  those  men  who  have  all  sense 
but  common  sense,  and  whose  folly  is  truly  represented  in  the  story  of  the  philosopher, 
who,  while  he  was  gazing  at  the  stars,  fell  into  a  ditch.     Our  author,  in  these  lines,  as 


296  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  vm. 


Or  emptiness,  or  fond  impertinence ; 
^nd  renders  us,  in  things  that  most  concern, 

Unpractised,  unprepared,  and  still  to  seek. 
(Jherefore  from  this  high  pitch  let  us  descend 

A.  lower  flight,  and  speak  of  things  at  hand 
^Jseful ;  whence,  haply,  mention  may  aiise 

Of  something  not  unseasonable  to  ask, 
^  •. By  sufferance,  and  thy  wonted  favour,  deign'd. 
"      Thee  I  have  heard  relating  what  was  done 
•Ere  my  remembrance;  now,  hear  me  relate 

My  story,  which  perhaps  thou  hast  not  heard : 
^And  day  is  not  yet  spent ;  till  then  thou  seest 

How  subtly  to  detain  thee  I  devise  j 
(^Inviting  thee  to  hear  while  I  relate; 

Fond,  were  it  not  in  hope  of  thy  reply ; 
^For,  while  I  sit  with  thee,  I  seem  in  heaven ; 

And  sweeter  thy  discourseJ  is  to  my  ear 
vThan  fruits  of  palm-tree  pleasantest  to  thirst 

And  hunger  both,  from  labour  at  the  hour 
vOf  sweet  repast ;  they  satiate  and  soon  fill, 

Though  pleasant ;  but  thy  words,  with  grace  divine 
sjmbued,  bring  to  their  sweetness  no  satiety. 

To  whom  thus  Raphael  answer'd  heavenly  meek : 
,^or  are  thy  lips  ungraceful,  sire  of  men, 

I^or  tongue  ineloquent ;  for  God  on  thee 
v^bundantly  his  gifts  hath  also  pour'd 

Inward  and  outward  both,  his  image  fair  : 
^Speaking  or  mute,  all  comeliness  and  grace 

Attends  thee ;  and  each  word,  each  motion  forms : 
^or  less  think  we  in  heaven  of  thee  on  earth 

Than  of  our  fellow-servant,  and  inquire 
vCxladly  into  the  ways  of  God  with  man  : 

For  God,  we  see,  hath  honour'd  thee,  and  set 
'On  man  his  equal  love :  say  therefore  on ; 

For  I  that  day  was  absent,"  as  befell, 
^JBound  on  a  voyage  uncouth  and  obscure, 

Mr.  Thyer  imagines,  might  probably  hare  in  his  eye  the  character  of  Socrates,  Vfho 
first  attempted  to  divert  his  countrymen  from  their  airy  and  chimerical  notions  about 
the  origin  of  things,  and  turn  their  attention  to  that  "prime  wisdom,"  the  consideration 
of  moral  duties,  and  their  conduct  in  social  life. — Newton. 

See  Johnson's  observations  to  the  same  effect,  and  as  to  the  proper  objects  of  stady, 
in  his  '  Life  of  Milton,'  speaking  of  the  poet's  plans  of  education. 

J  And  sweeter  thy  discourse. 

The  poet  had  here  probably  in  mind  that  passage  in  Virgil,  Eel.  v.  45 : — 

Tale  tuum  carmen  nobiB,  divine  poeta. 

Quale  sopor  fessiB  in  gramine ;  quate  per  eestnin 

Dulcis  aquse  saliente  aitim  restinguere  rivo. 

But  the  fine  turn  in  the  last  three  lines  of  Milton  is  entirely  his  own,  and  gives  an 
exquisite  beauty  to  this  passage  above  Virgil's.  See  '  An  Essay  upon  Milton's  Imito- 
tions  of  the  Ancients,'  p.  37. — Newton. 

k  For  I  that  day  was  absent. 
The  sixth  day  of  the  creation :  of  all  the  rest,  of  which  he  has  spoken,  he  might  have 
been  an  eye-witness. — Bichardsok. 


BOOK  vin.]  PARADISE  LOST.  297 

Far  on  excursion  toward  the  gates  of  hell ; 
vSquared  in  full  legion,  (such  command  we  had) 
To  see  that  none  thence  issued  •  forth  a  spy, 
vOr  enemy,  while  God  was  in  his  work ; 
Lest  he,  incensed  at  such  eruption  bold, 
.Pestruction  with  creation  might  have  mix'd. 
Not  that  they  durst  without  his  leave  attempt : 
JSut  us  he  sends  upon  his  high  behests 
For  state,  as  Sovran  King ;  and  to  inure 
vQur  prompt  obedience.     Fast  we  found,  fast  shut 
The  dismal  gates,  and  barricadoed  strong ; 
]But  long  ere  our  approaching  heard  within 
Noise,  other  than  the  sound  of  dance  or  song ; 
'Jorment,  and  loud  lament,  and  furious  rage. 
Glad  we  return'd  up  to  the  coasts  of  light 
Ere  sabbath  evening :  so  we  had  in  charge. 
But  thy  relation  now ;  for  I  attend, 
Pleased  with  thy  words  no  less  than  thou  with  mine. 

So  spake  the  godlike  power,  and  thus  oilr  sire : 
For  man  to  tell  how  human  life  began 
Is  hard;  for  who  himself  beginning  knew? 
Pesire  with  thee  still  longer  to  converse 
Induced  me.     As  new  waked  from  soundest  sleep, 
s^oft  on  the  flowery  herb  I  found  me  laid, 
In  balmy  sweat ;  which  with  his  beams  the  sun 
N^oon  dried,  and  on  the  reeking  moisture  fed. 
Straight  toward  heaven  my  wondering  eyes  I  turn'd, 
'And  gazed  awhile  the  ample  sky ;  till,  raised 
By  quick  instinctive  motion,  up  I  sprung. 
As  thitherward  endeavouring,  and  upright 
Stood  on  my  feet :  about  me  rqund  I  saw 
vjlill,  dale,  and  shady  woods,  and  sunny  plains, 
And  liquid  lapse  of  murmuring  streams ;  by  these 
Creatures  that  lived  and  moved,  and  walk'd  or  flewj 
Birds  on  the  branches  warbling ;  all  things  smiled  ; 
With  fragrance  and  with  joy""  my  heart  o'erfiow'd. 

'  That  none  thence  issued. 
As  man  was  to  be  the  principal  work  of  God  in  the  lower  world,  and  (according  to 
Milton's  hypothesis)  a  creature  to  supply  the  loss  of  the  fallen  angels,  so  particular  care 
is  taken  at  his  creation.  The  angels,  on  that  day,  keep  watch  and  guard  at  the  gates 
of  hall,  that  none  may  issue  forth  to  interrupt  the  sacred  work  :  at  the  same  time  that 
ihis  was  a  very  good  reason  for  the  angel's  absence,  it  is  likewise  doing  honour  to  the 
man  with  whom  he  was  conversing. — Newton. 

m  All  things  smiled  ; 
With  fragrance  and  with  joy, 
Jiy  fragrance,  Milton  has  endeavoured  to  give  an  idea  of  that  exquisite  and  delicious 
joy  of  heart  Homer  so  often  expresses  by  iaiverai,  a  word  that  signifies  the  fragrance 
that  flowers  emit  after  a  shower  or  dew.  Milton  has  used  a  like  expression  in  his 
treatise  '  Of  Reformation,'  p.  2,  ed.  1738.  "  Methinks  a  sovran  and  reviving  joy  must 
needs  rush  into  the  bosom  of  him  that  reads  or  hears,  and  the  sweet  odour  of  the 
returning  Gospel  imbathe  his  soul  with  the  fragrance  of  heaven." — Richardson. 

Mr.  Richardson  might  have  farther  observed,  that  Milton  himself  had  expressed  the 
lame  thought  with  more  beauty,  if  possible,  in  b.  iv.  153,  where,  speaking  of  Satan's 
approach  to  the  garden  of  Paradise,  he  says, 
38 


298  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  viii. 


Myself  I  then  perused,  and  limb  by  limb 
vSurvey'd,  and  sometimes  went,  and  sometimes  ran 
VTith  supple  joints,  as  lively  vigour  led  : 
-^ut  who  I  was,  or  where,  or  from  what  cause, 
Knew  not :  to  speak  I  tried,  and  forthwith  spake; 
^j  tongue  obey'd,  and  readily  could  name 
Whate'cr  I  saw.     Thou  sun,  said  I,  fair  light, 
'And  thou  enlighten'd  earth,  so  fresh  and  gay, 
Ye  hills,  and  dales,  ye  rivers,  woods,  and  plains, 
\A.nd  ye  that  live  and  move,  fair  creatures,  tell^. 
Tell,  if  ye  saw,  how  I  came  thus,  how  here  ? 
\Not  of  myself;  by  some  great  Maker  then, 
In  goodness  and  in  power  pre-eminent : 
^Tell  me,  how  may  I  know  him,  how  adore; 
From  whom  I  have  that  thus  I  move  and  live, 
vAnd  feel  that  I  am  happier  than  I  know  ? 
While  thus  I  call'd,  and  stray'd  I  knew  not  whither, 
From  where  I  first  drew  air,  and  first  beheld 
This  happy  light;  when  answer  none  return' d, 
vOn  a  green  shady  bank,  profuse  of  flowers. 
Pensive  I  sat  me  down :  there  gentle  sleep 
\]First  found  me,  and  with  soft  oppression  seized 
My  drowsed  sense ;  untroubled,  though  I  thought 
vl  then  was  passing  to  my  former  state 
Insensible,  and  forthwith  to  dissolve  : 
"When  suddenly  stood  at  my  head  a  dream. 
Whose  inward  apparition  gently  moved 
>My  fancy  to  believe  I  yet  had  being. 
And  lived  :  one  came,  methought,  of  shape  divine. 
And  said,  Thy  mansion  wants  thee,  Adam ;  rise. 
First  man,  of  men  innumerable  ordain'd 
.First  father !  called  by  thee,  I  come  thy  guide 
To  the  garden  of  bliss,  thy  seat  prepared. 
vSo  saying,  by  the  hand"  he  took  me  raised. 
And  over  fields  and  waters,  as  in  air 
Smooth  sliding  without  step,  last  led  me  up 
A  woody  mountain ;  whose  high  top  was  plain, 
A  circuit  wide  enclosed,  with  goodliest  trees 
'  Planted,  with  walks  and  bowers ;  that  what  I  saw 

And  of  pure  now  purer  ai» 
Meets  Ills  approach,  ana  to  the  neart  inspires 
Vernal  delight  and  joy,  able  to  drive 
All  sadness  but  despair. — Thtbr. 

0  So  Baying,  by  the  hand. 
It  is  said  that  "the  Lord  took  the  man,  and  put  him  into  the  garden  of  Eden,  to 
dress  it  and  to  keep  it,"  Gen.  ii.  16.  Some  commentators  say,  that  man  was  not  formed 
In  Paradise,  but  was  placed  there  after  he  was  formed,  to  show  that  he  had  no  title  to  it 
by  nature,  but  by  grace ;  and  Milton  poetically  supposes  that  he  was  carried  thither 
■leeping,  and  was  first  made  to  see  that  happy  place  in  vision.  The  poet  had  perhaps  in 
mind  that  passage  of  Virgil,  where  Venus  lays  young  Ascanius  asleep,  and  removes  him 
froiQ  Carthage  to  the  Idalian  fields,  JEn.  i.  691,  Ac. :  or  if  he  had  Scripture  still  in  view, 
he  had  authority  for  such  a  removal  of  a  person,  Acts  viii.  39,  when  "  the  Spirit  of  the 
Lord  caught  away  Philip,  and  he  was  fc  und  at  Azotus." — Newtok. 


BOOK  vni.]  PARADISE  LOST.  299 

Of  earth  before  scarce  pleasant  seem'd.     Each  tree, 

Loaden  with  fairest  fruit  that  hung  to  the  eye 

Tempting,  stirr'd  in  me  sudden  appetite 

To  pluck  and  eat;  whereat  I  waked,  and  found 

Before  mine  eyes  all  real,  as  the  dream 

Had  lively  shadow'd :  here  had  new  begun 

My  wandering,  had  not  He,  who  was  my  guide 

Up  hither,  from  among  the  trees  appear'd, 

^presence  Divine.     Rejoicing,  but  with  awe, 

In  adoration  at  his  feet  I  fell 

Subraiss  :  he  rcar'd  me,  and.  Whom  thou  sought* st  I  am, 

Said  mildly ;  Authour  of  all  this  thou  seest 

Above,  or  round  about  thee,  or  beneath. 

This  Paradise  I  give  thee ;  count  it  thine 

To  till  and  keep,  and  of  the  fruit  to  eat : 

Of  every  tree  that  in  the  garden  grows 

Eat  freely  with  glad  heart;  fear  here  no  dearth  : 

But  of  the  tree,"  whose  operation  brings 

Knowledge  of  good  and  ill,  which  I  have  set 

The  pledge  of  thy  obedience  and  thy  faith; 

Amid  the  garden,  by  the  tree  of  life. 

Remember  what  I  warn  thee,  shun  to  taste, 

And  shun  the  bitter  consequence  :  for  know. 

The  day  thou  eat'st  thereof,  my  sole  command 

Transgross'd,  inevitably  thou  shalt  die," 

From  that  day  mortal ;  and  this  happy  state 

Shalt  Jose,  expell'd  from  hence  into  a  world 

Of  woe  and  sorrow.     Sternly  he  pronounced 

The  rigid  interdiction,  which  resounds 

Yet  dreadful  in  mine  ear,  though  in  my  choice 

Not  to  incur :  but  soon  his  clear  "aspect 

Return'd,  and  gracious  purpose  thus  renew'd : 

Not  only  these  fair  bounds,  but  all  the  earth 

To  thee  and  to  thy  race  I  give ;  as  lords 

Possess  it,  and  all  things  that  therein  live. 

Or  live  in  sea  or  air ;  beast,  fish,  and  fowl. 

In  sign  whereof,  each  bird  and  beast  behold 

After  their  kinds ;  I  bring  them  to  receive 

From  thee  their  names,  and  pay  thee  fealty 

With  low  subjection ;  understand  the  same 

Of  fish  within  their  watery  residence. 

Not  hither  summon' d,  since  they  cannot  change 

Their  element,  to  draw  the  thinner  air. 

0  But  of  the  tree. 
This  being  the  great  hinge  on  which  the  whole  poem  tarns,  Milton  has  marked  it 
gtrongly:  "But  of  the  tree;" — "remember  what  I  warn  thee."     He  dwells,  expatiates 
apon  it,  from  v,  323  to  v.  336,  repeating,  enforcing,  fixing  every  word :  it  is  all  nerve 
ftnd  energy. — Richardson. 

p  Inevitably  thou  shalt  die. 
"  In  the  day  that  thou  eatest  thereof  thou  shalt  surely  die,"  as  in  Gen.  ii.  17,  that  is. 
fVom  that  day  thou  shalt  become  mortal,  as  the  poet  immediately  after  explains  it. — 
Newton. 


300  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  viii. 

As  thus  he  spake,  each  bird  and  beast  behold 
Approaching  two  and  two ;  these  cowering  low 
With  blandishment ;  each  bird  stoop'd  on  his  wing. 
I  named  them  as  they  pass'd,  and  understood 
Their  nature  ;  with  such  knowledge  God  endued 
My  sudden  apprehension  :  but  in  these 
I  found  not«  what  methought  I  wanted  still; 
And  to  the  heavenly  vision  thus  presumed : 

0,  by  what  name,  for  thou  above  all  these, 
Above  mankind,  or  aught  than  mankind  higher, 
Surpassest  far  my  naming ;  how  may  I 
Adore  thee,  Authour  of  this  universe, 
And  all  this  good  to  man  ?  for  whose  well-being 
So  amply,  and  with  hands  so  liberal. 
Thou  hast  provided  all  things :  but  with  me 
I  see  not  who  partakes.     In  solitude 
What  happiness  ?  who  can  enjoy  alone ; 
Or,  all  enjoying,  what  contentment  find  ? 
Thus  I  presumptuous ;  and  the  Vision  bright, 
As  with  a  smile  more  brighten'd,  thus  replied : 

What  call'st  thou  solitude  ?     Is  not  the  earth 
With  various  living  creatures,  and  the  air 
Replenish'd,  and  all  these  at  thy  command 
To  come  and  play  before  thee  ?  Know'st  thou  not 
Their  language  and  their  ways  ?  •■     They  also  know, 
And  reason  not  contemptibly  :  with  these 
Find  pastime,  and  bear  rule ;  thy  realm  is  large. 
So  spake  the  Universal  Lord,  and  seem'd 
So  ordering :  I,  with  leave  of  speech  implored. 
And  humble  deprecation,  thus  replied  : 

Let  not  my  words  offend  thee,  heavenly  Power; 
My  Maker,  be  propitious  while  I  speak. 
Hast  thou  not  made  me  here  thy  substitute, 
And  these  inferiour  far  beneath  me  set  ? 
Among  unequals  what  society 
Can  sort,  what  harmony,  or  true  delight  ? 

q  But  in  thete 
I  found  not. 
The  account  given  by  Moses  is  very  short  here,  as  in  all  the  rest.  Gen.  ii.  19,  20. 
"And  out  of  the  ground  the  Lord  God  formed  every  beast  of  the  field  and  every  fowl 
of  the  air,  and  brought  them  unto  Adam  to  see  what  he  would  call  them :  and  whatso- 
ever Adam  called  every  living  creature,  that  was  the  name  thereof.  And  Adam  gave 
Dames  to  all  cattle,  and  to  the  fowl  of  the  air,  and  to  every  beast  of  the  field;  but  for 
Adam  there  was  not  found  an  help  meet  for  him."  And  from  this  short  account,  our 
author  has  raised,  what  a  noble  episode !  and  what  a  divine  dialogue  from  the  latter 
part  only ! — Newton. 

'  Knord'at  thou  not 
Their  language  and  their  way»  f 
That  brutes  have  a  kind  of  language  among  themselves  is  evident  and  undeniable. 
There  is  a  treatise  in  French  of  the  language  of  brutes  ;  and  our  author  supposes  thit 
Adam  understood  this  language,  and  was  of  knowledge  superior  to  any  of  his 
descendants,  and  besides  was  assisted  by  inspiration,  "  with  such  knowledge  God 
endued  his  sudden  apprehension."  He  is  said  by  the  school  divines  to  have  exceeded 
Bolomon  hi-nself  in  knowledge. — Newtok. 


BOOK  Tni.]  PARADISE  LOST.  301 

Which  must  be  mutual,  in  proportion  due 
Given  and  received ;  but,  in  disparity,' 
The  one  intense,  the  other  still  remiss, 
Cannot  well  suit  with  either,  but  soon  prove 
Tedious  alike  :  of  fellowship  I  speak, 
Such  as  I  seek,  fit  to  participate 
All  rational  delight ',  wherein  the  brute 
Cannot  be  human  consort :  they  rejoice 
Each  with  their  kind,  lion  with  lioness ; 
So  fitly  them  in  pairs  thou  hast  combined : 
Much  less  can  bird  with  beast,  or  fish  with  fowl 
So  well  converse,  nor  with  the  ox  the  ape ; 
Worse  then  can  man  with  beast,  and  least  of  all. 

Whereto  the  Almighty  answer'd,  not  displeased .' 
A  nice  and  subtle  happiness,  I  see, 
Thou  to  thyself  proposest,  in.  the  choice 
Of  thy  associates,  Adam  !  and  wilt  taste 
No  pleasure,  though  in  pleasure,  solitary. 
What  think' st  thou  then  of  me,  and  this  my  state  7 
Seem  1  to  thee  sufficiently  possess'd 
Of  happiness,  or  not  ?  who  am  alone 
From  all  eternity ;  for  none  I  know 
Second  to  me  or  like,  equal  much  less. 
How  have  I  then  with  whom  to  hold  converse, 
Save  with  the  creatures  which  I  made,  and  those 
To  me  inferiour,  infinite  descents 
Beneath  what  other  creatures  are  to  thee  ? 

He  ceased;  I  lowly  answer'd:  To  attain 
The  highth  and  depth  of  thy  eternal  ways* 
All  human  thoughts  come  short,  Supreme  of  things  I 
Thou  in  thyself  art  perfect,  and  in  thee 
Is  no  deficience  found :  not  so  is  man, 
•  But  in  degree ;  the  cause  of  his  desire 
By  conversation  with  his  like  to  help. 
Or  solace  his  defects.     No  need  that  thou 
Shouldst  propagate,  already  Infinite ; 
And  through  all  numbers  absolute,  though  One ; 
But  man  by  number  is  to  manifest 
His  single  imperfection,  and  beget 
Like  of  his  like,  his  image  multiplied, 
In  unity  defective ;  which  requires 
Collateral  love,  and  dearest  amity. 

•  BtU  in  disparity. 
But  in  inequality,  such  as  is  between  brute  and  rational;  "the  one  intense,"  man- 
aigh,  wound  up,  and  strained  to  nobler  understanding,  and  of  more  lofty  faculty;  "the 
ather  still  remiss,"  the  animal,  let  down  and  slacker,  grovelling  in  more  low  and  mean 
perceptions ;  can  never  suit  together.  A  musical  metaphor,  from  strings,  of  which  the 
stretched  and  highest  give  a  smart  and  sharp  sound,  the  slack  a  flat  and  heavy  cne.- 

HUHB. 

»  Thy  eternal  ways. 
See  Rom.  xi.  33  : — "  0,  the  depth  of  the  riches  both  of  the  wisdon'  and  knowledge  of 
God!     How  unsearchable  are  his  judgments,  and  his  ways  past  finding  out!" — Humk. 


302  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  vin. 

Thou  in  thy  secresy,  although  alone, 

Best  with  thyself  accompanied,  seek'st  not 

Social  communication  j  yet,  so  pleased, 

Canst  raise  thy  creature  to  what  highth  thou  wilt 

Of  union  or  communion,  deified  : 

I,  by  conversing,  cannot  these  erect 

From  prone ;  nor  in  their  ways  complacence  find. 

Thus  I  embolden'd  spake,  and  freedom  used 

Permissive,  and  acceptance  found  :  which  gain'd 

This  answer  from  the  gracious  Voice  Divine : 

Thus  far  to  try  thee,  Adam,  I  was  pleased ; 
And  find  thee  knowing,  not  of  beasts  alone. 
Which  thou  hast  rightly  named,  but  of  thyself  j 
Expressing  well  the  spirit  within  thee  free," 
My  image,  not  imparted  to  the  brute; 
Whose  fellowship  therefore,  unmeet  for  thee, 
Good  reason  was  thou  freely  shouldst  dislike : 
And  be  so  minded  still :  I,  ere  thou  spakest,'^ 
Knew  it  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone ; 
And  no  such  company  as  then  thou  saw'st 
Intended  thee ;  for  trial  only  brought. 
To  see  how  thou  couldst  judge  of  fit  and  meet : 
What  next  I  bring  shall  please  thee,  be  assured, 
Thy  likeness,  thy  fit  help,  thy  other  self, 
Thy  wish  exactly  to  thy  heart's  desire. 

He  ended,  or  I  heard  no  more ;  for  now 
My  earthly  by  his  heavenly  overpower' d,"^ 
Which  it  had  long  stood  under,  strain'd  to  the  highth 
In  that  celestial  colloquy  sublime, 

o  Spirit  toithin  thee  free. 

Milton  is,  upon  all  occasions,  a  strenuous  advocate  for  the  freedom  of  the  human 
mind,  against  the  narrow  and  rigid  notions  of  the  Calvinists  of  that  age ;  and  here,  in 
the  same  spirit,  supposes  the  very  image  of  God,  in  which  man  was  made,  to  consist  in 
this  liberty.  The  sentiment  is  very  grand ;  and  this  sense  of  the  words  is,  in  my 
opinion,  full  as  probable  as  any  of  those  many  which  the  commentators  have  put  upon 
them ;  inasmuch  as  no  property  of  the  soul  of  man  distinguishes  him  better  from  the 
brutes,  or  assimilates  him  more  to  his  Creator.  This  notion,  though  uncommon,  is  not 
peculiar  to  Milton ;  fori  find  Clarius,  in  his  remark  upon  this  passage  of  Scripture^ 
referring  to  St.  Basil  the  great,  for  the  same  interpretation.  Sec  Clarius  amongst  the 
Oritici  Sacri. — Thyer. 

»  /,  ere  thou  spakett. 

As  we  read  Gen.  ii.  18.  And  then,  ver.  19  and  20,  God  brings  the  beasts  and  birds 
before  Adam,  and  Adam  gives  them  names ;  "  but  for  Adam  there  was  not  found  an 
help  meet  for  him  ;"  as  if  Adam  had  now  discovered  it  himself  likewise :  and  from  this 
iittle  hint  our  author  has  raised  this  dialogue  between  Adam  and  his  Maker.  And  then 
follows,  both  in  Moses  and  in  Milton,  the  account  of  the  formation  of  Eve,  and  institu- 
tion of  marriage. — Newton. 

w  By  his  heavenly  overpower'd. 
The  Scripture  says  only,  that  "  the  Lord  God  caused  a  deep  sleep  to  fall  upon  Adam," 
Gen.  ii.  21 ;  and  our  author  endeavours  to  give  some  account  how  it  was  effected. 
Adam  was  overpowered  by  conversing  with  so  superior  a  Being,  his  faculties  having 
been  all  strained  and  exerted  to  the  highth ;  and  now  he  sunk  down  quite  dazzled  and 
epeut,  and  sought  repair  of  sleep,  which  instantly  fell  on  him,  and  closed  his  eyes. 
''  Mine  eyes  he  closed,"  says  he  again,  turning  the  words,  and  making  Sleep  a  person, 
as  the  ancient  po-ita  often  dr.. — Newton. 


BOOK  VIII.]  PARADISE  LOST.  303 

As  with  an  object  that  excels  the  sense, 

Dazzled  and  spent,  sunk  down ;  and  sought  repair 

Of  sleep,  which  instantly  fell  on  me,  call'd 

By  nature  as  in  aid,  and  closed  mine  eyes. 

Mine  eyes  he  closed,  but  open  left  the  cell 

Of  fancy,^  my  internal  sight ;  by  which. 

Abstract  as  in  a  trance,''  methought  I  saw. 

Though  sleeping,  where  I  lay,  and  saw  the  shape 

Still  glorious  before  whom  awake  I  stood; 

Who  stooping,  open'd  my  left  side,  and  took 

From  thence  a  rib,  with  cordial  spirits  warm. 

And  life-blood  streaming  fresh ;  wide  was  the  wound, 

But  suddenly  with  flesh  fill'd  up  and  heal'd : 

The  rib  he  form'd  and  fashion'd  with  his  hands; 

Under  his  forming  hands  a  creature  grew, 

Man-like,  but  difi"erent  sex ;  so  lovely  fair, 

That  what  seera'd  fair  in  all  the  world,  seem'd  now 

Mean,  or  in  her  summ'd  up,  in  her  contain'd 

And  in  her  looks ;  which  from  that  time  infused 

Sweetness  into  my  heafft  unfelt  before. 

And  into  all  things  from  her  air  inspired 

The  spirit  of  love  and  amorous  delight. 

She  disappear'd,  and  left  me  dark  :*  I  waked 

To  find  her,  or  for  ever  to  deplore 

Her  loss,  and  other  pleasures  all  abjure  : 

When  out  of  hope,  behold  her,  not  far  off, 

Such  as  I  saw  her  in  my  dream,  adorn'd 

With  what  all  earth  or  heaven  could  bestow 

To  make  her  amiable ;  on  she  came. 

Led  by  her  heavenly  Maker,"  though  unseen, 

*'Open  left  the  cell 
O/fancy. 
Balaam,  before  he  prophesies  the  happiness  of  Israel,  thus  describes  himself  in  the 
vision  which  communicated  to  him  the  divine  word : — "  The  man,  which  heard  the 
words  of  God,  which  saw  the  vision  of  the  Almighty,  falling  into  a  trance,  but  having 
his  eyes  open,"  Numb.  xxiv.  4.  On  the  latter  part  of  which  verse  the  gloss  of  the  com- 
mentators Vatablus  and  Fagius  is, — "  dormitans,  et  tamen  habens  oculos  mentis  aper- 
tos."  This  frequent  recollection  in  Milton,  not  only  of  every  applicable  Scripture 
passage,  but  of  every  material  comment  on  them,  shows  the  wonderful  extent  of  his 
reading  and  power  of  his  memory. — Dunster. 

r  Abstract  aa  in  a  trance, 
"  The  Lord  God  caused  a  deep  sleep  to  fall  upon  Adam,"  Gen.  ii,  21.  The  word  thai 
Tre  translate  a  deep  sleep,  the  Greek  interpreters  render  by  trance  or  ecstasy,  in  which 
the  person  is  abstract,  is  withdrawn  as  it  were  from  himself,  and  still  sees  things,  though 
his  senses  are  all  locked  up.  So  that  Adam  sees  his  wife,  as  he  did  Paradise,  first  in 
Tieion. — Ne  wton. 

«  She  disappear'd,  and  left  me  dark. 
She  that  was  my  light  vanished,  and  left  me  dark  and  comfortless :  for  light  is  in 
almost  all  languages  a  metaphor  for  joy  and  comfort,  and  darkness  for  the  contrary. 
As  Dr.  Pearce  observes,  it  is  something  of  the  same  way  of  thinking  that  Milton  uses 
in  his  sonnet  on  his  deceased  wife :  after  having  described  her  as  appearing  to  him,  he 
says, — 

She  fled,  and  day  brought  back  my  night. — Newton. 

»  Led  hy  her  heavenly  Maker. 
For  the  Scripture  says, — "  The  Lord  God  brought  her  unto  the  man,"  Gen.  ii.  22. 


304  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  vni. 

And  guided  by  his  voice ;  nor  uninform'd 
Of  nuptial  sanctity,  and  marriage  rites  : 
Grace  was  in  all  her  steps,  heaven  in  her  eye, 
In  every  gesture  dignity  and  love. 
I,  overjoy 'd,  could  not  forbear  aloud : 

This  turn  hath  made  amends;  thou  hast  fulfiU'd 
Thy  words,  Creator  bounteous  and  benign, 
Giver  of  all  things  fair !  but  fairest  this 
Of  all  thy  gifts  !  nor  enviest.     I  now  see  • 

Bone  of  my  bone,''  flesh  of  my  flesh,  myself 
Before  me  :  Woman  is  her  name  j  of  man 
Extracted :  for  this  cause  he  shall  forego 
Father  and  mother,  and  to  his  wife  adhere; 
And  they  shall  be  one  flesh,  one  heart,  one  soul. 

She  heard  me  thus ;  and  though  divinely  brought, 
Yet  innocence,  and  virgin  modesty, 
Her  virtue,  and  the  conscience  of  her  worth, 
That  would  be  woo'd,  and  not  unsought  be  won, 
Not  obvious,  not  obtrusive,  but,  retired, 
The  more  desirable ;  or,  to  say  all. 
Nature  herself,  though  pure  of  sinful  thought. 
Wrought  in  her  so,  that,  seeing  me,  she  turn'd : 
I  follow' d  her ;  she  what  was  honour  knew, 
And  with  obsequious  majesty  approved' 
My  pleaded  reason.     To  the  nuptial  bower 
I  led  her  blushing  like  the  morn  :  all  heaven. 
And  happy  constellations,  on  that  hour 
Shed  their  selectest  influence ;  the  earth 
Gave  sign  of  gratulation,""  and  each  hill ; 

And  Milton,  still  alluding  to  this  text,  says  afterwards  that  she  was  "  divinely  brought," 
V.  500. — Newton. 

b  Bone  of  my  hone. 
That  Adam,  waking  from  his  deep  sleep,  should,  in  words  so  express  and  prophetic, 
own  and  claim  his  companion,  gave  rise  to  that  opinion,  that  he  was  not  only  asleep. 
but  entranced  too ;  by  which  he  saw  all  that  was  done  to  him,  and  understood  the 
mystery  of  it,  God  informing  his  understanding  in  his  ecstasy. — Hume. 

e  With  obsequious  majesty  approved. 
How  exactly  does  Milton  preserve  the  same  character  of  Eve  in  all  places  where  he 
speaks  of  her!     This  "obsequious  majesty"  is  the  very  same  with  the  "coy  submission, 
modest  pride,"  in  the  fourth  book;   and  both  not  unlike  what  Spenser  has  in  his 
'  Epithalamion :' — 

Behold  how  goodly  my  faira  love  does  ly, 
In  proud  humility. — Thtkr. 

d  The  earth 
Gave  sign  of  gratulation. 
This  is  a  copy  from  Homer,  1\.  xiv.  347  : — 

Toiai  i'  vvo  Xdoiv  6ia  (pvsv  veuOiiXia  xoitiv,  k.  t.  X. 
but  Milton  has  greatly  improved  this,  as  he  improves  everything,  in  the  imitation.  In 
all  his  copies  of  the  beautiful  passages  of  other  authors  he  studiously  varies  and  dis- 
guises them,  the  better  to  give  himself  the  air  of  an  original,  and  to  make,  by  his  addi- 
tions and  improvements,  what  he  borrowed  the  more  fairly  his  own ;  the  only  regular 
way  of  acquiring  a  property  in  thoughts  taken  from  other  writers,  if  we  may  believe 
Horace,  whose  laws  in  poetry  are  of  undoubted  authority, '  De  Art.  Poet.'  v.  131,  Ac. 
Milton,  indeed,  in  what  he  borrows  from  Scripture,  observes  the  contrary  rule;  and 

fenerally  adheres  minutely,  or  rather  religiously,  to  the  very  words,  as  much  as  possi< 
le,  of  the  original. — Newton. 


BOOK  Till.]  PARADISE  LOST.  305 

Joyous  the  birds ;  fresh  gales  and  gentle  airs 
Whisper'd  it  to  the  woods,  and  from  their  wings 
Flung  rose,  flung  odours  from  the  spicy  shrub, 
Disporting,  till  the  amorous  bird  of  night 
Sung  spousalj  and  bid  haste  the  evening-star 
On  his  hill  top,*  to  light  the  bridal  lamp. 

Thus  have  I  told  thee  all  my  state,  and  brought 
My  story  to  the  sum  of  earthly  bliss. 
Which  I  enjoy ;  and  must  confess  to  find 
In  all  things  else  delight  indeed,  but  such 
As,  used  or  not,  works  in  the  mind  no  change, 
Nor  vehement  desire ;  these  delicacies 
I  mean  of  taste,  sight,  smell,  herbs,  fruits,  and  flowers, 
Walks,  and  the  melody  of  birds :  but  here 
Far  otherwise,  transported  I  behold, 
Transported  touch ;  here  passion  first  I  felt, 
Commotion  strange  !  in  all  enjoyments  else 
Superior  and  unmoved ;  here  only  weak 
Against  the  charm  of  beauty's  powerful  glance 
Or  nature  fail'd  in  me,  and  left  some  part 
Not  proof  enough  such  object  to  sustain ; 
Or,  from  my  side  subducting,  took  perhaps 
More  than  enough ;  at  least  on  her  bestow'd 
Too  much  of  ornament,  in  outward  show 
Elaborate,  of  inward  less  exact. 
For  well  I  understand  in  the  prime  end 
Of  nature  her  the  inferiour,  in  the  mind 
And  inward  faculties,  which  most  excel: 
In  outward  also  her  resembling  less 
His  image  who  made  both,  and  less  expressing 
The  character  of  that  dominion  ^iven 
O'er  other  creatures  :  yet,  when  I  approach 
Her  loveliness,  so  absolute  she  seems. 
And  in  herself  complete,  so  well  to  know 
Her  own,  that  what  she  wills  to  do  or  say, 
Seems  wisest,  virtuousest,  discreetest,  best : 
All  higher  knowledge  in  her  presence  falls 
Degraded ;  wisdom  in  discourse  with  her 

Loses  discountenanced,  and  like  folly  shows ;  / 

Authority  and  reason  on  her  wait, 
As  one  intended  first,  not  after  made 
Occasionally;  and,  to  consummate  all, 

•  7^  evening  ttar 
On  hit  hill  top. 
The  evening  star  is  said  to  light  the  bridal  lamp,  as  it  was  the  signal  among  the 
ancients  to  light  their  lamps  and  torches,  in  order  to  conduct  the  bride  home  to  the 
bridegroom.     Catullus: — "Vesper  adest,  jurenes  consurgite,"  Ac.     "  On  his  hill  top;" 
for  when  this  star  appeared  eastward  in  the  morning,  it  was  said  to  rise  on  Mount  Ida, 
Virg.  ^n.  ii.  801 :  when  it  appeared  westward  in  the  evening,  it  was  said  to  be  seen  on 
Mount  (Eta,  Virg.  Eel.  viii.  30.     Milton  therefore  writes  in  classical  language :  he  does 
not  mention  any  mountain  by  name,  but  says  only  "the  evening  star  on  his  hill  top," 
as  appearing  above  the  hills. — Newton. 
30 


306  PARADISE  LOST  [book  viii. 

Greatness  of  mind,  and  nobleness,  their  seat 
Build  in  her  loveliest,  and  create  an  awe 
About  her,  as  a  guard  angelic  placed. 

To  whom  the  angel  with  contracted  brow : 
Accuse  not  nature ;  she  hath  done  her  part, 
Do  thou  but  thine ;  and  be  not  diffident 
Of  wisdom ;  she  deserts  thee  not,  if  thou 
Dismiss  not  her,  when  most  thou  need'st  her  nigh, 
By  attributing  overmuch  to  things 
Less  excellent,  as  thou  thyself  pereeivest. 
For,  what  admirest  thou,  what  transports  thee  so  ? 
An  outside  ;  fair,  no  doubt,  and  worthy  well 
Thy  cherishing,'  thy  honouring,  and  thy  lovej 
Not  thy  subjection  :  weigh  with  her  thyself; 
Then  value  :  oft-times  nothing  profits  more 
Then  self-esteem,  grounded  on  just  and  right 
Well  managed;  of  that  skill  the  more  thou  know'st, 
The  more  she  will  acknowledge  thee  her  head. 
And  to  realities  yield  all  her  shows  : 
Made  so  adorn  for  thy  delight  the  more. 
So  awful,  that  with  honour  thou  mayst  love 
Thy  mate,  who  sees  when  thou  art  seen  least  wise. 
But  if  the  sense  of  touch,  whereby  mankind 
Is  propagated,  seem  such  dear  delight 
Beyond  all  other;  think  the  same  vouchsafed 
To  cattle  and  each  beast;  which  would  not  be 
To  them  made  common  and  divulged,  if  aught 
Therein  enjoy'd  were  worthy  to  subdue 
The  soul  of  man,  or  passion  in  him  move. 
What  higher  in  her  society  thou  find'st 
Attractive,  human,  rational,  love  still ; 
In  loving  thou  dost  well,  in  passion  not. 
Wherein  true  love  consists  not:  love  refines* 
The  thoughts,  and  heart  enlarges ;  hath  his  seat 
In  reason,  and  is  judicious;  is  the  scale 
By  which  to  heavenly  love  thou  mayst  ascend. 
Not  sunk  in  carnal  pleasure ;  for  which  cause, 
Among  the  beasts  no  mate  for  thee  was  found. 
.  To  whom  thus,  half  abash'd,  Adam  replied ; 

Neither  her  outside  form'd  so  fair,  nor  aught 
In  procreation  common  to  all  kinds, 

'  And  worthy  well 
Thy  cherishing,  d;c. 
He  makes  use  of  these  three  words,  agreeably  to  Scripture: — "So  onght  men  to 
love  their  wives,  as  their  own  bodies :  he  that  loveth  his  wife,  loveth  himself;  for  no 
man  ever  yet  hated  his  own  flesh,  but  nourisheth  and  cherisheth  it,"  Ephes.  v.  28,  29. 
''  Giving  honour  unto  the  wife,"  1  Pet.  iii.  7. — Newton. 

K  Love  refines, 
Milton,  in  his  'Apology  for  Smectymnuus,'  speaks  thus: — "Thus,  from  the  laureat- 
fraternity  of  poets,  riper  years  and  the  ceaseless  round  of  study  and  reading  led  me  to 
the  shady  spaces  of  philosophy;  but  chiefly  to  the  divine  volumes  of  Plato,  and  his  equal 
Xenophon ;  where  if  I  should  tell  ye  what  I  learned  of  chastity  and  love,  I  mean  that 
which  is  truly  so,"  Ac. — Thyeb. 


BOOK  viii.]  PARADISE  LOST.  307 

(Though  higher  of  the  genial  bed  by  far, 

And  with  mysterious  reverence  I  deem) 

So  much  delights  me,  as  those  graceful  acts, 

Those  thousand  decencies,  that  daily  flow 

From  all  her  words  and  actions,  mix'd  with  love 

And  sweet  compliance,  which  declare  unfeign'd 

Union  of  mind,''  or  in  us  both  one  soul ; 

Harmony  to  behold  in  wedded  pair 

More  grateful  than  harmonious  sound  to  the  ear. 

Yet  these  subject  not :  I  to  thee  disclose 

What  inward  thence  I  feel,  not  therefore  foil'd ; 

Who  meet  with  various  objects,  from  the  sense 

Variously  representing  ;  yet,  still  free. 

Approve  the  best,  and  follow  what  I  approve. 

To  love,  thou  blamest  me  not;  for  love,  thou  sayst 

Leads  up  to  heaven,  is  both  the  way  and  guide ; 

Bear  with  me  then,  if  lawful  what  I  ask  : 

Love  not  the  heavenly  spirits,  and  how  their  love 

Express  they  ?  by  looks  only  ?  or  do  they  mix 

Irradiance,  virtual  or  immediate  touch  ? 

To  whom  the  angel,  with  a  smile  that  glow'd 
Celestial  rosy  red,  love's  proper  hue, 
Answer'd :  Let  it  suffice  thee  that  thou  know'st 
Us  happy ;  and  without  love  no  happiness. 
Whatever  pure  thou  in  the  body  enjoy' st, 
(And  pure  thou  wert  created)  we  enjoy 
In  eminence ;  and  obstacle  find  none 
Oi  membrane,  joint,  or  limb,  exclusive  bars : 
Easier  than  air  with  air,  if  spirits  embrace 
Total  they  mix,  union  of  pure  with  pure ' 
Desiring;  nor  restrain'd  conveyance  need, 
As  flesh  to  mix  with  flesh,  or  soul  with  soul. 
But  1  can  now  no  more; J  the  parting  sun. 
Beyond  the  earth's  green  cape  and  verdant  isles 
Hesperian,  sets;  my  signal  to  depart. 

h  Union  of  mind. 

So  in  his  '  Doctrine  and  Discipline  of  Divorce,'  b.  i.  c.  2  : — "  And  indeed  it  is  a  greater 

blessing  from  God,  more  worthy  so  excellent  a  creature  as  man  is,  and  a  higher  end  to 

honour  and  sanctifie  the  league  of  marriage,  when  as  the  solace  and  satisfaction  of  the 

mind  is  regarded  and  provided  for  before  the  sensitive  pleasing  of  the  body." — Todd. 

'  Union  of  pure  with  pure. 
Raphael  had  said  that  spirits  "  Mix  total ;"  that  is  one  circumstance  in  which  they 
differ  from  men ;  viz.  they  are  so  unrestrained,  that  they  need  no  conveyance ;  that  is, 
need  not  oiive  to  meet  one  another,  as  our  flesh  does  to  meet  with  other  flesh,  and  one 
BOul  with  another  soul,  mediante  corpore. — Pearce. 

.  i  But  I  can  now  no  more. 
The  conversation  had  now  become  of  such  a  nature,  that  it  was  proper  to  put  an  end 
to  it.  And  now  the  "  parting  sun  beyond  the  earth's  green  cape,"  beyond  Cajie  de 
Verd,  the  most  western  point  of  Africa ;  "  and  verdant  isles,"  the  islands  of  Cape  de 
Verd;  "Hesperian  sets,"  sets  westward,  from  Hesperus  the  evening  star  appearing 
Ihere;  "my  signal  to  depart,"  for  he  was  only  to  stay  till  the  evening.  See  b.  v.  376. 
And  he  very  properly  closes  his  discourse  with  those  moral  instructions,  which  should 
make  the  most  lasting  impression  on  the  mind  of  Adam,  and  to  deliver  which  wastlie 
principal  end  and  design  of  the  angel's  coming. — Newtom. 


308  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  Tin. 

Be  strong,  live  happy,  and  love !  but,  first  of  all, 

Him,  whom  to  love  is  to  obey,"  and  keep 

His  great  command :  take  heed,  lest  passion  sway 

Thy  judgment  to  do  aught,  which  else  free  will 

Would  not  admit :  thine,  and  of  all  thy  sons, 

The  weal  or  woe  in  thee  is  placed ;  beware ! 

I  in  thy  persevering  shall  rejoice. 

And  all  the  blest :  stand  fast ;  to  stand  or  fall 

Free  in  thine  own  arbitrement  it  lies. 

Perfect  within,  no  outward  aid  require  : 

And  all  temptation  to  transgress  repel. 

So  saying,  he  arose;  whom  Adam  thus 
Follow'd  with  benediction  : — Since  to  part, 
Go,  heavenly  guest,  ethei'eal  messenger, 
Sent  from  whose  sovran  goodness  I  adore  ! 
Gentle  to  me  and  affable  hath  been 
Thy  condescension,  and  shall  be  honour'd  ever 
With  grateful  memory  :  thou  to  mankind 
Be  good  and  friendly  still,  and  oft  return  ! 

So  parted  they ;  the  angel  up  to  heaven 
From  the  thick  shade,  and  Adam  to  his  bower. 

^  Him  tohom  to  love  is  to  obey. 
"For  this  is  the  love  of  God,  that  we  keep  his  commandments,"  1  John  v.  3.   His  "great 
command"  everybody  will  understand  to  be  the  trial  of  Adam's  obedience. — Newtok. 

The  eighth  book  opens  with  a  beautiful  description  of  the  impression  which  the  dis- 
course of  the  archangel  Raphael  made  on  our  first  parents.  Adam  afterwards,  by  a 
very  natural  curiosity,  inquires  concerning  the  motions  of  those  celestial  bodies  which 
make  the  most  glorious  appearance  among  the  six  days'  works.  The  poet  here,  with  a 
great  deal  of  art,  represents  Eve  as  withdrawing  from  this  part  of  their  conversation, 
to  amusements  much  more  suitable  to  her  sex :  he  well  knew  that  the  episode  in  thi« 
book,  which  is  filled  with  Adam's  account  of  his  passion  and  esteem  for  Eve,  would 
have  been  improper  for  her  hearing ;  and  has  therefore  devised  very  just  and  beautiful 
reasons  for  her  retiring. 

The  angel's  returning  a  doubtful  answer  to  Adam's  inquiries  was  not  only  proper  for 
the  moral  reason  which  the  poet  assigns  ;  but  because  it  would  have  been  highly  absurd 
to  have  given  the  sanction  of  an  archangel  to  any  particular  system  of  philosophy :  the 
chief  points  in  the  Ptolemaic  and  Copernican  hypotheses  are  described  with  great  concise- 
ness and  perspicuity,  and  at  the  same  time  dressed  in  very  pleasing  and  poetical  images. 

Adam,  to  detain  the  angel,  enters  afterwards  upon  his  own  history,  and  relates  tc 
him  the  circumstances  in  which  he  found  himself  upon  his  creation,  as  also  his  conver- 
sation with  his  Maker,  and  his  first  meeting  with  Eve.  There  is  no  part  of  the  poem 
more  apt  to  raise  the  attention  of  the  reader  than  this  discourse  of  our  great  ancestor  ; 
as  nothing  can  be  more  surprising  and  delightful  to  us  than  to  hear  the  sentiments 
that  arose  in  the  first  man,  while  he  was  yet  new  and  fresh  from  the  hands  of  his 
Creator.  The  poet  has  interwoven  everything  which  is  delivered  upon  this  subject  in 
Holy  Writ  with  so  many  beautiful  imaginations  of  his  own,  that  nothing  can  be  conceived 
more  just  and  natural  than  this  whole  episode  :  as  our  author  knew  this  subject  could 
Qot  but  be  agreeable  to  his  reader,  he  would  not  throw  it  into  the  relation  of  the  six 
days'  works,  but  reserved  it  for  a  distinct  episode,  that  he  might  have  an  opportunity 
of  expatiating  upon  it  more  at  large.  Before  I  enter  on  this  part  of  the  poem,  1 
cannot  but  take  notice  of  two  shining  passages  in  the  dialogue  between  Adam  and  the 
angel :  the  first  is  that  wherein  our  ancestor  gives  an  account  of  the  pleasure  he  took 
in  conversing  with  him,  which  contains  a  very  noble  moral,  v.  210,  Ac. :  the  other  I 
shall  mention  is  that  in  which  the  angel  gives  a  reason  why  he  should  be  glad  to  hear 
the  story  Adam  was  about  to  relate,  v.  229,  &c.  There  is  no  question  but  our  poet  drew 
the  image  in  what  follows  from  that  of  Virgil's  sixth  book,  where  ^neas  and  ♦he  Sibyl 
stand  before  the  adamantine  gates,  which  are  described  as  shut  upon  the  place  of 
torments;  and  listen  to  the  groans,  the  clank  of  chains,  and  the. noise  of  iron  whips 
that  were  heard  in  those  regions  of  pain  and  sorrow. 


BOOK  vni.]  PARADISE  LOST.  309 

Adam  then  proceeds  to  give  an  account  of  his  condition  and  sentiments  immediately 
after  his  creation.  How  agreeably  does  he  represent  the  posture  in  which  he  found 
himself,  the  delightful  landscape  that  surrounded  him,  and  the  gladness  of  heart  which 
grew  up  in  him  on  that  occasion!  He  is  afterwards  described  as  -urprised  at  his  own 
existence,  and  taking  a  survey  of  himself,  and  of  all  tbe  works  of  nature :  he  also  is 
represented  as  discovering  by  the  light  of  reason,  that  h.i,  a>id  everything  about  him, 
must  have  been  the  eflfect  of  some  Being  infinitely  good  and  powerful;  and  that  this 
Being  had  a  right  to  his  worship  and  adoration.  His  first  address  to  the  sun,  and  to 
those  parts  of  the  creation  which  made  the  most  distinguished  figure,  is  very  natural 
and  amusing  to  the  imagination :  his  next  sentiment,  when  upon  his  first  going  to  sleep 
he  fancies  himself  losing  his  existence,  and  falling  away  into  nothing,  can  never  be 
sufiiciently  admired :  his  dream,  in  which  he  still  preserves  the  consciousness  of  his! 
existence,  and  his  removal  into  the  garden  which  was  prepared  for  his  reception,  are 
also  circumstances  finely  imagined,  and  grounded  upon  what  is  deUvered  in  sacred  story. 
These,  and  the  like  wonderful  incidents  in  this  part  of  the  work,  have  in  them  all  the 
beauties  of  novelty,  at  the  same  time  that  they  have  all  the  graces  of  nstrro :  they  are 
such  as  none  but  a  great  genius  could  have  thought  of;  though,  upon  the  perusal  of 
them,  they  seem  to  rise  of  themselves  from  the  subject  of  which  he  treats  In  a  word, 
though  they  are  natural  they  are  not  obvious;  which  is  the  true  character  of  all  fine 
writing. 

The  impression  which  the  introduction  of  the  Tree  of  Life  left  in  the  ra'nJ  of  our 
first  parent  is  described  with  great  strength  and  judgment;  as  the  image  of  the  several 
beasts  and  birds  passing  in  review  before  him  is  very  beautiful  and  lively. 

Adam,  in  the  next  place,  describes  a  conference  which  he  held  with  his  Maker  upon 
the  subject  of  solitude.  The  poet  here  represents  the  Supreme  Being  as  making  an 
essay  of  his  own  work,  and  putting  to  the  trial  that  reasoning  faculty  with  which  he 
had  endued  his  creature.  Adam  urges,  in  this  divine  colloquy,  the  impossibility  of 
his  being  happy,  though  he  was  the  inhabitant  of  Paradise,  and  lord  of  the  whole  crea- 
tion, without  the  conversation  and  society  of  some  rational  creature,  who  should  partake 
those  blessings  with  him:  this  dialogue,  which  is  supported  chiefly  by  the  beauty  of 
the  thoughts,  without  other  poetical  ornaments,  is  as  fine  a  part  as  any  in  the  whole 
poem :  the  more  the  reader  examines  the  justness  and  delicacy  of  the  sentiments,  the 
more  he  will  find  himself  pleased  with  it.  The  poet  has  wonderfully  preserved  the 
character  of  majesty  and  condescension  in  the  Creator,  and  at  the  same  time  that  of 
humility  and  adoration  in  the  creature,  in  v.  367,  &c. 

Adam  then  proceeds  to  give  an  account  of  his  second  sleep,  and  of  the  dream  in 
which  he  beheld  the  formation  of  Eve :  the  new  passion  that  was  awakened  in  him  at 
the  sight  of  her  is  touched  very  finely  : — 

Under  his  forming  hands  a  creature  grew, 
Mnn-like,  but  dinerent  sex;  so  lovelv  fair, 
That  what  seem'd  fair  in  al|  the  \vorId,  seem'd  now 
Mean,  or  in  her  Bumra'd  up,  &c. 

Adam's  distress  upon  losing  sight  of  this  beautiful  phantom,  with  his  exclamations  of 
joy  and  gratitude  at  the  discovery  of  a  real  creature  who  resembled  the  apparition 
which  had  been  presented  to  him  in  his  dream;  the  approaches  he  makes  to  her,  and 
his  manner  of  courtship;  are  all  laid  together  in  a  most  exquisite  propriety  of  senti- 
ments. Though  this  part  of  the  poem  is  worked  up  with  great  warmth  and  spirit,  the 
love  which  he  describes  in  it  is  in  every  way  suitable  to  a  state  of  innocence.  If  the 
reader  compares  tbe  description  which  Adam  here  gives  of  his  leading  Eve  to  the  nup- 
tial bower,  with  that  which  Mr.  Dryden  has  made  on  the  same  occasion  in  a  scene  of 
his  '  Fall  of  Man ;'  he  will  be  sensible  of  the  great  care  which  Milton  took  to  avoid  all 
thoughts  on  so  delicate  a  subject  that  might  be  offensive  to  religion  or  good  manners. 
The  sentiments  are  chaste,  but  not  cold;  and  convey  to  the  mind  ideas  of  the  most 
transporting  passion  and  of  the  greatest  purity.  What  a  noble  mixture  of  rapture  and 
innocence  has  the  author  joined  together  in  the  reflection  which  Adam  makes  on  the 
pleasures  of  love,  compared  to  those  of  sense ! 

These  sentiments  of  love  in  our  first  parent  give  the  angel  such  an  insight  into  human 
nature,  that  he  seems  apprehensive  of  the  evils  which  might  befall  the  species  in  gene- 
ral from  the  excess  of  this  passion  ;  he  therefore  fortifies  him  against  it  by  timely  admo- 
nitions, which  very  artfully  pl-epare  the  mind  of  the  reader  for  the  occurrences  of  the 
next  book;  where  the  weakness  of  which  Adam  here  gives  such  distant  discoveries, 
brings  about  that  fatal  event  which  is  the  subject  of  the  poem:  his  discourse,  which  fo\- 
lows  the  gentle  rebuke  he  received  from  the  angel,  shows  that  his  love,  however  violent 
it  might  appear,  was  still  founded  in  reason,  and  consequently  not  improper  for  Paradise. 

Adam's  speech  at  parting  from  the  angel  has  in  it  a  deference  and  gratitude  agreea- 
ble to  an  inferior  nature;  and  at  the  same  time  a  certain  dignity  and  greatness  suitable 
to  the  father  of  mankind  in -his  state  of  innocence. — Addison. 


310  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  ix 


BOOK  IX. 

INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 

The  most  extraordinary  part  of  this  story  is  Eve's  perverse  resolve  to  separate  her- 
self from  Adam  in  her  morning  cultivation  of  the  garden,  contrary  to  Adam's  remon- 
strances; and  her  so  soon  falling  into  the  serpent's  snares,  though  so  very  strongly 
warned :  this  is  not  consistent  with  the  goodness  which  the  poet  before  ascribed  to  her 
To  me  it  appears  that  there  is  a  good  deal  of  concealed  satire  in  this :  it  was  open  to 
the  poet  to  have  represented  her  making  a  longer  struggle ;  and  not  having  before 
exposed  herself,  almost  as  if  voluntarily,  to  the  temptation.  Eve  ought  to  have  been 
too  happy  in  her  favoured  state  to  be  seduced  by  the  serpent's  arguments,  which  were 
only  calculated  to  mislead  those  who  were  oppressed,  and  saw  pleasures  around  them, 
all  of  which  they  were  restrained  from  tasting.  The  moment  Eve  partook  of  the  poison, 
it  produced  an  intoxication,  which  made  it  frightfully  sensual ;  and  I  must  confess,  I 
think  that  Milton  is  not  blameless,  and  has  not  his  usual  sanctity  of  strain,  in  the  pic- 
tures he  consequently  draws :  as  poetry,  it  is  exquisite ;  as  morality,  it  is  dangerous, — 
almost  disgusting.  Allow  the  story  to  take  this  turn,  and  the  bard  almost  exceeds  him- 
self in  richness :  the  remorse,  sickness,  and  despondence  which  follow,  are  nobly  exhi- 
bited ;  and  here,  perhaps,  it  will  be  contended,  lies  the  moral :  but  the  parties  have 
deserved  their  fate ;  and  this  lessens  our  pity  for  them :  for  Adam  ought  not  so  easily 
to  have  yielded  to  Eve's  persuasions, — fully  aware  as  he  was  of  the  consequences.  All 
this,  I  must  venture  to  say,  is  an  outrage  upon  the  probable. .  The  mutual  crimination 
and  recrimination  is  drawn  with  perfect  mastery ;  but  Eve's  reproach  to  Adam,  as  being 
the  more  offending  person  because  he  had  indulged  her,  is  a  little  too  provoking. 

The  descriptive  parts  glow  with  a  uniform  freshness,  splendour,  and  nature;  with  a 
compactness  of  imagery,  and  a  simple  and  naked  force  of  language,  which  make  all 
pictures  of  other  poets  fade  away  before  them.  There  never  appears  a  superfluous 
word,  or  one  which  is  not  pregnant  with  thought  and  matter. 

The  sentiments  have  a  weight  and  a  profundity  of  wisdom  which  seem  like  inspira- 
tion :  out  of  every  incident  arise  such  reflections  as  have  the  spell  of  oracles. 

As  Milton  lived  in  visions,  all  his  dialogues  were  pertinent  to  his  characters ;  and  it 
is  by  these  dialogues  that  the  imagery,  as  connected  with  them,  is  made  to  have  a 
double  force.  The  inanimate  material  world  derives  almost  all  its  interest  from  its  con- 
nexion with  human  intellectuality :  for  this  reason  Gray  expressed  an  opinion  that  a 
merely  descriptive  poem  was  an  imperfect  work.  The  charm  of  Gray's  'Elegy'  is,  that 
all  his  imagery  has  a  moral  adjunct;  but  the  moral  of  Milton  is  deeper,  more  extended, 
and  more  reflective,  than  of  others ;  his  illustrations  are  drawn  from  all  the  founts  of 
knowledge,  learning,  and  wisdom,  sacred  and  profane  :  he  has  the  art  of  making  us  see 
features  and  colours  in  the  forms  of  nature,  which  we  did  not  see  before. 

The  ninth  book  is  that  on  which  the  whole  fate  and  fall  of  man  turns;  and  so  far  is 
the  most  important.  It  is  called  the  most  tender.  If  the  submission  to  sensual  human 
passions  be  tenderness,  it  is  so;  taking  the  resistance  to  those  passions  to  be  loftiness. 
The  serpent  himself  appears  to  have  been  enamoured  of  Eve's  beauty  and  loveliness  of 
mien,  and  for  a  moment  to  have  repented  of  the  evil  he  was  plotting  to  bring  upon  her. 

All  that  wo  know  from  the  Mosaic  history  is,  that  the  serpent  tempted  Eve,  and  Eve 
tempted  Adam  to  eat  of  the  forbidden  fruit;  but  we  do  not  know  by  what  wiles  this  sin 
was  brought  about.  We  may  suppose  that  by  the  serpent  the  operation  of  the  evil  pas- 
sions of  contradiction,  disobedience,  rebellion,  and  scepticism  was  meant;  just  as  we 
niay  suppose  that  Eve  persisted  in  roaming  alone  in  sj.ite  of  Adam's  dissuasions,  merely 
because  her  pride  was  thwarted  by  her  husband's  fear  that  "  some  harm  should  befal 
her"  in  his  absence. 

Critics  will  say,  that  had  she  been  more  purely  virtuous.  Heaven  would  not  hav- 
deoreed  the  loss  ofParadise:  and  therefore  that  it  was  of  the  essence  of  the  story  to  repre- 


BOOK  IX.]  PARADISE  LOST.  311 

sent  her  thus  guilty.  It  may  be  deemed  highly  presumptuous  in  me  to  suggest  that 
Milton  might  have  represented  her  equally  guilty,  with  more  probability  and  more 
spirituality.  He  might  have  painted  mental  delusions  rather  than  the  intoxicating 
pleasures  of  the  senses :  it  was  open  to  him  to  follow  his  own  course  in  the  inventions 
of  his  overflowing  imagination ;  but  it  could  never  be  necessary  to  Milton's  genius  to 
dwell  on  matter  rather  than  on  spirit.  The  luxuriance  of  description  has  made  this 
a  favourite  book  of  the  poem  :  it  la  this  luxuriance  which  I  think  misplaced  in  so 
holy  a  work. 


AEGUMENT. 

Satan  having  encompassed  the  earth,  with  meditated  guile,  returns,  as  a  mist,  by  night  info 
Paradise  ;  enters  into  the  serpent  sleeping.  Adam  and  Eve  in  the  morning  go  forth  to 
their  labours,  which  Eve  proposes  to  divide  in  several  places,  eacli  labouring  apart :  Adam 
consents  not,  alleging  the  danger,  lest  that  enemy,  of  whom  Ihey  were  forewarned,  should 
attempt  her  found  alone  :  Eve,  loth  to  be  thought  not  circumspect  or  firm  enough,  urges 
her  going  apart,  the  rather  desirous  to  make  trial  of  her  strength  :  Adam  at  last  yields  ;  the 
serpent  finds  her  alone:  his  subtle  approach,  first  gazing,  thtn  speaking;  with  much  flat- 
tery extolling  Eve  above  all  other  creatures.  Eve,  wondering  to  hear  the  serpent  speak, 
asks  how  he  attained  to  human  speech,  and  such  understanding,  not  till  now  :  the  serpent 
answers,  that  by  tasting  of  a  certain  iree  in  the  garden  he  attained  both  to  speech  and  rea- 
son, till  then  void  of  both  :  Eve  requires  him  to  bring  her  to  that  tree,  and  finds  it  to  be  the 
tree  of  knowledge  forbidden  ;  the  serpent,  now  grown  boTder,  with  many  wiles  and  argu- 
ments induces  her  at  length  to  eat ;  she,  pleased  with  the  taste,  deliberates  awhile  whether 
to  impart  thereof  to  Adam  or  not ;  at  last  brings  him  of  the  fruit ;  relates  what  persuaded 
her  to  eat  thereof ;  Adam,  at  first  amazed,  but  perceiving  her  lost,  resolves,  through  vehe- 
mence of  love,  to  perish  with  her;  and,  extenuating  the  trespass,  eats  also  of  the  fruit; 
the  eflfects  thereof  in  them  both ;  they  seek  to  cover  their  nakedness ;  then  fall  to  variance 
and  accusation  of  one  another. 

No  more  of  talk»  where  Grod  or  angel  guest* 
With  man,  as  with  his  friend,  familiar  used 

»  No  more  of  talk. 
These  prologues,  or  prefaces  of  Miltou  to  some  of  his  books,  speaking  of  his  own  per- 
son, lamenting  his  blindness,  and  prefening  his  subject  to  those  of  Homer  and  Virgil, 
and  the  greatest  poets  before  him,  are  condemned  by  some  critics ;  and  it  must  be 
allowed  that  we  find  no  such  digression  in  the  "  Iliad"  or  "  .^Eneid  :'.' — it  is  a  liberty 
that  can  be  taken  only  by  such  a  genius  as*  Milton,  and  I  question  whether  it  would 
have  succeeded  in  any  hands  but  his.  As  Voltaire  says  upon  the  occasion,  I  cannot 
but  own  that  an  author  is  generally  guilty  of  an  unpardonable  self-love,  when  he  lays 
aside  his  subject  to  descant  upon  his  own  person : — but  that  human  frailty  is  to  be  for- 
given in  Milton ;  nay,  I  am  pleased  with  it  Ho  gratifies  the  curiosity  he  has  raised 
in  me  about  his  person  ; — when  I  admire  the  author,  I  desire  to  know  something  of  the 
man;  and  he,  whom  all  readers  would  be  glad  to  know,  is  allowed  to  speak  of  him- 
self. But  this,  however,  is  a  very  dangerous  example  for  a  genius  of  an  inferior  order, 
and  is  only  to  be  justified  by  success.  See  Voltaire's  "  Essay  on  Epic  Poetry,"  p.  ill. 
But  as  Mr.  Thyer  adds,  however  some  critics  may  condemn  a  poet's  sometimes  digress- 
ing from  his  subject  to  speak  of  himself,  it  is  very  certain  that  Milton  was  of  a  very 
different  opinion  long  before  he  thought  of  writing  this  poem  :  for,  in  his  discourse  ol  the 
"Reason  of  Church  Government,"  Ac,  apologizing  for  saying  so  much  of  himself  as  he 
there  does,  he  adds, — "For,  although  a  poet,  soaring  in  the  high  region  of  his  fancies, 
with  his  garland  and  singing  robes  about  him,  might,  without  apology,  speak  more  of 
himself  than  1  mean  to  do;  yet  forme,  sitting  here  below  in  the  cool  element  of  prose. 
a  mortal  thing  among  many  readers  of  no  empyreal  conceit,  to  venture  and  divulgf 
unusual  things  of  myself,  I  shall  petition  to  the  gentler  sort,  it  may  not  be  envy  to  me," 
vol.  i.  p.  59,  ed.  1738. — Newton. 

b  Ood  or  angel  guest. 

Milton,  who  knew  and  studied  the  Scripture  thoroughly,  and  continually  profits  him. 
lelf  of  its  vast  sublimity,  as  well  as  of  the  more  noble  treasures  it  contains,  and  to  which 
his  poem  owes  its  greatest  lustre,  has  done  it  here  very  remarkably. — Richardson 

The  poet  says  that  he  must  now  treat  no  more  of  familiar  discourse  with  either  god 
or  angel;  for  Adam  had  held  discourse  with  God,  as  we  read  in  the  preceding  book; 
and  the  whole  foregoing  episode  is  a  conversation  with  the  angel. — Newton. 


312  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  ix. 

To  sit  indulgent,  and  with  him  partake 

Rural  repast ;  permitting  him  the  while 

Venial  discourse  unblamed.     I  now  must  change 

Those  notes  to  tragic  : "  foul  distrust,  and  breach 

Disloyal  on  the  part  of  man,  revolt 

And  disobedience  :  on  the  part  of  Heaven 

Now  alienated,  distance  and  distaste, 

Anger  and  just  rebuke,  and  judgment  given, 

That  brought  into  this  world  a  world  of  woe, 

Sin  and  her  shadow  Death,  and  Misery,     " 

Death's  harbinger :  sad  task  !  yet  argument 

Not  less,  but  more  heroic,  than  the  wrath 

Of  stern  Achilles  on  his  foe  pursued 

Thrice  fugitive  about  Troy  wall ;  or  rage 

Of  Turnus  for  Lavinia  disespoused ; 

Or  Neptune's  ire,  or  Juno's,  that  so  long 

Perplex' d  the  Greek,  and  Cytherea's  son ; 

If  answerable  style  I  can  obtain 

Of  my  celestial  patroness,  who  deigns 

Her  nightly  visitation  unimplored. 

And  dictates  to  me  slumbering,  or  inspires 

Easy  my  unpremeditated  verse  : 

Since  first  this  subject  for  heroic  song 

Pleased  me,  long  choosing  and  beginning  late  j  • 

Not  seduloiis  by  nature  to  indite 

Wars,  hitherto  the  only  argument* 

Heroic  deem'd ;  chief  mastery  to  dissect 

With  long  and  tedious  havoc  fabled  knights, 

In  battles  feign' d  :  the  better  fortitude 

c  /  now  mwat  change 
Those  notes  to  tragic. 
As  the  author  is  now  changing  his  subject,  he  professes  likewise  to  change  his  style 
agreeably  to  it :  the  reader  therefore  must  not  expect  such  lofty  images  and  descrip- 
tions as  before.  What  follows  is  more  of  the  tragic  strain  than  of  the  epic: — which 
may  serve  as  an  answer  to  those  critics  who  censure  the  latter  books  of  the  "  Paradise 
Lost,"  as  falling  below  the  former. — Newton. 

<I  Long  choosing  and  beginning  late. 

Milton  intended  pretty  early  to  write  an  epic  poem,  and  proposed  the  story  of  "King 
Arthur"  for  the  subject:  but  that  was  laid  aside,  probably,  for  the  reasons  here  inti- 
mated. The  "  Paradise  Lost"  he  designed  at  first  as  a  tragedy :  it  was  not  till  long 
after  itjat  he  began  to  form  it  into  an  epic  poem;  and,  indeed,  for  several  years  he  was 
80  hotly  engaged  in  the  controversies  of  the  times,  that  he  was  not  at  leisure  to  think 
of  a  work  of  this  nature;  and  did  not  begin  to  fashion  it  in  its  present  form,  till  efter 
the  Salmasian  controversy  which  ended  in  1655 ;  and  probably  did  not  set  about  the 
work  in  earnest  till  after  the  Restoration:  so  that  he  was  "long  choosing,  and  begin- 
ning late." — Newton. 

e  The  only  argument. 

The  three  species  of  the  epic  poem  are  morality,  politics,  and  religion :  these  have 
been  occupied  by  Homer,  Virgil,  and  Milton.  Here  then  the  grand  scene  is  closed, 
and  all  farther  improvements  of  the  epic  at  an  end. — Newton. 

A  cruel  senteace  indeed,  and  a  very  severe  statute  of  limitation;  enough,  if  it  had 
any  foundation,  to  destroy  any  future  attempt  of  any  exalted  genius  that  might  arise. 
But,  in  truth,  the  assertion  is  totally  groundless  and  chimerical.  Each  of  the  three 
poets  might  change  the  stations  here  assigned  to  them :  Homer  might  assume  to  him- 
self the  province  of  polities ;  Virgil,  of  morality ;  and  Milton,  of  both ;  who  is  also  a 
strong  proof  that  human  action  is  not  the  largest  sphere  of  epic  poetry.— Jos.  Wabton. 


BOOK  IX.]  PARADISE  LOST.  313 

Of  patience  and  heroic  martyrdom 
Unsung ;  or  to  describe  races  and  games,' 
Or  tilting  furniture,  imblazon'd  shields, 
Impresses  quaint,  caparisons  and  steeds. 
Bases*  and  tinsel  trappings,  gorgeous  knights 
At  joust  and  tournament;  then  marshall'd  feast 
Served  up  in  hall  with  sewers  and  seneshals  : 
The  skill  of  artifice  or  office  mean, 
Not  that  which  justly  gives  heroic  name 
To  person  or  to  poem.     Me,  of  these 
Nor  skill'd  nor  studious,  higher  argument 
Remains  ;  sufficient  of  itself  to  raise 
That  name,  unless  an  age  too  late,  or  cold*" 
Climate,  or  years,  damp  my  intended  wing 
Depress'd ;  and  much  they  may,  if  all  be  mine, 
Not  hers,  who  brings  it  nightly  lo  my  ear. 

The  sun  was  sunk,  and  after  him  the  star 
Of  Hesperus,  whose  office  is  to  bring 
Twilight  upon  the  earth,  short  arbiter 
'Twixt  day  and  night ; '  and  now  from  end  to  end 
Night's  hemisphere  had  veil'd  the  horizon  round; 
When  Satan,  who  late  fled  before  the  threats 
Of  Gabriel  out  of  Eden,  now  improved 
In  meditated  fraud  and  malice,  bent 
On  man's  destruction,  maugre  what  might  hap 
Of  heavier  on  himself,  fearless  return'd. 
By  night  he  fled,  and  at  midnight  return'd 
From  compassing  the  earth ;  cautious  of  day 
Since  Uriel,  regent  of  the  sun,  descried 
His  entrance,  and  forwarn'd  the  cherubim 
That  kept  their  watch ;  thence,full  of  anguish  driven; 

'  Races  and  games,  , 

As  tbe  ancient  poets  have  done;  Homer  in  the  twenty-third  book  of  the  " Eiad ;" 
Virgil  in  the  fifth  book  of  the  "  jEneid ;"  and  Statins  in  the  sixth  book  of  his  "  Thebaid :" 
or  tilt«  and  tournaments,  which  are  often  the  subject  of  the  modern  poets,  aa  Ariosto, 
Spenser,  and  the  like. — Newton. 

s  Bases, 
Bases  signify  the  mantle  which  hung  down  from  the  middle  to  alout  the  knees,  oi 
lower,  worn  by  knights  on  horseback. — Todd. 

•>  An  age  too  late,  or  cold. 
He  has  a  thought  of  the  same  kind  in  his  "  Reason  of  Church-Government,"  b.  ii, 
speaking  of  epic  poems : — "  If  to  the  instinct  of  nature,  and  the  imboldening  of  art, 
aught  may  be  trusted ;  and  that  there  be  nothing  adverse  in  our  climate,  or  the  fate  of 
this  age,  it  haply  would  be  no  rashness,  from  an  equal  diligence  and  inclination,  to 
present  the  like  offer  in  our  own  ancient  stories." — Or  years  damp,  &c.  For  ho  was 
near  sixty  when  this  poem  was  published  :  and  it  is  surprising  that,  at  that  time  of  life, 
and  after  such  troublesome  days  as  he  had  passed  through,  he  should  have  so  much 
poetical  fire  remaining. — Newton. 

•  Short  arbiter 
'Twixt  day  and  night. 
This  expression  was  probably  borrowed  from  the  beginning  of  Sidney's  "Arcadia," 
where,  speaking  of  the  sun  about  the  time  of  the  equinox,  he  o&Ma  him  "  an  indifferent 
arbiter  between  the  night  apd  the  day." — Nbwton 
40 


314  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  ix. 

The  space  of  seven  continued  nights^  he  rode 

With  darkness ;  thrice  the  equinoctial  line 

He  circled ;  four  times  cross' d  the  car  of  night 

From  pole  tc  pole,  traversing  each  colure ;'' 

On  the  eighth  return'd;  and,  on  the  coast  averse 

From  entrance  or  cherubic  watch,  by  stealth 

Found  unsuspected  way.     There  was  a  place, 

Now  not,  though  sin,  not  time,  first  wrought  the  change, 

Where  Tigris,  at  the  foot  of  Paradise, 

Into  a  gulf  phot  underground ;  till  part 

Rose  up  a  fountain  by  the  tree  of  life  : 

In  with  the  river  sunk,  and  with  it  rose, 

Satan,  involved  in  rising  mist ;  then  sought 

Where  to  lie  hid  :  sea  he  had  search'd,  and  land 

From  Eden  over  Pontus,'  and  the  pool 

Maeotis,  up  beyond  the  river  Ob ; 

Downward  as  far  antarctic ;  and  in  length,  ' 

West  from  Orontes  to  the  ocean  barr'd  ■» 

At  Darien ;  thence  to  the  land  where  flows 

Ganges  and  Indus :  thus  the  orb  he  roam'd 

With  narrow  search ;  and  with  inspection  deep 

Consider'd  every  creature,  which  of  all 

Most  opportune  might  serve  his  wiles ;  and  found 

The  serpent  subtlest  beast "  of  all  the  field. 

Him,  after  long  debate  irresolute 

Of  thoughts  revolved,  his  final  sentence  chose  j 

Fit  vessel,  fittest  imp  of  fraud,  in  whom 

To  enter,  and  his  dark  suggestions  hide 

From  sharpest  sight ;  for,  in  the  wily  snake 

Whatever  sleights,  none  would  suspicious  mark, 

As  from  his  wit  and  native  subtlety 

Proceeding;  which,  in  other  beasts  observed, 

Doubt  might  beget  of  diabolic  power 

Active  within,  beyond  the  sense  of  brute. 

Thus  he  resolved ;  but  first  from  inward  grief 

His  bursting  passion  into  plaints  thus  pour'd : 

j  Seven  continued  nights. 
Satan  was  three  days  compassing  the  earth  from  east  to  west,  and  four  days  from 
Dorth  to  south,  but  still  kept  always  in  the  shade  of  night;  and,  after  a  whole  woek's 
peregrination  in  this  manner,  on  the  eighth  night  returned  by  stealth  into  Paradise.— 
Nbwton. 

k  Each  colure. 

The  cohires  are  two  great  circles,  intersecting  each  other  at  right  angles  in  the  poles 
of  the  world,  and  encompassing  the  earth  from  north  to  south,  and  from  south  to  north 
again. — Newton. 

•  From  Eden  over  Ponttu. 
As  wo  had  before  an  astronomical,  so  here  we  have  a  geographical  accoont  of  Satan's 
peregrnations. — Newton. 

m  Ocean  barr'd. 
See  Job  xxxviii.  10 : — "And  set  cars  to  the  sea." — Newton. 

n  ITie  serpent,  subtlest  beast. 
So  Moses,  Qen.  iii.  1 : — "  Now  the  serpent  was  more  subtle  than  any  beast  of  the  field.' ' 


BOOK  IX.]  PARADISE  LOST.  315 

0  earth,  how  like  to  heaven,  if  not  preferr'd* 
More  justly,  seat  worthier  of  Grods,  as  built 
With  second  thoughts,  reforming  what  was  old! 
For  what  God,  after  better,  worse  would  build  ? 
Terrestrial  heaven,  danced  round  by  other  heavens 
That  shine,  yet  bear  their  bright  officious  lamps, 
Light  above  light,  for  thee  alone,  as  seems; 
In  thee  concentring  all  their  precious  beams 
Of  sacred  influence  !     As  God  in  heaven 
Is  centre,  yet  extends  to  all;  so  thou. 
Centring,  receivest  from  all  those  orbs ;  in  thee, 
Not  in  themselves,  all  their  known  virtue  appears 
Productive  in  herb,  plant,  and  nobler  birth 
Of  creatures  animate  with  gradual  life, 
Of  growth,  sense,  reason, p  all  summ'd  up  in  man. 
With  what  delight  could  I  have  walked  thee  round, 
If  I  could  joy  in  aught !  sweet  interchange 
Of  hill,  and  valley,  rivers,  woods,  and  plains. 
Now  land,  now  sea,  and  shores  with  forest  crown* d, 
Rocks,  dens,  and  caves !     But  I  in  none  of  these 
Find  place  or  refuge ;  and  the  more  I  see 
Pleasures  about  me,  so  much  more  I  feel 
Torment  within  me,  as  from  the  hateful  siege 
Of  contraries :  all  good  to  me  becomes 
Bane,  and  in  heaven  much  worse  would  be  my  state. 
But  neither  here  seek  I,  no,  nor  in  heaven 
To  dwell,  unless  by  mastering  heaven's  Supreme: 
Nor  hope  to  be  myself  less  miserable 
By  what  I  seek,  but  others  to  make  such 
As  I,  though  thereby  worse  to  me  redound : 
For  only  in  destroying  I  find  case 
To  my  relentless  thoughts ;  and,  him  destroy' d. 
Or  won  to  what  may  w'/rk  his  utter  loss. 
For  whom  all  this  was  made ;  all  this  will  soon 

o  If  not  pre/err'd. 
I  reckon  this  panegyric  upon  the  earth  among  the  less  perfect  parts  of  the  poem. 
The  beginning  is  extravagant,  and  what  follows  is  not  consistent  with  what  the  author 
had  said  before,  in  his  description  of  Satan's  passage  among  the  stars  and  planets, 
which  are  said  then  to  appear  to  hiu  as  other  worlds  inhabited.  See  b,  iii.  566.  Tha 
imagination,  that  all  the  hearenly  bodies  were  created  for  the  sake  of  the  earth,  was 
natural  to  human  ignorance ;  and  human  vanity  might  find  its  account  in  it,  but 
neither  of  these  could  influence  Satan. — Heylin. 

.It  is  common  for  people  to  undervalue  what  they  have  forfeited  and  lost  by  their 
folly  and  wickedness,  and  to  overvalue  any  good  that  they  hope  to  attain :  so  Satan  is 
here  made  to  question  whether  earth  be  not  preferable  to  heaven ;  but  this  is  spoken  of 
earth  in  its  primitive  and  original  beauty  before  the  Fall. 

Satan  was  willing  to  insinuate  imperfection  in  God,  as  if  he  had  mended  his  hind  by 
creation,  and  as  if  all  the  works  of  God  were  not  perfect  in  their  kinds,  and  in  their 
degrees,  and  for  the  ends  for  which  they  were  intended. — Newton. 

P  Of  groieth,  sense,  reason. 
The  three  kinds  of  life,  rising  as  it  were  by  steps,  the-  vegetable,  animal,  and  rational  | 
of  all  which  man  partakes,  and  he  only:  he  grows  as  plants,  minerals,  and  all  things 
inanimate  ;  he  lives  as  all  other  animal  creatures ;  but  is  over  and  above  endued  with 
reason. — Ricbakdsom. 


316  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  ix. 

Follow,  as  to  him  link'd  in  weal  or  woe : 

In  woe  then;  that  destruction  wide  may  range. 

To  me  shall  be  the  glory  sole  among 

The  infernal  powers,  in  one  day  to  have  marr'd 

What  he.  Almighty  styled,  six  nights  and  days 

Continued  making;  and  who  knows  how  long 

Before  had  been  contriving?  though  perhaps 

Not  longer  than  since  I,  in  one  night,  freed 

From  servitude  inglorious  well  nigh  half 

The  angelic  name,  and  thinner  left  the  throng 

Of  his  adorers :  ho,  to  be  avenged. 

And  to  repair  his  numbers  thus  impair'd, 

Whether  such  virtue  spent  of  old  now  fail'd 

More  angels  to  create,  if  they  at  least 

Are  his  created ; «  or,  to  spite  us  more, 

Determined  to  advance  into  our  room 

A  creature  form'd  of  earth ;  and  him  endow, 

Exalted  from  so  base  original. 

With  heavenly  spoils,  our  spoils  :  what  he  decreed, 

He  effected ;  man  he  made,  and  for  him  built 

Magnificent  this  world,  and  earth  his  seat. 

Him  lord  pronounced ;  and,  0  indignity  ! 

Subjected  to  his  service  angel-wings. 

And  flaming  ministers  to  watch  and  tend 

Their  earthly  charge  :  of  these  the  vigilance 

I  dread ;  and,  to  elude,  thus  wrapp'd  in  mist 

Of  midnight  vapour  glide  obscure ;   and  pry 

In  every  bush  and  brake,  where  hap  may  find 

The  serpent  sleeping ;  in  whose  mazy  folds 

To  hide  me,  and  the  dark  intent  I  bring. 

0  foul  descent !  that  I,  who  erst  contended 

With  gods  to  sit  the  highest,  am  now  constrain'd 

Into  a  beast;  and,  mix'd  with  bestial  slime. 

This  essence  to  incarnate  and  imbrute, 

That  to  the  highth  of  deity  aspired  ! 

But  what  will  not  ambition  and  revenge 

Descend  to  ?     Who  aspires,  must  down  as  low 

As  high  he  soar'd ;  obnoxious,  first  or  last, 

To  basest  things.     Revenge,  at  first  though  sweet. 

Bitter  ere  long,  back  on  itself  recoils  :■" 

Let  it ;  I  reck  not,'  so  it  light  well  aim'd, 

q  If  they  at  least 
Are  M»  created. 
He  questions  whether  the  angels  were  created  by  God :  he  had  before  asserted  that 
they  were  not,  to  the  angels  themselves,  b.  v.  869. — Newton. 

>•  Back  on  itself  recoils. 
The  same  sentiment  as  in  '  Comua,'  t.  593 : — 

But  evil  on  itself  shall  back  recoil. — ^Todb 

»  Let  it ;  /  reck  not. 
A  truly  diabolical  sentiment.     So  he  can  but  be  any  way  revenged,  he  does  not  value, 
though  his  revenge  recoil  on  himself. — Newton. 


BOOK  IX.] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


317 


Since  higher  I  fall  short,  on  hitn  who  next 
Provokes  mj  envy,  this  new  favourite 
Of  Heaven,  this  man  of  clay,  son  of  despite ; 
Whom,  us  the  more  to  spite,  his  Maker  raised 
From  dust :  spite  then  with  spite  is  best  repaid. 

So  saying,  through  each  thicket  dank  or  dry, 
Like  a  black  mist  low-creeping,  he  held  on 
His  midnight  search,  where  soonest  he  might  find 
The  serpent :  him  fast  sleeping  soon  he  found 
In  labyrinth  of  many  a  round  self-roll'd. 
His  head  the  midst,  well  stored  with  subtle  wiles : 
Not  yet  in  horrid  shade  or  dismal  den, 
Nor  nooent  yet ;  but,  on  the  grassy  herb. 
Fearless  unfear'd  he  slept :  in  at  his  mouth 
The  devil  enter'd ;  and  his  brutal  sense. 
In  heart  or  head,  possessing,  soon  inspired 
With  act  intelligential ;  but  his  sleep 
Disturb'd  not,  waiting  close  the  approach  of  morn. 

Now,  when  as  sacred  light*  began  to  dawn 
In  Eden  on  the  humid  flowers,  that  breathed 
Their  morning  incense,"  when  all  things  that  breathe, 
From  the  earth's  great  altar  send  up  silent  praise 
To  the  Creator,  and  his  nostrils  fill 
With  grateful  smell,  forth  came  the  human  pair, 
And  join'd  their  vocal  worship  to  the  quire 
Of  creatures  wanting  voice ;  that  done,  partake 
The  season,  prime  for  sweetest  scents  and  airs : 
Then  commune,  how  that  day  they  best  may  ply 
Their  growing  work ;  for  much  their  work  outgrew 
The  hands'  dispjitch  of  two,  gardening  so  wide ; 
And  Eve  first  to.  her  husband  tjius  began : 

Adam,  well  may  we  labour,  still  to  dress 
This  garden,  stiH  to  tend  plant,  herb,  and  flower, 
Our  pleasant  task  eujoin'd ;  but,  till  more  hands 
Aid  us,  the  work  under  our  labour  grows, 


I  have  often  wondered  that  this  speech  of  Satan's  escaped  the  particular  observatioii 
of  Addison.  There  is  not  in  my  opinion  any  one  in  the  whole  book  that  is  worked  up 
with  greater  judgment,  or  better  suited  to  the  character  of  the  speaker.  There  is  all 
the  horror  and  malignity  of  a  fiend-like  spirit  expressed;  and  yet  this  is  so  artfully 
tempered  with  Satan's  starts  of  recollection  upon  the  meanness  and  folly  of  what  he 
was  going  to  undertake,  as  plainly  show  the  remains  of  the  archangel,  and  the  ruina  of 
a  superior  nature. — Thyeb. 

»  Now  when  a»  aaered  liuht. 
This  is  the  morning  of  the  ninth  day,  as  i-ar  as  we  can  reckon  the  time  in  this  poem; 
a  great  part  of  the  action  lying  out  of  the  sphere  of  day.  The  first  day  we  reckon  that 
wherein  Satan  came  to  the  earth  ;  the  space  of  seven  days  after  that  he  was  coasting 
round  the  earth;  he  comes  into  Paradise  aga-n  by  night;  and  this  is  the  beginning  of 
the  ninth  day,  and  the  last  of  man's  innocence  and  happiness.  The  morning  is  often 
called  "sacred"  by  the  poets,  because  that  time  is  usually  allotted  to  sacrifice  and 
devotion,  as  Eustathius  says,  in  his  remarks  on  Homer. . 

"  Their  morning  incense. 

Incense  of  the  breathing  spring. — Pope. 
Incenso-breathing  mom. — Gray 


318 PARADISE  LOST.  [book  ix. 

Luxurious  by  restraint :  what  we  by  day 
Lop  overgrown,  or  prune,  or  prop,  or  bind, 
One  night  or  two  with  wanton  growth  derides, 
Tending  to  wild.     Thou  therefore  now  advise, 
Or  hear  what  to  my  mind  first  thoughts  present ; 
Let  us  divide  our  labours;  thou,  where  choice 
Leads  thee,  or  where  most  needs ;  whether  to  wind 
The  woodbine  round  this  arbour,  or  direct 
The  clasping  ivy  where  to  climb  :  while  I, 
In  yonder  spring  of  roses  intermix'd 
With  myrtle,  find  what  to  redress  till  noon : 
For,  while  so  near  each  other  thus  all  day 
Our  task  we  choose,  what  wonder  if  so  near^ 
Looks  intervene  and  smiles,  or  object  new 
Casual  discourse  draw  on ;  which  intermits 
Our  day's  work,  brought  to  little,  though  begun 
Early,  and  the  hour  of  supper  comes  unearn'd  ? 
To  whom  mild  answer  Adam  thus  return'd  : 
Sole  Eve,  associate  sole,  to  me  beyond 
Compare  above  all  living  creatures  dear  ! 
Well  hast  thou  motion'd,  well  thy  thoughts  employ'd 
How  we  might  best  fulfil  the  work  which  here 
God  hath  assign'd  us ;  nor  of  me  shalt  pass 
Unpraised;  for  nothing  lovelier  can  be  found 
In  woman,  than  to  study  household  good, 
And  good  works  in  her  husband  to  promote. 
Yet  not  so  strictly  hath  our  Lord  imposed 
Labour,  as  to  debar  us  when  we  need 
Refreshment,  whether  food,  or  talk  between. 
Food  of  the  mind,  or  this  sweet  intercourse 
Of  looks  and  smiles;  for  smiles  from  reason  flow, 
To  brute  denied;  and  are  of  love  the  food ; 
Love,  not  the  lowest  end  of  human  life. 
For  not  to  irksome  toil,  but  to  delight. 
He  made  us,  and  delight  to  reason  join'd. 
These  paths  and  bowers  doubt  not  but  our  joint  hands 
Will  keep  from  wilderness  with  ease,  as  wide 
As  we  need  walk ;  till  younger  hands  ere  long 
Assist  us  :  but  if  much  converse  perhaps 
Thee  satiate,  to  short  absence  I  could  yield  j 
For  solitude  sometimes  is  best  society, 
And  short  retirement  urges  sweet  return. 
But  other  doubt  possesses  me,  lest  harm 
Befall  thee  sever'd  from  me  ;  for  thou  know'st 
What  hath  been  warn'd  us ;  what  malicious  foe, 
Envying  our  happiness,  and  of  his  own 

^'  aS^  near. 
The  repetition,  so  near,  is  extremely  beautiful;  and  naturally  comes  in  here,  as  the 
chief  intent  of  Eve's  speech  was  to  persuade  Adam  to  let  her  go  from  him:  she 
therefore  dwells  on  so  near,  as  the  great  obstacle  to  their  working  to  any  purpose.— 

BTILLUiaFLEET. 


BOOK  IX.]  PARADISE  LOST.  319 

Despairing,  seeks  to  work  us  woe  and  shame 

By  sly  assault ;  and  somewhere  nigh  at  hand 

Watches,  no  doubt,  with  greedy  hope  to  find 

His  wish  and  best  advantage,  us  asunder ; 

Hopeless  to  circumvent  us  join'd,  where  each 

To  other  speedy  aid  might  lend  at  need : 

Whether  his  first  design  be  to  withdraw 

Our  fealty  from  God ;  or  to  disturb 

Conjugal  love,  than  which  perhaps  no  bliss 

Enioy'd  by  us  excites  his  envy  more ; 

Or  this,  or  worse,  leave  not  the  faithful  side 

That  gave  thee  being,  still  shades  thee,  and  protects. 

The  wife,  where  danger  or  dishonour  lurks, 

Safest  and  Re^mliest  by  her  husband  stays, 

Who  guards  her,  or  with  her  the  worst  endures. 

To  whom  the  virgin  majesty  of  Eve,'^ 
As  one  who  loves,  and  some  unkindness  meets, 
With  sweet  austere  composure  thus  replied : 

Offspring  of  heaven  and  earth,  and  all  earth's  lord ! 
That  such  an  enemy  we  have,  w^ho  seeks 
Our  ruin,  both  by  thee  inform'd  I  learn, 
And  from  the  parting  angel  overheard. 
As  in  a  shady  nook  I  stood  behind. 
Just  then  return'd  at  shut  of  evening  flowers." 
But  that  thou  shouldst  my  firmness  therefore  doubt 
To  God  or  thee,  because  we  have  a  foe 
May  tempt  it,  I  expected  not  to  hear. 
His  violence  thou  fear'st  not;  being  such 
As  we,  not  capable  of  death  or  pain. 
Can  either  not  receive,  or  can  repel. 
His  fraud  is  then  thy  fear ;  w4iich  plain  infers 
Thy  equal  fear,  that  my  firm  faith  and  love 
Can  by  his  fraud  be  shaken  or  seduced ; 
Thoughts,  which  how  found  they  harbour  in  thy  breast, 
Adam,  misthought  of  her  to  thee  so  dear  ? 

w  The  virgin  majesty  of  Eve, 

The  ancients  used  the  word  virgin  with  more  latitude  than  we;  as  Virgil  calls 
Pasiphae  virgin  after  she  had  three  children,  Eel.  vi.  47 ;  and  Ovid  calls  Medea 
"adaltera  virgo,"  Epist.  Hypsip.  Jas.  v.  133.  It  is  put  here  to  denote  beauty,  bloom, 
sweetness,  modesty,  and  all  the  amiable  characters  which  are  usually  found  in  a  virgin ; 
and  these  with  matron  majesty:  what  a  picture ! — Riohardson. 

*  Evening  Jlotoert. 

"VThat  a  natural  notation  of  evening  is  this !  And  a  proper  time  for  her,  who  had 
gone  "  forth  among  her  fruits  and  flowers,"  b.  viii.  44,  to  return.  But  we  must  not  con- 
ceive that  Eve  is  speaking  .of  the  evening  last  past,  for  this  was  a  week  ago.  Satan 
was  caught  tempting  Eve  in  a  dream  and  fled  out  of  Paradise  that  night;  and  with  this 
ends  book  the  fourth.  After  he  had  fled  out  of  Paradise,  he  was  ranging  round  the 
world  seven  days ;  but  we  have  not  any  account  of  Adam  and  Eve,  excepting  only  on 
the  first  of  those  days,  which  begins  with  the  beginning  of  book  the  fifth,  where  Eve 
relates  her  dream  :  that  day  at  noon  the  angel  Raphael  comes  down  from  heaven ;  the 
angel  and  Adam  discourse  together  till  evening,  and  they  part  at  the  end  of  book  the 
eighth.  There  are  six  days  therefore  passed  in  silence;  and  wo  hear  no  more  of  Adam 
and  Eve  till  Satan  has  stolen  again  into  Paradise  — Newton.         .  • 


320  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  IX. 

To  whom  with  healing  words  Adam  replied : 
Daughter  of  God  and  man,  immortal  Eve ! 
For  such  thou  art ;  from  sin  and  blame  entire : 
Not  diffident  of  thee,  do  I  dissuade 
Thy  absence  from  my  sight ;  but  to  avoid 
The  attempt  itself,  intended  by  our  foe. 
For  he  who  tempts,  though  in  vain,  at  least  asperses 
The  tempted  with  dishonour  foul ;  supposed 
Not  incorruptible  of  faith,  not  proof 
Against  temptation  :  thou  thyself  with  scorn 
And  anger  wouldst  resent  the  offer'd  wrong, 
Though  ineffectual  found  :  misdeem  not  then, 
If  such  affront  I  labour  to  avert 
From  thee  alone,  which  on  us  both  at  once 
The  enemy,  though  bold,  will  hardly  dare ; 
Or  daring,  first  on  me  the  assault  shall  light. 
Nor  thou  his  malice  and  false  guile  contemn : 
Subtle  he  needs  must  be,  who  could  seduce 
Angels ;  nor  think  superfluous  others'  aid. 
I,  from  the  influence  of  thy  looks,  receive 
Access  in  every  virtue  :  in  thy  sight 
More  wise,  more  watchful,  stronger,  if  need  were 
Of  outward  strength ;  while  shame,  thou  looking  on, 
Shame  to  be  overcome  or  over-reach'd. 
Would  utmost  vigour  raise,  and  raised  unite. 
Why  shouldst  not  thou  like  sense  within  thee  feel 
When  I  am  present,  and  thy  trial  choose 
With  me,  best  witness  of  thy  virtue  tried  ? 

So  spake  domestic  Adam  in  his  care 
And  matrimonial  love ;  but  Eve,  who  thought 
Less  attributed  to  her  faith  sincere. 
Thus  her  reply  with  accent  sweet  renew'd : 

If  this  be  our  condition,  thus  to  dwell 
In  narrow  circuit  straiten'd  by  a  foe, 
Subtle  or  violent,  we  not  endued 
Single  with  like  defence,  wherever  met; 
How  are  we  happy,  still  in  fear  of  harm  ? 
But  harm  precedes  not  sin :  only  our  foe, 
Tempting,  affronts  us  with  his  foul  esteem 
Of  our  integrity  :  his  foul  esteem 
Sticks  no  dishonour  on  our  front,  but  turns 
Foul  on  himself;  then  wherefore  shunn'd  or  fear'd 
By  us  ?  who  rather  double  honour  gain 
From  his  surmise  proved  false ;  find  peace  within, 
Favour  from  Heaven,  our  witness,  from  the  event. 
And  what  is  faith,  love,  virtue,  unassay'd 
Alone,  without  exterior  help  sustain'd  ? 
Let  us  not  then  suspect  our  happy  state 
Left  so  imperfect  by  the  Maker  wise, 
As  not  secure  to  single  or  combined. 
•  Frail  is  our  happiness,  if  this  be  so ; 


BOOK  IX.]  PARADISE  LOST.  321 

And  Eden  were  no  Eden,  thus  exposed. 

To  whom  thus  Adam  fervently  replied: 
0  woman,  best  are  all  things  as  the  will 
Of  God  ordain'd  them  :  his  creating  hand 
Nothing  impei-fect  or  deficient  left 
Of  all  that  he  created :  much  less  man. 
Or  aught  that  might  his  happy  state  secure, 
Secure  from  outward  force  :  within  himself 
The  danger  lies,  yet  lies  within  his  power : 
Against  his  will  he  can  receive  no  harm  : 
But  God  left  free  the  will ;  for  what  obeys 
Reason,  is  free ;  and  reason  he  made  right, 
But  bid  her  well  be  ware,  and  still  erect  j 
Lest,  by  some  fair-appearing  good  surprised. 
She  dictate  false,  and  misinform  the  will 
To  do  what  God  expressly  hath  forbid. 
Not  then  mistrust,  but  tender  love,  enjoins, 
That  I  should  mind  thee  oft :  and  mind  thou  me. 
Firm  we  subsist,  yet  possible  to  swerve; 
Since  reason  not  impossibly  may  meet 
Some  specious  object  by  the  foe  suborn' d, 
And  fall  into  deception  unaware. 
Not  keeping  strictest  watch,  as  she  was  warn'd. 
Seek  not  temptation  then,  which  to  avoid 
Were  better,  and  most  likely  if  from  me 
Thou  sever  not :  trial  will  come  unsought. 
Wouldst  thou  approve  thy  constancy  ?  approve 
First  thy  obedience ;  the  other  who  can  know  7 
Not  seeing  thee  attempted,  who  attest  ? 
But  if  thou  think  trial  unsought  may  find 
Us  both  securer  than  thus  warn'd  thou  seem'st. 
Go;  for  thy  stay,  not  free,  absents  thee  more;  »     . 

y  Thiu  Adam  fervently. 
What  Eve  had  just  now  said  required  some  reprimand  from  Adam,  and  it  was 
necessary  to  describe  him  as  in  some  degree  displeased ;  but  what  extreme  delicacy  has 
our  author  shown  in  choosing  the  word  fervently  to  express  it  by !  A  term,  which, 
though  it  implies  some  emotion,  yet  carries  nothing  in  its  idea  inconsistent  with  that 
subserviency  of  the  passions  which  subsisted  before  the  Fall.  In  the  two  foregoing 
speeches  he  had  made  Adam  address  himself  to  her  in  the  affectionate  terms  of ''  sole 
Eve,  associate  sole,"  and  "Daughter  of  God  and  man,  immortal  Eve;"  but  hero  with 
great  judgment  he  changes  those  endearing  words  for  these  more  authoritative, — "  0 
woman!"  I  should  think  that  Milton  in  this  expression  alluded  to  what  our  Saviour  said 
to  the  Virgin  Mary, — "  Woman,  what  have  I  to  do  with  thee  ?"  were  not  I  satisfied  that 
he  could  not  with  his  learning  take  these  words  in  the  vulgar  mistaken  sense,  which 
our  translation  naturally  leads  ignorant  readers  into;  and  must  very  well  know  that 
Tvvii,  amongst  the  Greeks,  is  a  term  of  great  respect.  Indeed,  throughout  this  whole 
conversation,  which  the  poet  has  in  every  respect  worked  up  to  a  faultless  perfection, 
there  is  the  most  exact  observance  of  justness  and  propriety  of  character.  With  what 
strength  is  the  superior  excellency  of  man's  understanding  here  pointed  out,  and  how 
nicely  does  our  author  here  sketch  out  the  defects  peculiar  in  general  to  the  female 
mind !  and  after  all,  what  great  art  has  he  shown  in  making  Adam,  contrary  to  his 
better  reason,  grant  his  spouse's  request,  beautifully  verifying  what  he  had  made  our 
general  ancestor  a  little  before  observe  to  the  angel !  b.  viii.  6d6,  Ac. — Thyer. 

*  Go  ;  for  thy  atay,  not  free^  absents  thee  more. 
It  is  related  of  Milton's  first  wife,  that  she  had  not  cohabited  with  him  above  a 
41 


322  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  ix. 

Go  in  thy  native  innocence,  rely 

On  what  thou  hast  of  virtue ;  summon  all : 

For  God  towards  thee  hath  done  his  part;  do  thine. 

So  spake  the  patriarch  of  mankind ;  but  Eve 
Persisted ;  yet  submiss,  though  last,  replied : 

With  thy  permission  then,  and  thus  forwarn'd 
Chiefly  by  what  thy  own  last  reasoning  words 
Touch' d  only ;  that  our  trial,  when  least  sought, 
May  find  us  both  perhaps  far  less  prepared; 
The  willinger  I  go,  nor  much  expect 
A  foe  so  proud  will  first  the  weaker  seek ; 
So  bent,  the  more  shall  shame  him  his  repulse. 

Thus  saying,  from  her  husband's  hand  her  hand 
Soft  she  withdrew,  and,  like  a  wood-nymph  light, 
Oread  or  Dryad,  or  of  Delia's  train. 
Betook  her  to  the  groves ;  but  Delia's  self 
In  gait  surpass'd,  and  goddess-like  deport, 
Though  not  as  she  with  bow  and  quiver  arm'd, 
But  with  such  gardening-tools  as  art,  yet  rude, 
Guiltless  of  fire,  had  form'd,  or  angels  brought. 
To  Pales,  or  Pomona,  thus  adorn'd, 
Likest  she  seem'd ;  Pomona,  when  she  fled 
Ycrtumnus ;  or  to  Ceres  in  her  prime, 
Yet  virgin  of  Proserpina  from  Jove.* 
Her  long  with  ardent  look  his  eye  pursued 
Delighted,  but  desiring  more  her  stay. 
Oft  he  to  her  his  charge  of  quick  return 
Repeated  :  she  to  him  as  oft  engaged 
To  be  return' d  by  noon  amid  the  bower, 
And  all  things  in  best  order  to  invite 
Noontide  repast,  or  afternoon's  repose. 
Oh,  much  deceived,*"  much  failing,  hapless  Eve, 
Of  thy  presumed  return  !  event  perverse ! 
Thou  never  from  that  hour  in  Paradise 
Found' st  either  sweet  repast  or  sound  repose ; 
Such  ambush,  hid  among  sweet  flowers  and  shades, 
Waited  with  hellish  rancour  imminent 
To  intercept  thy  way,  or  send  thee  back 

month  before  she  was  very  desirous  of  returning  to  her  friends  in  the  country,  there  to 
spend  the  remainder  of  the  summer.  We  may  suppose  that,  upon  this  occasion,  their 
oony  ersation  was  somewhat  of  the  same  nature  as  Adam  and  Eve's ;  and  it  was  upon  some 
such  consideration  as  this,  that,  after  much  solicitation,  he  permitted  her  to  go.  It  is 
the  more  probable  that  he  alluded  to  his  own  case  in  this  account  of  Adam  and  Eve's 
parting;  as,  in  the  account  of  their  reconciliation,  it  will  appear  that  he  copied  exactly 
what  happened  to  himself. — NEAfxON. 

»  Virgin  of  Proserpina /rom  Jove. 
A  virgin,  not  having  yet  conceived  Proserpina,  who  was  begot  by  Jove. — Warburton. 

•>  Oh,  much  deceived. 
That  is,  much  failing  of  thy  presumed  return.     These  beautiful  apostrophes   and 
anticipations  are  frequent  in  the  poets,  who  aflFect  to  speak  in  the  character  of  prophets, 
and  like  men  inspired  with  the  knowledge  of  futurity.     See  Virg.  ^n.  x.  501,  Ac,  and 
Ilomer,  II.  xvii.  497. — Newton. 


BOOK   IX.] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


323 


Despoil'd  of  innocence,  of  faith,  of  bliss  ! 

For  now,  and  since  first  break  of  dawn,  the  fiend, 

Mere  serpent  in  appearance,  forth  was  come ; 

And  on  his  quest,  where  likeliest  he  might  find 

The  only  two  of  mankind,  but  in  them 

The  whole  included  race,  his  purposed  prey. 

In  bower  and  field  he  sought,  where  any  tuft 

Of  grove  or  garden-plot  more  pleasant  lay, 

Thoir  tendance,  or  plantation  for  delight ; 

By  fountain  or  by  shady  rivulet 

Ho  sought  them  both,  but  wish'd  his  hap  might  find 

Eve  separate ;  he  wish'd,  but  not  with  hope 

Of  what  so  seldom  chanced ;  when  to  his  wish. 

Beyond  his  hope.  Eve  separate  he  spies, 

Veil'd  in  a  cloud  of  fragrance,  where  she  stood. 

Half  spied,  so  thick  the  roses  blushing  round 

About  her  glow'd,  oft  stooping  to  support 

Each  flower  of  tender  stalk,  whose  head,  though  gay 

Carnation,  purple,  azure,  or  speck' d  with  gold. 

Hung  drooping  unsustain'd ;  them  she  upstays 

Gently  with  myrtle  band,  mindless  the  while 

Herself,  though  fairest  unsupported  flower. 

From  her  best  prop  so  far,  and  storm  so  nigh. 

Nearer  he  drew,  and  many  a  walk  traversed 

Of  stateliest  covert,  cedar,  pine,  or  palm  j 

Then  voluble  and  bold,  now  hid,  now  seen, 

Among  thick-woven  arborets,  and  flowers 

Imborder'd  on  each  bank,  the  hand  of  Eve  : 

Spot  more  delicious  than  those  gardens  feign'd 

Or  of  revived  Adonis,  or  renown'd 

Alcinous,  host  of  old  Laertes'  son ; 

Or  that,  not  mystic,"  where  the  sapient  king 

Held  dalliance  with  his  fair  Egyptian  spouse. 

Much  he  the  place  admired,  the  person  more. 

As  one  who,  long  in  populous  city  pent, 

Where  houses  thick  and  sewers  annoy  the  air, 

Forth  issuing  on  a  summer's  morn,  to  breathe 

Among  the  pleasant  villages  and  farms 

Adjoin' d,  from  each  thing  met  conceives  delight, 

The  smell  of  grain,  or  tedded  grass,  or  kine. 

Or  dairy,  each  rural  sight,  each  rural  sound ; 

If  chance,  with  nymph-like  step,  fair  virgin  pass, 

What  pleasing  seem'd,  for  her  now  pleases  more  j 

She  most,  and  in  her  look  sums  all  delight : 

Such  pleasure  took  the  serpent  to  behold 

This  flowery  plat,  the  sweet  recess  of  Eve 

Thus  early,  thus  alone  :  her  heavenly  form 

Angelic,  but  more  soft,  and  feminine, 


The  garden  of  Solomon. — Todd. 


«  Or  that,  not  myatic 


324  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  ix. 

Her  graceful  innocence,  her  every  air 
Of  gesture,  or  least  action,  overawed 
His  malice,  and  with  rapine  sweet  bereaved 
His  fierceness  of  the  fierce  intent  it  brought : 
That  space  the  evil  one  abstracted  stood 
From  his  own  evil,""  and  for  the  time  remain'd 
Stupidly  good ;  of  enmity  disarm'd. 
Of  guile,  of  hate,  of  envy,  of  revenge  : 
But  the  hot  hell  that  always  in  him  bums. 
Though  in  mid  heaven,  soon  ended  his  delight, 
And  tortures  him  now  more,  the  more  he  sees 
Of  pleasure,  not  for  him  ordain'd :  then  soon 
Fierce  hate  he  recollects ;  and  all  his  thoughts 
Of  mischief,  gratulating,  thus  excites : 

Thoughts,  whither  have  ye  led  me  ?  with  what  sweet 
Compulsion  thus  transported,  to  forget 
What  hither  brought  us  ?  hate,  not  love  j  nor  hope 
Of  Paradise  for  hell,  hope  here  to  taste 
Of  pleasure ;  but  all  pleasure  to  destroy, 
Save  what  is  in  destroying  :  other  joy 
To  me  is  lost.     Then,  let  me  not  let  pass 
Occasion  which  now  smiles ;  behold  alone 
The  woman,  opportune  to  all  attempts. 
Her  husband  (for  I  view  far  round)  not  nigh, 
Whose  higher  intellectual  more  I  shun, 
And  strength,  of  courage  haughty,  and  of  limb 
Heroic  built,  though  of  terrestrial  mould ; 
Foe  not  informidable  !  exempt  from  wound, 
I  not ;  so  much  hath  hell  debased,  and  pain 
Enfeebled  me,  to  what  I  was  in  heaven. 
She  fair,  divinely  fair,  fit  love  for  gods ! 
Not  terrible,  though  terrour  be  in  love 
And  beauty,  not  approach'd  by  stronger  hate, 
Hate  stronger,  under  show  of  love  well  feign'd; 
The  way  which  to  her  ruin  now  I  tend. 

So  spake  the  enemy  of  mankind,  enclosed 
In  serpent,  inmate  bad  !  and  toward  Eve 
Address'd  his  way :  not  with  indented  wave, 
Prone  on  the  ground,  as  since ;  but  on  his  rear, 
Circular  base  of  rising  folds,  that  tower'd 
Fold  above  fold,*  a  surging  maze  !  his  head 
Crested  aloft,  and  carbuncle  his  eyes; 

^  From  Mb  own  evil. 
This  passage  is  pre-eminently  beautiful,  and  of  extraordinary  originality, 

e  Fold  above  fold. 
We  have  the  description  of  such  a  sort  of  serpent  in  Ovid,  Met.  ilL  32  :— 

Criatii  preeaignis  et  auro ; 

Igne  micant  oculi. 

Ille  volubilibus  squanuisos  nexibus  orbes 
Torquet,  et  immensos  saltu  sinuater  in  arcus: 
Ac  media  plus  parte  leves  erectus  in  auras* 
Desnicit  omne  uemua.  &c. 


BOOK  IX.]  PARADISE  LOST.  325 

With  burnish'd  neck  of  verdant  gold,  erect 

Amidst  his  circling  spires,  that  on  the  grass 

Floated  redundant :  pleasing  was  his  shape 

And  lovely ;  never  since  of  serpent-kind 

Lovelier,  not  those  that  in  lUyria  changed 

Hermione  and  Cadmus,'  or  the  god 

In  Epidaurus ;  nor  to  which  transform'd 

Ammonian  Jove  or  Capitoline  was  seen ; 

He  with  Olympius ;  this  with  her  who  bore 

Scipio,  the  highth  of  Rome.     With  tract  oblique 

At  first,  as  one  who  sought  access,  but  fear'd 

To  interrupt,  sidelong  he  works  his  way. 

As  when  a  ship,  by  skilful  steersman  wrought 

Nigh  river's  mouth  or  foreland,  where  the  wind 

Veers  oft,  as  oft  so  steers,  and  shifts  her  sail : 

So  varied  he,  and  of  his  tortuous  train 

Curl'd  many  a  wanton  wreath  in  sight  of  Eve, 

To  lure  her  eye ;  she,  busied,  heard  the  sound  ^ 

Of  rustling  leaves,  but  minded  not,  as  used 

To  such  disport  before  her  through  the  field. 

From  every  beast ;  more  duteous  at  her  call, 

Than  at  Circean  call  the  herd  disguised. 

He,  bolder  now,  uncall'd  before  her  stood, 

But  as  in  gaze  admiring :  oft  he  bow'd 

His  turret  crest,  and  sleek  enamel'd  neck, 

Fawning ;  and  lick'd  the  ground  whereon  she  trod. 

His  gentle  dumb  expression  turn'd  at  length 

The  eye  of  Eve,  to  mark  his  play  j  he,  glad 

Of  her  attention  gain'd,  with  serpent-tongue 

Organic,  or  impulse  of  vocal  air,« 

His  fraudulent  temptation  thus  began  : 

Wonder  not,  sovran  mistress,  if  perhaps 
Thou  canst,  who  art  sole  wonder !  much  less  arm 
Thy  looks,  the  heaven  of  mildness,  with  disdain, 
Displeased  that  I  approach  thee  thus,  and  gaze 
Insatiate ;  I  thus  single ;  nor  have  fear'd 
Thy  awful  brow,  more  awful  thus  retired. 
Fairest  resemblance  of  thy  Maker  fair,     ^ 
Thee  all  things  living  gaze  on,  all  things  thine 
By  gift,  and  thy  celestial  beauty  adore 
With  ravishment  beheld  !  there  best  beheld, 
Where  universally  admired ;  but  here 
In  this  enclosure  wild,  these  beasts  among, 
Beholders  rude,  and  shallow  to  discern 

f  Hermione  and  Cadmus. 
The  serpents  that  changed  Hermione  and  Cadmus  into  themselves. 

s  Organic,  or  'impulse  of  vocal  air. 
That  the  devil  moved  the  serpent's  tongue  and  used  it  as  an  instrument  to  form  that 
tempting  speech  he  made  to  Eve,  is  the  opinion  of  some ;  that  he  formed  a  voice  by 
impression  of  the  sounding  air,  distant  from  the  serpent,  is  that  of  others;  of  which 
Milton  has  left  the  curious  to  their  choice. — Hume. 


326 


PAKADISE  LOST. 


[book  IX. 


Half  what  in  thee  is  fair,  one  man  except, 

Who  sees  thee  ?  (and  what  is  one  ?)  who  shouldst  be  seen 

A  goddess  among  gods,  adored  and  served 

Bj  angels  numberless,  thy  daily  train. 

So  glozed  the  tempter,  and  his  proem  tuned : 
Into  the  heart  of  Eve  his  words  made  way, 
Though  at  the  voice  much  marvelling ;  at  length, 
Not  unamazed,  she  thus  in  answer  spake : 

What  may  this  mean  ?  language  of  man  pronounced 
By  tongue  of  brute,  and  human  sense  expre&s'd  ? 
The  first,  at  least,  of  these  I  thought  denied 
To  beasts ;  whom  God,  on  their  creation-day, 
Created  mute  to  all  articulate  sound  : 
The  latter  I  demur ;  for  in  their  looks 
Much  reason,  and  in  their  actions,  oft  appears. 
Thee,  serpent,  subtlest  beast  of  all  the  field 
I  knew,  but  not  with  human  voice  endued  : 
Redouble  then  this  miracle,  and  say. 
How  camest  thou  speakable  of  mute ;  and  how 
To  me  so  friendly  grown  above  the  rest 
Of  brutal  kind,  that  daily  are  in  sight  ? 
Say,  for  such  wonder  claims  attention  due. 

To  whom  the  guileful  tempter  thus  replied : 
Empress  of  this  fair  world,  resplendent  Eve ! 
Easy  to  me  it  is  to  tell  thee  all 

What  thou  command'st  j  and  right  thou  shouldst  be  otey'd : 
I  was  at  first  as  other  beasts  that  graze 
The  trodden  herb,  of  abject  thoughts  and  low, 
As  was  my  food ;  nor  aught  but  food  discern' d, 
Or  sex,  and  apprehended  nothing  high : 
Till,  on  a  day  roving  the  field,  I  chanced 
A  goodly  tree  far  distant  to  behold 
Loaden  with  fruit  of  fairest  colours  mix'd, 
Buddy  and  gold  :  I  nearer  drew  to  gaze ; 
When  from  the  boughs  a  savoury  odour  blown, 
Grateful  to  appetite,  more  pleased  my  sense 
Than  smell  of  sweetest  fennel,  or  the  teats 
Of  ewe  or  goat  dropping  with  milk  at  even, 
Unsuck'd  of  lamb  or  kid,  that  tend  their  play. 
To  satisfy  the  sharp  desire  I  had 
Of  tasting  those  fair  apples,  I  resolved 
Not  to  defer;  hunger  and  thirst  at  once. 
Powerful  persuaders,  quicken'd  at  the  scent 
Of  that  alluring  fruit,  urged  me  so  keen. 
About  the  mossy  trunk  I  wound  me  soon ; 
For,  high  from  ground,  the  branches  would  require 
Thy  utmost  reach  or  Adam's :  round  the  tree 
All  other  beasts  that  saw,  with  like  desire 
Longing  and  envying  stood,  but  could  not  reach. 
Amid  the  tree  now  got,  where  plenty  hung 
Tempting  so  nigh,  to  pluck  and  eat  my  fill 


BOOK  IX.]  PARADISE  LOST.  32T 

I  spared  not ;  for  such  pleasure  till  that  houTi 

At  feed  or  fountain,  never  had  I  found. 

Sated  at  length,  ere  long  I  might  perceive 

Strange  alteration  in  me,  to  degree 

Of  reason  in  my  inward  powers ;  and  speech 

"Wanted  not  long ;  though  to  this  shape  retain'd. 

Thenceforth  to  speculations  high  or  deep 

I  turn'd  my  thoughts,  and  with  capacious  mind 

Consider'd  al*.  things  visible  in  heaven, 

Or  earth,  or  middle ;  all  things  fair  and  good : 

But  all  that  fair  and  good  in  thy  divine 

Semblance,  and  in  thy  beauty's  heavenly  ray, 

United  I  beheld.;  no  fair  to  thine 

Equivalent  or  second  !  which  compcll'd 

Me  thus,  though  importune  perhaps,  to  come 

And  gaze,  and  worship  thee,  of  right  declared 

Sovran  of  creatures,  universal  dame  ! 

So  taUc'd"*  the  spirited  sly  snake  j  and  Eve, 
-     Yet  more  amazed,  unwary  thus  replied : 

Serpent,  thy  overpraising  leaves  in  doubt 
The  virtue  of  that  fruit,  in  thee  first  proved  : 
But  say,  where  grows  the  tree  ?  from  hence  how  far  ? 
For  many  are  the  trees  of  Grod  that  grow 
In  Paradise,  and  various,  yet  unknown 
To  us ;  in  such  abundance  lies  our  choice, 
As  leaves  a  greater  store  of  fruit  untouch'd 
Still  hanging  incorruptible,  till  men 
Grow  up  to  their  provision,  and  more  hands 
Help  to  disburden  Nature  of  her  birth. 

To  whom  the  wily  adder,  blithe  and  glad : 
Empress,  the  way  is  ready,  and  not  long ; 
Beyond  a  row  of  myrtles,  on  a  flat. 
Fast  by  a  fountain,  one  small  thicket  past 
Of  blowing  myrrh  and  balm  :  if  thou  accept 
My  conduct,  I  can  bring  thee  thither  soon. 

Lead  then,  said  Eve.     He,  leading,  swiftly  roU'd 
In  tangles,  and  made  intricate  seem  straight, 
To  mischief  swift.     Hope  elevates,  and  joy 
Brightens  his  crest.     As  when  a  wandering  fire, 
Compact  of  unctuous  vapour,  which  the  night 
Condenses,  and  the  cold  environs  round, 
Kindled  through  agitation  to  a  flame. 
Which  oft,  they  say,  some  evil  spirit  attends, 
Hovering  and  blazing  with  delusive  light. 
Misleads  the  amazed  night-wanderer  from  his  way 
To  bogs  and  mires,  and  oft  through  pond  or  pool ; 
There  swallow'd  up  and  lost,  from  succour  far : 

h  So  talk'd. 
Milton  has  shown  more  art  in  taking  off  the  common  objections  to  the  Mosaichistory 
of  the  temptation,  by  the  addition  of  some  circumstances  of  his  own  invention,  than  in 
any  other  theological  part  of  his  poem. — Warbukton. 


328 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[book   IX. 


So  glister' d  the  dire  snake,  and  into  fraud 

Led  Eve,  our  credulous  mother,  to  the  tree 

Of  prohibition,  root  of  all  our  woe ; 

Which  when  she  saw,  thus  to  her  guide  she  spake : 

Serpent,  we  might  have  spared  our  coming  hither, 
Fruitless  to  me,  though  fruit  be  here  to  excess, 
The  credit  of  whose  virtue  rest  with  thee ; 
Wondrous  indeed,  if  cause  of  such  effects ! 
But  of  this  tree  we  may  not  taste  nor  touch ; 
God  so  commanded,  and  left  that  command 
Sole  daughter  of  his  voice  :  the  rest,  we  live 
Law  to  ourselves ; '  our  reason  is  our  law. 

To  whom  the  tempter  guilefully  replied : 
Indeed  ! "  hath  God  then  said  that  of  the  fruit 
Of  all  these  garden-trees  ye  shall  not  eat. 
Yet  lords  declared  of  all  in  earth  or  air  ? 

To  whom  thus  Eve,  yet  sinless  :  Of  the  fruit 
Of  each  tree  in  the  garden  we  may  eat; 
But  of  the  fruit  of  this  fair  tree  amidst 
The  garden,  God  hath  said.  Ye  shall  not  eat 
Thereof,  nor  shall  ye  touch  it,  kst  ye  die. 

She  scarce  had  said,  though  brief,  when  now  more  bold 
The  tempter,  but  with  show  of  zeal  and  love 
To  man,  and  indignation  at  his  wrong. 
New  part  puts  on ;  and,  as  to  passion  moved, 
Fluctuates  disturb' d,  yet  comely  and  in  act 
Raised,  as  of  some  great  matter  to  begin. 
As  when  of  old  some  orator  renown'd, 
In  Athens,  or  free  Rome,  where  eloquence 
Flourish' d,  since  mute,  to  some  great  cause  addressed. 
Stood  in  himself  collected ;  while  each  part. 
Motion,  each  act,  won  audience  ere  the  tongue; 
Sometimes  in  highth  began,  as  no  delay 
Of  preface  brooking,  through  his  zeal  of  right : 
So  standing,  moving,  or  to  highth  upgrown. 
The  tempter,  all  impassion'd,  thus  began  : 

0  sacred,  wise,  and  wisdom-giving  plant. 
Mother  of  science  !  now  I  feel  thy  power 
Within  me  clear;  not  only  to  discern 
Things  in  their  causes,  but  to  trace  the  ways 
Of  highest  agents,  deem'd  however  wise. 

'  Law  to  ourtelves. 
See  Rom.  ii,  14 :  "  These  having  not  the  law,  are  a  law  unto  themselves." — Richardson. 

k  Indeed. 
See  Gen.  iii.  1 :  "Yea,  hath  God  said,  Ye  shall  not  eat  of  every  tree  of  the  garden !" 
In  which  our  author  has  followed  the  Chaldee  paraphrase,  interpreting  the  Hebrew  par- 
ticle indeed.  Is  it  true  that  God  has  forbidden  you  to  eat  of  the  fruits  of  Paradise?  as 
if  he  had  forbidden  them  to  taste,  not  of  one,  but  of  all  the  trees ;  another  of  Satan's 
sly  ini;inuations.  The  Hebrew  particle  yea,  or  indeed,  plainly  shows  that  the  short  and 
summary  account  which  Moses  gives  of  the  serpent's  temptation  has  respect  to  some 
previous  discourse,  which  could,  in  all  probability,  be  no  other  than  what  Milton  has 
pitched  upon. — Hume. 


BOOK  IX.]  PARADISE  LOST.  329 

Queen  of  this  universe  !  do  not  believe 

Those  rigid  threats  of  death  :  ye  shall  not  die;* 

How  should  you  ?  by  the  fruit  ?  it  gives  you  life 

To  knowledge  j  by  the  threatener  ?  look  on  me, 

Me,  who  have  touched  and  tasted ;  yet  both  live, 

And  life  more  perfect  have  attain'd  than  fate 

Meant  me,  by  venturing  higher  than  my  lot. 

Shall  that  be  shut  to  man,  which  to  the  beast 

Is  open  ?  or  will  God  incense  his  ire 

For  such  a  petty  trespass  ?  and  not  praise 

Rather  your  dauntless  virtue,  whom  the  pain 

Of  death  denounced,  whatever  thing  death  be, 

Deterr'd  not  from  achieving  what  might  lead 

To  happier  life,  knowledge  of  good  and  evil ; 

Of  good,  how  just  ?  of  evil,  if  what  is  evil 

Be  real,  why  not  known,  since  easier  shunn'd  ? 

God  therefore  cannot  hurt  ye,  and  be  just : 

Not  just,  not  God ;  not  fear'd  then,  nor  obeyd : 

Your  fear  itself  of  death  "•  removes  the  fear. 

Why  then  was  this  forbid  ?  why,  but  to  awe  ? 

Why,  but  to  keep  ye  low  and  ignorant. 

His  worshippers  ?     He  knows,  that  in  the  day 

Ye  eat  thereof,  your  eyes,  that  seem  so  clear. 

Yet  are  but  dim,  shall  perfectly  be  then 

Open'd  and  clear'd,  and  ye  shall  be  as  gods, 

Knowing  both  good  and  evil,  as  they  know. 

That  ye  shall  be  as  gods,  since  I  as  man, 

Internal  man,  is  but  proportion  meet ; 

I,  of  brute,  human ;  ye,  of  human,  gods. 

So  ye  shall  die  perhaps,  by  putting  off 

Human,  to  put  on  gods ;  deatb  to  be  wish'd. 

Though  threaten' d,  which  no  worse  than  this  can  bring, 

And  what  are  gods,  that  man  may  not  become 

As  they,  participating  godlike  food  ? 

The  gods  are  first,  and  that  advantage  use 

On  our  belief,  that  all  from  them  proceeds : 

I  question  it ;  for  this  fair  earth  I  see, 

Warm'd  by  the  sun,  producing  every  kind ; 

Them,  nothing  :  if  they  all  things ;  who  enclosed 

Knowledge  of  good  and  evil  in  this  tree. 

That  whoso  eats  thereof,  forthwith  attains 

Wisdom  without  their  leave  ?  and  wherein  lies 

The  offence,  that  man  should  thus  attain  to  know? 

1  Ye  thall  not  die. 
See  Gen.  iii.  4:  "And  the  eerpent  said  unto  the  woman,  Te  shall  not  nirely  die.' 
And  it  is  very  artfully  contrived  by  Milton  to  make  the  serpent  give  an  instance  in  him- 
self.— Newton. 

»  Your  /ear  itself  of  death. 
Justice  is  inseparable  from  the  very  being  and  essence  of  God ;  so  that  could  he  be 
unjust,  he  would  be  no  longer  God,  and  then  neither  to  be  obeyed  nor  feared ;  so  that 
the  fear  of  death,  which  does  imply  injustice  in  God,  destroys  itself,  becaus  God  can 
as  well  cease  to  be,  as  to  be  just :  a  Satanic  syllogism. — Hcme. 
43 


330  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  ix 

What  can  your  knowledge  hurt  him,  or  this  tree 

Impart  against  his  will,  if  all  be  his  ? 

Or  is  it  envy  ?  and  can  envy  dwell 

In  heavenly  breasts  ?     These,  these,  and  many  more 

Causes  import  your  need  of  this  fair  fruit. 

Goddess  humane,  reach  then,  and  freely  taste. 

He  ended ;  and  his  words,  replete  with  guile, 
Into  her  heart  too  easy  entrance  won  : 
Fix'd  on  the  fruit  she  gazed,  which  to  behold 
Might  tempt  alone ;  and  in  her  ears  the  sound 
Yet  rung  of  his  persuasive  words,  impregn'd 
With  reason,  to  her  seeming,  and  with  truth : 
Meanwhile  the  hour  of  noon  drew  on,  and  waked 
An  eager  appetite,  raised  by  the  smell 
So  savoury  of  that  fruit,  which  with  desire, 
Inclinable  now  grown  to  touch  or  taste, 
Solicited  her  longing  eye ;  yet  first 
Pausing  awhile,  thus  to  herself  she  mused  : 

Great  are  thy  virtues,  doubtless,  best  of  fruits, 
Though  kept  from  man,  and  worthy  to  be  admired  j 
Whose  taste,  too  long  forborne,  at  first  assay 
Gave  elocution  to  the  mute,  and  taught 
The  tongue  not  made  for  speech  to  speak  thy  praise. 
Thy  praise  he  also,  who  forbids  thy  use. 
Conceals  not  from  us,  naming  thee  the  tree 
Of  Knowledge,  knowledge  both  of  good  and  evilj 
Forbids  us  then  to  taste :  but  his  forbidding 
Commends  thee  more,  while  it  infers  the  good 
By  thee  communicated,  and  our  want : 
For  good  unknown  sure  is  not  had  j  or,  had 
And  yet  unknown,  is  as  not  had  at  all. 
In  plain  then,  what  forbids  he  but  to  know. 
Forbids  us  good,  forbids  us  to  be  wise? 
Such  prohibitions  bind  not.     But,  if  death 
Bind  us  with  after-bands,  what  profits  then 
Our  inward  freedom  ?     In  the  day  we  eat 
Of  this  fair  fruit,  our  doom  is,  we  shall  die ! 
How  dies  the  serpent  ?  he  hath  eaten  and  lives. 
And  knows,  and  speaks,  and  reasons,  and  discerns, 
Irrational  till  then.     For  us  alone 
Was  death  invented  ?  or  to  us  denied 
This  intellectual  food,  for  beasts  reserved  ? 
For  beasts  it  seems :  yet  that  one  beast  which  first 
Hath  tasted  envies  not,  but  brings  with  joy 
The  good  befallen  him,  authour  unsuspect. 
Friendly  to  man,  far  from  deceit  or  guile. 
What  fear  I  then  ?  rather,  what  know  to  fear 
Under  this  ignorance  of  good  or  evil, 
Of  God  or  death,  of  law  or  penalty  ? 
Here  grows  the  cure  of  all,  this  fruit  divine, 
Fair  to  the  eye,  inviting  to  the  taate, 


BOOK  IX.]  PARADISE  LOST.  331 

Of  virtue  to  make  wise  :  what  hinders  then 

To  reach,  and  feed  at  once  both  body  and  mind? 

So  saying,  her  rash  hand  in  evil  hour 
Forth  reaching  to  the  fruit,  she  pluck'd,  she  eat  I 
Earth  felt  the  wound ;  and  Nature  from  her  seat, 
Sighing  through  all  her  works,  gave  signs  of  woe, 
That  all  was  lost.     Back  to  the  thicket  slunk 
The  guilty  serpent,  and  well  might ;  for  Eve, 
Intent  now  wholly  on  her  taste,  naught  else 
Regarded ;  such  delight  till  then,  as  seera'd, 
In  fruit  she  never  tasted  j  whether  true 
Or  fancied  so,  through  expectation  high 
Of  knowledge  :  nor  was  godhead  from  her  thought. 
Greedily  she  ingorged  without  restraint, 
And  knew  not  eating  death  :  satiate  at  length. 
And  highten'd  as  with  wine,  jocund  and  boon. 
Thus  to  herself"  she  pleasingly  began : 

0  sovran,  virtuous,  precious  of  all  trees 
In  Paradise  !  of  operation  blest 
To  sapience,  hitherto  obscured,  infamed, 
I       And  thy  fair  fruit  let  hang,  as  to  no  end 
Created ;  but  henceforth  my  early  care, 
Not  without  song,  each  morning,  and  due  praise, 
Shall  tend  thee,  and  the  fertile  burden  ease 
Of  thy  full  branches  offer' d  free  to  all  j 
Till,  dieted  by  thee,  I  grow  mature 
In  knowledge,  as  the  gods,  who  all  things  know 
Though  others  envy  what  they  cannot  give : 
For,  had  the  gift  been  theirs,  it  had  not  here 
Thus  grown.     Experience,  next,  to  thee  I  owe. 
Best  guide :  not  following  the©,  I  had  remain'd 
In  ignorance ;  thou  opeu'st  wisdom's  way, 

n  Thita  to  herself. 
As  our  author  had,  in  the  preceding  conference  betwixt  our  first  parents,  described, 
with  the  greatc-t  art  and  decency,  the  subordination  and  inferiority  of  the  female  cha- 
racter in  strength  of  reason  and  understanding ;  so,  in  this  soliloquy  of  Eve's,  after 
tasting  the  forbidden  fruit,  one  may  observe  the  same  judgment,  in  his  varying  and 
adapting  it  to  the  condition  of  her  fallen  nature.  Instead  of  those  little  defects  in  her 
intellectual  faculties  before  the  fall,  which  were  suiBciently  compensated  by  her  out- 
war  1  charms,  and  were  rather  softenings  than  blemishes  in  her  character;  we  see  her 
now  running  into  the  greatest  absurdities,  and  indulging  the  wildest  imaginations.  It 
has  been  remarked  that  our  poet,  in  this  work,  seems  to  court  the  favour  of  his  female 
readers  vary  much:  yet  I  cannot  help  thinking,  but  that  in  this  place  he  intended  a 
satirical  as  well  as  a  moral  hint  to  the  ladies,  in  making  one  of  Eve's  first  thoughts, 
after  her  fatal  lapse,  to  be  how  to  get  the  superiority  and  mastery  over  her  husband. 
There  is,  however,  I  think,  a  defect  in  this  speech  of  Eve's,  that  there  is  no  notice  taken 
of  the  serpent  in  it  Our  author  very  naturally  represents  her,  in  the  first  transports 
of  delight,  expressing  jer  gratitude  to  the  fruit,  which  she  fancied  had  wrought  such  a 
happy  change  in  her :  and  next  to  "  experience,  her  best  guide ;"  but  how  is  it  possible 
that  she  should,  in  these  rapturous  acknowledgments,  forget  her  guide  and  instructor, 
the  serpent,  to  whom,  in  her  then  notion  of  things,  she  must  think  herself  the  most 
Indebted?  I  do  not  doubt  that  Milton  was  sensible  of  this;  but,  had  he  made  Eve 
mention  the  serpent,  he  could  not  have  avoided  too  making  her  observe  that  be  waa 
slunk  away ;  which  might  have  given  her  some  suspicions,  and  would  consequently 
have  much  altered  the  scene  which  follows  between  Adam  and  her. — Thyjsr. 


332  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  ix. 

And  givest  access,  though  secret  she  retire. 
And  I  perhaps  am  secret :  °  Heaven  is  high, 
High,  and  remote  to  see  from  thence  distinct 
Each  thing  on  earth  j  and  other  care  perhaps 
May  have  diverted  from  continual  watch 
Our  Great  Forbidder,  safe  with  all  his  spies 
About  him.     But  to  Adam  in  what  sort 
Shall  I  appear  ?  shall  I  to  him  make  known 
As  yet  my  change,  and  give  him  to  partake 
Full  happiness  with  me  ;  or  rather  not. 
But  keep  the  odds  of  knowledge  in  my  power 
Without  copartner  ?  so  to  add  what  wants 
In  female  sex,  the  more  to  draw  his  love, 
And  render  me  more  equal ;  and  perhaps, 
A  thing  not  undesirable,  sometime 
Superiour;  for,  inferiour,  who  is  free? 
This  may  be  well :  but  what  if  Grod  have  seen, 
And  death  ensue  ?  then  I  shall  be  no  more  I 
And  Adam,  wedded  to  another  Eve, 
Shall  live  with  her  enjoying,  I  extinct; 
A  death  to  think !     Confirm'd  then  I  resolve, 
Adam  shall  share  with  me  in  bliss  or  woe : 
So  dear  I  love  him,  that  with  him  all  deaths 
I  could  endure,  without  him  live  no  life. 

So  saying,  from  the  tree  her  step  she  turn'dj 
But  first  low  reverence  done,  as  to  the  power 
That  dwelt  within,  whose  presence  had  infused 
Into  the  plant  sciential  sap,  derived 
From  nectar,  drink  of  gods.     Adam  the  while. 
Waiting  desirous  her  return,  had  wove 
Of  choicest  flowers  a  garland,  to  adorn 
Her  tresses,  and  her  rural  labours  crown ; 
As  reapers  oft  are  wont  their  harvest  queen. 
Great  joy  he  promised  to  his  thoughts,  and  new 
Solace  in  her  return,  so  long  delay'd : 
Yet  oft  his  heart,  divine  of  something  ill. 
Misgave  him;  he  the  faltering  measure  felt; 
And  forth  to  meet  her  went,  the  way  she  took 
That  morn  when  first  they  parted :  by  the  tree 
Of  knowledge  he  must  pass ;  there  he  her  met, 
Scarce  from  the  tree  returning;  in  her  hand 
A  bough  of  fairest  fruit,  that  downy  smiled, 
New  gather'd,  and  ambrosial  smell  diffused. 
To  him  she  hasted ;  in  her  face  excuse 
Came  prologue,  and  apology  too  prompt ; 
Which,  with  bland  words  at  will,  she  thus  addressed : 

Hast  thou  not  wonder' d,  Adam,  at  my  stay  ? 

0  And  I  perhaps  am  tecret. 
She  questions  even  GJod's  Oinniscienco,  and  flatters  herself  that  she  is  still  in  secret 
Eke  other  sinners,  wh .  say,  "  The  Lord  shall  act  see,  neither  shall  the  God  of  Jacob 
regard  it.      Psalm  xeit .  7. — Newton. 


PARADISE  LOST.  333 


Thee  I  have  miss'd,  and  thought  it  long,  deprived 

Thy  presence ;  agony  of  love  till  now 

Not  felt,  nor  shall  be  twice ;  for  never  more 

Mean  I  to  try,  what  rash  untried  I  sought. 

The  pain  of  absence  from  thy  sight.     But  strange 

Hath  been  the  cause,  and  wonderful  to  hear : 

This  tree  is  not,  as  we  are  told,  a  tree 

Of  danger  tasted,  nor  to  evil  unknown 

Opening  the  way ;  but  of  divine  effect 

To  open  eyes,  and  make  them  gods  who  taste ; 

And  hath  been  tasted  such :  the  serpent,  wise, 

Or  not  restrain'd  as  we,  or  not  obeying. 

Hath  eaten  of  the  fruit ;  and  is  become. 

Not  dead,  as  we  are  threaten'd,  but  thenceforth 

Endued  with  human  voice  and  human  sense. 

Reasoning  to  admiration;  and  with  me 

Persuasively  hath  so  prevail'd,  that  I 

Have  also  tasted,  and  have  also  found 

The  effects  to  correspond  :  opener  mine  eyes, 

Dim  erst,  dilated  spirits,  ampler  heart. 

And  growing  up  to  godhead ;  which  for  thee 

Chiefly  I  sought,  without  thee  can  despise. 

For  bliss,  as  thou  hast  part,  to  me  is  bliss ; 

Tedious,  unshared  with  thee,  and  odious  soon. 

Thou  therefore  also  taste,  that  equal  lot      ^ 

May  join  us,  equal  joy,  as  equal  love; 

Lest,  thou  not  tasting,  different  degree 

Disjoin  us,  and  I  then  +00  late  renounce 

Deity  for  thee,  when  fate  will  not  permit. 

Thus  Eve  with  countenance  blithe  her  story  told; 
But  in  her  cheek  distemper  flushing  glow'd. 
On  the  other  side,  Adam,  soon  as  he  heard 
The  fatal  trespass  done  by  Eve,  amazed, 
Astonied  stood  and  blank,  while  horror  chill 
Ran  through  his  veins,  and  all  his  joints  relax'd; 
From  his  slack  hand  the  garland  wreathed  for  Eve 
Down  dropp'd,  and  all  the  faded  roses  shed : 
Speechless  he  stood  and  pale ;  till  thus  at  length 
First  to  himself  he  inward  silence  broke : 

0.  fairest  of  creation,  last  and  best 
Of  all  God's  works !  creature,  in  whom  excell'd 
Whatever  can  to  sight  or  thought  be  form'd," 
Holy,  divine,  good,  amiable,  or  sweet ! 
How  art  thou  lost !  how  on  a  sudden  lost. 
Defaced,  deflower' d,-  and  now  to  death  devote  ! 
Rather,  how  hast  thou  yielded  to  transgress 
The  strict  forbiddance  ?  how  to  violate 
The  sacred  fruit  forbidden  ?     Some  cursed  fraud 
Of  enemy  hath  beguiled  thee,  yet  unknown , 
And  me  with  thee  hath  ruin'd :  for  with  thee 
Certain  nij  resolution  ia  to  die. 


334  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  ix. 

How  can  I  live  without  thee  'i  how  forego 
Thy  sweet  converse,  and  love  so  dearly  join' d, 
To  live  again  in  these  wild  woods  forlorn  ?  • 
Should  God  create  another  Eve,  and  I 
Another  rib  afford ;  yet  loss  of  thee 
Would  never  from  my  heart :  no,  no  !  I  feel 
The  link  of  nature  draw  me :  flesh  of  flesh, 
Bone  of  my  bone  thou  art,  and  from  thy  state 
Mine  never  shall  be  parted,  bliss  or  woe. 

So  having  said,  as  one  from  sad  dismay 
Recomforted,  and  after  thoughts  disturb'd 
Submitting  to  what  seem'd  remediless. 
Thus  in  calm  mood  his  words  to  Eve  he  turn'd : 

Bold  deed  thou  hast  presumed,  adventurous  Eve, 
And  peril  great- provoked,  who  thus  hast  dared, 
Had  it  been  only  coveting  to  eye 
That  sacred  fruit,  sacred  to  abstinence ; 
Much  more  to  taste  it,  under  ban  to  touch. 
But  past  who  can  recall,  or  done  undo  ? 
Not  God  omnipotent,  nor  fate  :  yet  so 
Perhaps  thou  shalt  not  die ;  *  perhaps  the  fact 
Is  not  so  heinous  now,  foretasted  fruit. 
Profaned  first  by  the  serpent,  by  him  first 
Made  common,  and  unhallow'd,  ere  our  taste : 
Nor  yet  on  him  found  deadly;  he  yet  lives ; 
Lives,  as  thou  said'st,  and  gains  to  live,  as  man, 
Higher  degree  of  life  :  inducement  strong 
To  us,  as  likely  tasting  to  attain 
Proportional  ascent  j  which  cannot  be 
But  to  be  gods,  or  angels,  demigods. 
Nor  can  I  think  that  God,  Creator  wise. 
Though  threatening,  will  in  earnest  so  destroy 
Us  his  prime  creatures,  dignified  so  high, 
Set  over  all  his  works ;  which  in  our  fall. 
For  us  created,  needs  with  us  must  fail. 
Dependent  made ;  so  God  shall  uncreate, 
Be  frustrate,  do,  undo,  and  labour  lose ; 
Not  well  conceived  of  God,  who,  though  his  power 
Creation  could  repeat,  yet  would  be  loth 
Us  to  abolish,  lest  the  adversary 
Triumph,  and  say, — Fickle  their  state,  whom  God 
Most  favours ;  who  can  please  him  long  ?     Me  first 
He  ruin'd,  now  mankind ;  whom  will  he  next  ? — 

p  Wooda  forlorn. 
How  vastly  expressive  are  these  words  of  Adam's  tenderness  and  affection  for  Eve , 
as  they  imply  that  the  mere  imagination  of  losing  her  had  already  converted  the  sweets 
of  Paradise  into  the  horrors  of  a  desolate  wilderness ! — Thtek. 

1  Perhaps  thou  shalt  not  die. 
How  just  a  picture  does  Milton  here  give  us  of  the  natural  imbecility  of  the  human 
mind,  and  its  aptness  U  be  warped  into  false  judgments  and  reasoning,  by  passion  and 
iuolinatioD ! — Tktkr. 


;book  IX.] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


335 


Matter  of  Bcorn,  not  to  be  given  the  foe. 
Howexer,  I  with  thee  have  fix'd  my  lot, 
Certain  to  undergo  like  doom  :  if  death 
Consort  with  thee,  death  is  to  me  as  life ; 
So  forcible  within  my  heart  I  feel 
The  bond  of  nature  draw  me  to  my  own  j 
My  own  in  thee,  for  what  thou  art  is  mine : 
Our  state  cannot  be  sever'd ;  we  are  one, 
One  flesh ;  to  lose  thee  were  to  lose  myself. 

So  Adam ;  and  thus  Eve  to  him  replied : 
0  glorious  trial  of  exceeding  love. 
Illustrious  evidence,  example  high  ! 
Engaging  me  to  emulate;  but,  short 
Of  thy  perfection,  how  shall  I  attain, 
Adam  ?  from  whose  dear  side  I  boast  me  sprung, 
And  gladly  of  our  union  hear  thee  speak. 
One  heart,  one  soul  in  both ;  whereof  good  proof 
This  day  afl"ords,  declaring  thee  resolved, 
llather  than  death,  or  aught  than  death  more  dread, 
Shall  separate  us,  link'd  in  love  so  dear, 
To  undergo  with  me  one  guilt,  one  crime, 
If  any  be,  of  tasting  this  fair  frait ; 
Whose  virtue  (for  of  good  still  good  proceeds, 
Direct,  or  by  occasion)  hath  presented 
This  happy  trial  of  thy  love,  which  else 
So  eminently  never  had  been  known. 
Were  it  I  thought  death  menaced  would  ensue 
This  my  attempt,  I  would  sustain  alone 
The  worst,  and  not  persuade  thee ;  rather  die 
Deserted  than  oblige  thee  with  a  fact 
Pernicious  to  thy  peace ;  chiefly,  assured 
Remarkably  so  late  of  thy  sd  true, 
So  faithful,  love  unequall'd :  but  I  feel 
Far  otherwise  the  event ;  not  death,  but  life 
Augmented,  open'd  eyes,  new  hopes,  new  joys, 
Taste  so  divine,  that  what  of  sweet  before 
Hath  touch'd  my  sense,  flat  seems  to  this,  and  harsh. 
On  my  experience,  Adam,  freely  taste, 
And  fear  of  death  deliver  to  the  winds. 

So  saying,  she  embraced  him,  and  for  joy 
Tenderly  wept;  much  won,  that  he  his  love 
Had  so  ennobled,  as  of  choice  to  incur 
Divine  displeasure  for  her  sake,  or  death. 
In  recompense,  (for  such  compliance  bad 
Such  recompense  best  merits)  from  the  bough 
She  gave  him  of  that  fair  enticing  fruit 
With  liberal  hand :  he  scrupled  not  to  eat, 
Against  his  better  knowledge ;  not  deceived,' 


r  Ifot  deceived. 
According  to  tlie  Ustorical  relation  of  Moses,  he  did  not  plead  for  himself  that  he 


336  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  ix. 

But  fondly  overcome  with  female  charm. 

Earth  trembled  from  her  entrails,  as  again 

In  pangs ;  and  Nature  gave  a  second  groan ; 

Sky  lour'd,  and,  muttering  thunder,  some  sad  drops 

Wept  at  completing  of  the  mortal  sin 

Original :  while  Adam  took  no  thought, 

Eating  his  fill ;  nor  Eve  to  iterate 

Her  former  trespass  fear'd,  the  more  to  soothe 

Him  with  her  loved  society ;  that  now, 

As  with  new  wine  intoxicated  both, 

They  swim  in  mirth,  and  fancy  that  they  feel 

Divinity  within  them  breeding  wings. 

Wherewith  to  scorn  the  earth  :  but  that  false  fruit 

Far  other  operation  first  display'd. 

Carnal  desire  inflaming :  he  on  Eve 

Began  to  cast  lascivious  eyes;  she  him 

As  wantonly  repaid  ;  in  lust  they  burn ; 

Till  Adam  thus  'gan  Eve  to  dalliance  move : 

Eve,  now  I  see  thou  art  exact  of  taste, 
And  elegant,  of  sapience  no  small  part; 
Since  to  each  meaning  savour  we  apply, 
And  palate  call  judicious  :  I  the  praise 
Yield  thee,  so  well  this  day  thou  hast  purvey' d. 
Much  pleasure  we  have  lost,  while  we  abstain'd 
From  this  delightful  fruit,  nor  known  till  now 
True  relish,  tasting ;  if  such  pleasure  be 
In  things  to  us  forbidden,  it  might  be  wish'd, 
For  this  one  tree  had  been  forbidden  ten. 
But  come,  so  well  refresh'd,  now  let  us  play. 
As  meet  is,  after  such  delicious  fare ; 
For  never  did  thy  beauty,  since  the  day 
I  saw  thee  first  and  wedded  thee,  adorn'd 
With  all  perfections,  so  inflame  my  sense  ! 

With  ardour  to  enjoy  thee,  fairer  now 
Than  ever ;  bounty  of  this  virtuous  tree ! 

So  said  he,  and  forbore  not  glance  or  toy 
Of  amorous  intent;  well  understood 
Of  Eve,  whose  eye  darted  contagious  fire. 
Her  hand  he  seized ;  and  to  a  shady  bank, 
Thick  over-head  with  verdant  roof  embower'd, 
He  led  her  nothing  loth  :  flowers  were  the  couch; 
Pansies,  and  violets,  and  asphodel. 
And  hyacinth ;  earth's  freshest,  softest  lap. 
There  they  their  fill  of  love  and  love's  disport 
Took  largely,  of  their  mutual  guilt  the  seal, 

WRS  deceived,  the  excuse  of  Eve  cheated  by  the  serpent;  but  rather  enticed  and  per- 
suaded by  her.  "  The  woman  whom  thou  gavest  to  be  with  me,  she  gave  me  of  the 
tree,  and  I  did  eat,"  Gen.  iii.  12.  Whence  St.  Paul,  "Adam  was  not  deceived;  but 
the  woman,  being  deceived,  was  in  the  transgression,"  1  Tim.  ii.  14.  Overcome  with 
female  charms,  which  the  holy  page  styles  "  hearkening  unto  the  voice  of  his  wifes" 
Sen.  iii.  17. 


BOOK  IX.]  PARADISE  LOST.  ^  337 

The  solace  of  their  sin  j  till  dewy  sleep 

Oppress'd  them,  wearied  with  their  amorous  play. 

Soon  as  the  force  of  that  fallacious  fruit, 

That  with  exhilarating  vapour  bland 

About  their  spirits  had  play'd,  and  inmost  powers 

Made  err,  was  now  exhaled ;  and  grosser  sleep. 

Bred  of  unkindly  fumes,  with  conscious  dreams 

Encumber'd,  now  had  left  them ;  up  they  rose 

As  from  unrest ;  and,  each  the  other  viewing. 

Soon  found  their  eyes  how  open'd,  and  their  minds 

How  darken'd ;  innocence,  that  as  a  veil 

Had  shadow'd  them  from  knowing  ill,  was  gone ; 

Just  confidence,  and  native  righteousness. 

And  honour,  from  about  them,  naked  left 

To  guilty  shame :  he  cover' d,  but  his  robe 

Uncover'd  more.     So  rose  the  Danite  strong, 

Herculean  Samson,  from  the  harlot-lap 

Of  Philistean  Dalilah,  and  waked 

Shorn  of  his  strength ;  they  destitute  and  bare 

Of  all  their  virtue  :  silent,  and  in  face 

Confounded,  long  they  sat,  as  stricken  mute : 

Till  Adam,  though  not  less  than  Eve  abash'd. 

At  length  gave  utterance  to  these  words  constrain'd : 

0  Eve,  in  evil  hour  thou  didst  give  ear 
To  that  false  worm,  of  whomsoever  taught 
To  counterfeit  man's  voice ;  true  in  our  fall, 
False  is  our  promised  rising ;  since  our  eyes 
Open'd  we  find  indeed,  and  find  we  know 
Both  good  and  evil ;  good  lost,  and  evil  got : 
Bad  fruit  of  knowledge,  if  this  be  to  know ; 
Which  leaves  us  naked  thus,  of  honour  void, 
Of  innocence,  of  faith,  of  pufity. 
Our  wonted  ornaments  now  soil'd  and  stain' d, 
And  in  our  faces  evident  the  signs 
Of  foul  concupiscence ;  whence  evil  store, 
Ev'n  shame,  the  last  of  evils  :  of  the  first 
Be  sure  then.     How  shall  1  behold  the  face 
Henceforth  of  Grod  or  angel,  erst  with  joy 
And  rapture  so  oft  beheld?     Those  heavenly  shape 
Will  dazzle  now  this  earthly,  with  their  blaze 
Insuflerably  bright.     Oh,  might  I  here 
In  solitude  live  savage,  in  some  glade 
Obscured;  where  highest  woods,  impenetrable 
To  star  or  sun-light,  spread  their  umbrage  broad 
And  brown  as  evening!  cover  me,  ye  pines  !• 

•  Cover  me,  ye  pines. 
Ihis  beautifully  poetical  address  of  Adam  to  the  pines  and  cedars  to  shelter  him  fyom 
the  face  of  God  and  angel  must  be  referred  to  Scripture ;  and  we  cannot  doubt  that 
Milton  here  has  taken  his  general  idea  from  the  description  of  the  end  of  the  world  and 
the  day  of  wrath,  in  the  Revelations:  "And  the  kings  of  the  earth  and  the  great  men 
iid  themselves  in  the  dens  and  rocks  of  the  mountains ;  and  said  to  the  mountains  and 
rocks,  Fall  on  us,  and  hide  us  from  the  face  of  him  that  sitteth  on  the  throne,  and  from 
4.S 


338  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  ix. 

^e  cedars,  with  innumerable  boughs 
Hide  me,  where  I  may  never  see  them  more ! 
But  let  us  now,  as  in  bad  plight,  devise 
What  best  may  for  the  present  serve  to  hide 
The  parts  of  each  from  other,  that  seem  most 
To  shame  obnoxious,  and  unseemliest  seen ; 
Some  tree,  whose  broad  smooth  leaves  together  sew'd, 
And  girded  on  our  loins,  may  cover  round 
Those  middle  parts ;  that  this  new-comer,  Shame, 
There  sit  not,  and  reproach  us  as  unclean. 
So  counsel'd  he,  and  both  together  went 
Into  the  thickest  wood ;  where  soon  they  choose 
The  fig-tree,*  not  that  kind  for  fruit  renown'd; 
But  such  as  at  this  day,  to  Indians  known, 
In  Malabar  or  Decan  spreads  her  arms 
Branching  so  broad  and  long,  that  in  the  ground 
The  bended  twigs  take  root,  and  daughters  grow. 
About  the  mother-tree,  a  pillar'd  shade 
High  over-arch'd,  and  echoing  walks  between  : 
There  oft  the  Indian  herdsman,  shunning  heat, 
Shelters  in  cool,  and  tends  his  pasturing  herds 
At  loop-holes  cut  through  thickest  shade  :  those  leaves 
They  gather'd,  broad  as  Amazonian  targe ; 
And,  with  what  skill  they  had,  together  sew'd, 
To  gird  their  waist ;  vain  covering,  if  to  hide 
Their  guilt  and  dreaded  shame!     Oh,  how  unlike 
To  that  first  naked  glory  !     Such  of  late 
Columbus  found  the  American,  so  girt 
With  feather'd  cincture;  naked  else,  and  wild 
Among  the  trees  on  isles  and  woody  shores. 
Thus  fenced,  and,  as  they  thought,  their  shame  in  part 
Cover'd,  but  not  at  rest  or  ease  of  mind, 
They  sat  them  down  to  weep ;  nor  only  tears 
Rain'd  at  their  eyes,  but  high  winds  worse  within 
Began  to  rise ;  high  passions,  anger,  hate. 
Mistrust,  suspicion,  discord;  and  shook  sore 
Their  inward  state  of  mind,  calm  region  once 
And  full  of  peace,  now  tost  and  turbulent : 
For  understanding  ruled  not,  and  the  will 
Heard  not  her  lore ;  both  in  subjection  now 

the  wrath  of  the  Lamb ;  for  the  great  day  of  his  wrath  is  come,  and  who  shall  be  able 
to  stand?"  Rev.  vi.  13,  14^.  15. — Dunstee. 

t  The  fig-tree. 

Instead  of  a  variety  of  references  to  books, — a  remote  satisfaction ;  the  reader  will 
eompare  at  once  the  passage  from  Pliny,  which  has  received  the  advantage  of  Milton's 
Versification : — 

"  Ficus  ibi  axilla  poma  habet.  Ipsa  se  semper  ferens,  vastis  diffunditur  ramis  :  quo- 
rum pondera  adeo  in  terram  curvantur,  at  annuo  spatio  infigantur,  novamque  sibi 
propaginem  faciant  circa  parentem  in  orbes  quodam  opere  topiario.  Intra  sepem  earn 
BBstivant  pastores,  opacam  pariter  et  munitam  vallo  arboris,  decora  specie  subter  intuenti, 
proculve  fornicate  ambitu.  Foliorum  latitude  peltae  eflSgiem  Amazonicse  habet."— 
Pliuius,  lib.  xii.  5,  de  ficu  Indica. 


BOOK  IX.]  PARADISE  LOST.  339 

To  sensual  appetite,  who  from  beneath 
Usurping  over  sovran  reason  claim'd 
Superiour  sway :  from  thus  distemper'd  breast, 
Adam,  estranged  in  look  and  alter'd  style, 
Speech  intermitted  thus  to  Eve  renew'd : 

Would  thou  hadst  hearken'd  to  my  words,  and  stayed 
With  me,  as  I  besought  thee,  when  that  strange 
Desire  of  wandering,  this  unhappy  morn, 
I  know  not  whence  possess'd  thee ;  we  had  then 
Remain'd  still  happy :  not,  as  now,  despoil'd 
Of  all  our  good ;  shamed,  naked,  miserable ! 
Let  none  henceforth  seek  needless  cause  to  approve 
The  faith  they  owe ;  when  earnestly  they  seek 
Such  proof,  conclude  they  then  begin  to  fail. 

To  whom,  soon  moved  with  touch  of  blame,  thus  Eve: 
What  words  have  pass'd  thy  lips,  Adam,  severe  ? 
Imputest  thou  that  to  my  default,  or  will 
Of  wandering,  as  thou  call'st  it,  which  who  knows 
But  might  as  ill  have  happen'd,  thou  being  by, 
Or  to  thyself  perhaps  ?     Hadst  thou  been  there, 
Or  here  the  attempt,  thou  couldst  not  have  discem'd 
Fraud  in  the  serpent,  speaking  as  he  spake ; 
No  ground  of  enmity  between  us  known. 
Why  he  should  mean  me  ill,  or  seek  to  harm. 
Was  I  to  have  never  parted  from  thy  side  ? 
As  good  have  grown  there  still  a  lifeless  rib. 
Being  as  I  am,  why  didst  not  thou,  the  head, 
Command  me  absolutely  not  to  go, 
Going  into  such  danger,  as  thou  said'st? 
Too  facile  then,  thou  didst  not  much  gainsay  j 
Nay,  didst  permit,  approve,  and  fair  dismiss. 
Hadst  thou  been  firm  and  fix'd  in  thy  dissent. 
Neither  had  I  transgress'd,  nor  thou  with  me. 

To  whom,  then  first  incensed,  Adam  replied : 
Is  this  the  love,  is  this  the  recompense 
Of  mine  to  thee,  ingrateful  Eve  ?  express' d 
Immutable,  when  thou  wert  lost,  not  I ;  • 
Who  might  have  lived,  and  joy'd  immortal  bliss, 
Yet  willingly  chose  rather  death  with  thee  ? 
And  am  I  now  upbraided  as  the  cause 
Of  thy  transgressing  ?  not  enough  severe, 
It  seems,  in  thy  restraint ;  wha£  could  I  more  ? 
I  warn'd  thee,  I  admonish'd  thee,  foretold 
The  danger  and  the  lurking  enemy 
That  lay  in  wait ;  beyond  this,  had  been  force  j 
And  force  uponfree  will  hath  here  no  place. 
But  confidence  then  bore  thee  onj  secure 
Either  to  meet  no  danger,  or  to  find 
Matter  of  glorious  trial :  and  perhapsr 
I  also  errM,  in  overmuch  admiring 
What  seem'd  in  thee  so  peifect,  that  I  thought 


340  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  ix. 

No  evil  durst  attempt  thee ;  but  I  rue 
That  errour  now,  which  is  become  my  crime, 
And  thou  the  accuser.     Thus  it  shall  befall 
Him,  who,  to  worth  in  woman  "  overtrusting, 
Lets  her  will  rule  :  restraint  she  will  not  brook  ; 
And,  left  to  herself,  if  evil  thence  ensue, 
She  first  his  weak  indulgence  will  accuse. 
Thus  they  in  mutual  accusation  spent 
The  fruitless  hours,  but  neither  self-condemning; 
And  of  their  vain  contest  appear'd  no  end. 

»  Worth  in  woman. 
I  have  corrected  this  inaccuracy,  and  inserted  looman  in  the  present  text;  not  in  defe. 
fence  to  the  assertion  of  Dr.  Bentley,  or  the  inclination  of  Bishop  Newton ;  hut  to  the 
more  derisive  authority  of  Milton  himself,  in  another  passage  of  the  same  book  ;  where 
Adam  is  also  the  speaker: — 

for  nothing  lovelier  can  be  found 
In  woman  than  to  study  household  good, 
And  good  works  in  her  husband  to  promote  v.  232,  et  seq. 

Both  passages  speak  alike  of  woman  in  the  abstract ;  both  alike  use  the  same  pronoun, 
"her,"  to  this  antecedent. 

The  ninth  book  is  raised  upon  that  brief  account  in  Scripture,  wherein  we  are  told 
that  the  serpent  was  more  subtle  than  any  beast  of  the  field  ;  that  he  tempted  the  woman 
to  eat  of  the  forbidden  tree ;  that  she  was  overcome  bv  this  temptation ;  and  that  Adam 
followed  her  example.  From  these  few  particulars  JTilton  has  formed  one  of  the  most 
entertaining  fables  that  invention  ever  produced  :  he  has  disposed  of  these  several  cir- 
cumstances among  so  many  agreeable  and  natural  fictions  of  his  own,  that  his  whole 
story  looks  only  like  a  comment  upon  Sacred  Writ,  or  rather  seems  to  be  a  full  and 
complete  relation  of  what  the  other  is  only  an  epitome.  I  have  insisted  the  longer  on 
this  consideration,  as  I  look  upon  the  disposition  and  contrivance  of  the  fable  to  be  the 
principal  beauty  of  the  ninth  book,  which  has  more  story  in  it,  and  is  fuller  of  inci- 
dents than  any  other  in  the  whole  poem.  Satan's  traversing  the  globe,  and  still  keeping 
within  the  shadow  of  the  night,  as  fearing  to  be  discovered  by  the  angel  of  the  sun, 
who  had  before  detected  him,  is  one  of  those  beautiful  imaginations  with  which  he 
introduces  this  his  second  series  of  adventures.  Having  examined  the  nature  of  every 
creature,  and  found  out  one  who  was  the  most  proper  for  his  purpose,  he  again  returns 
to  Paradise;  and,  to  avoid  discovery,  sinks  by  night  with  a  river  that  ran  under  'ho 
garden,  and  rises  up  again  through  a.  fountain  that  issued  from  it  by  the  Tree  of  Life. 
The  poet,  who,  as  we  have  before  taken  notice,  speaks  as  little  as  possible  in  his  own 
person,  and  after  the  example  of  Homer,  fills  every  part  of  his  work  with  manners  and 
characters,  introduces  a  soliloquy  from  this  infernal  agent,  who  was  thv.s  restless  in  the 
destruction  of  man.  He  is  then  described  as  gliding  through  the  garden,  under  the 
resemblance  of  a  mist,  in  order  to  find  out  that  creature  in  which  he  designed  to  tempt 
our  first  parents.     This  description  has  something  in  it  very  poetical  and  surprising. 

The  author  afterwards  gives  us  a  description  of  the  morning,  which  is  wonderfully 
suitable  to  a  divine  poem,  and  peculiar  to  that  first  season  of  nature.  He  represents  the 
earth,  before  it  was  cursed,  as  a  great  aJtar,  breathing  out  its  incense  from  all  parts,  and 
sending  up  a  pleasant  savour  to  the  nostrils  of  its  Creator;  to  which  he  adds  a  noble 
idea  of  Adam  and  Eve  as  ofi^ering  their  morning  worship,  and  filling  up  the  universal 
concert  of  praise  and  adoration. 

The  dispute  which  follows  between  our  two  first  parents,  is  represented  with  great 
art;  it  proceeds  from  a  difference  of  judgment,  not  of  passion  ;  and  is  managed  with 
reason,  not  with  heat;  it  is  such  a  dispute  as  we  may  suppose  might  have  happened  in 
Paradise  had  man  continued  happy  and  innocent.  There  is  a  great  delicacy  in  the 
moralities  which  are  interspersed  in  Adam's  discourse,  and  which  the  most  ordinary 
reader  cannot  but  take  notice  of:  that  force  of  love  which  the  father  of  mankind  so 
finely  describes  in  the  eighth  book,  shows  itself  here  in  many  fine  instances  : — as  in 
those  regards  he  casts  towards  Eve  at  her  parting  from  him ;  in  his  impatience  and 
amusement  during  her  absence ;  but  particularly  in  that  passionate  speech,  where,  seeing 
her  irrecoverably  lost,  he  resolves  to  perish  with  her,  rather  than  to  live  without  her, 
7.  904,  &c.  The  beginning  of  this  speech,  and  the  preparation  to  it,  are  animated  with 
the  same  spirit  as  the  conclusion. 

The  subtle  wikf>  which  are  put  in  practice  by  the  tempter,  when  ha  found  Eve  sepa- 


BOOK  IX.] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


341 


rated  from  her  huaband, — the  many  pleasing  images  of  nature  which  are  intermixed 
in  this  part  of  the  story,  with  its  gradual  and  regular  progress  to  the  fatal  catastro- 
phe,— are  so  very  remarkable,  that  it  would  be  superfluous  to  point  out  their  respec- 
tive beauties. 

I  have  avoided  mentioning  any  particular  similitudes  in  my  remarks  on  this  great 
work,  because  I  have  given  a  general  account  of  them  in  my  observations  on  the  first 
book  ;  there  is  one,  however,  m  this  part  of  the  poem,  which  I  shall  here  notice,  as 
it  is  not  only  very  beautifulj  but  the  closest  of  any  in  the  whole  poem  ;  I  mean  that 
where  the  serpent  is  described  as  rolling  forward  in  all  his  pricfe,  animated  by  the 
evil  spirit  and  conducting  Eve  to  her  destruction,  while  Adam  was  at  too  great  a  dis- 
tance from  her  to  give  her  his  assistance. 

That  secret  intoxication  of  pleasure,  with  all  those  transient  flushings  of  guilt  and 
^ov,  which  the  poet  represents  in  our  first  parents  upon  their  eating  the  forbidden 
truit,  to  tliose  flaggings  of  spirit,  damps  of  sorrow,  and  mutual  ascusations  which 
succeed  it,  are  conceived  with  a  wonderful  imagination  and  described  in  very  natural 
sentiments.  When  Dido,  in  the  fourth  ^neid,  yielded  to  that  fatal  temptation  which 
ruined  her,  Virgil  tells  us,  the  earth  trembled,  the  heavens  were  fiUea  with  flashes 
of  lightningj  and  the  nymphs  howled  upon  the  mountain  tops.  Milton,  in  the  same 
poetical  spirit,  has  described  all  nature  upon  Eve's  eating  the  forbidden  fruit :  upon 
Adam's  falling  into  the  same  guilt,  the  whole  creation  appears  a  second  time  in  con- 
vulsions. As  all  nature  sufi'ered  by  the  guilt  of  our  first  parents,  these  symptoms  of 
trouble  and  consternation  are  wonderfiuly  imagined,  not  only  as  prodigies,  but  as 
marks  of  her  sympathizing  in  the  fall  of  man. — Addisok. 


342  PARADISE  LOST.  [book 


BOOK  X. 

mTRODUCTOHY  REMARKS. 

Cehiainlt  Milton  has  in  this  hook  shown  to  an  an?azing  extent  all  the  rariety  of  his 
powers  in  striking  contrast  with  each  other:  the  sublimity  of  the  celestitl  persons;  th€ 
gigantic  wickedness  of  the  infernal ;  the  mingled  excellence  and  human  infirmities  of 
Adam  and  Eve ;  and  the  shadowy  and  terrific  beings  of  Sin  and  Death.  Of  any  other 
poet,  the  imagination  would  have  been  exhausted  in  the  preceding  books :  in  Milton, 
it  still  gathers  strength,  and  grows  bolder  and  bolder,  and  darts  with  more  expanded 
wings.  When  Sin  and  Death  deserted  the  gates  of  hell,  and  made  their  way  to 
oarth,  the  conception  and  expression  of  all  the  circumstances  are  of  a  supernattira] 
force. 

For  my  part,  I  see  no  adequate  reason  why  the  whole  of  an  epic  poem  should  not 
consist  of  allegorical  or  shadowy  beings ;  nor  do  I  see  even  why  they  should  not  hi 
mixed  in  action  with  those  imaginary  persons  who  represent  realities ;  certainly  the 
poetical  parts  of  the  Scriptures  everywhere  embody  such  shadowy  existences. 

Sin  and  Death  might  have  flown  through  the  air  from  hell  to  earth  as  shadowy  per- 
sonifications, without  the  aid  of  a  bridge  of  matter,  but  this  ought  not  to  have  prohibited 
the  poet  from  picturing  a  bridge  of  matter,  if  his  imagination  led  him  to  that  device. 
It  was  intended  to  typify  the  facility  of  access  contrived  by  Sin  and  Death  from  hell  to 
this  terrestrial  globe,  not  only  for  themselves,  but  for  all  their  ministers  and  innumera- 
ble followers.  The  moral  is  obvious :  what  is  intended  to  be  conveyed  is,  though 
figuratively  told,  in  perfect  concurrence  with  our  faith,  instead  of  shocking  it  We 
must  cut  away  all  the  most  impressive  parts  of  poetry,  if  we  do  not  allow  these  figura- 
tive inv^entions. 

It  may  be  admitted  that  it  requires  a  rich  mind  duly  to  enjoy  and  appreciate  these 
grand  and  spiritual  agencies ;  they  therefore  who  have  cold  conceptions,  eagerly  catch 
hold  of  these  censures  to  justify  their  own  insensibility;  they  can  understand  illustra- 
tions drawn  from  objects  daily  in  solid  forms  before  their  eyes.  But  it  is  not  only  in 
the  description  of  forms  and  actions  that  the  bard  has  a  strength  and  brilliance  so  won- 
derful :  he  is  equally  happy  in  the  sentiments  he  attributes  to  each  personage :  all 
speak  in  their  own  distinct  characters,  with  a  justness  and  individuality  which  meet 
instant  recognition,  and  waken  an  indescribable  assent  and  pleasure.  Thus  Adam  and 
Eve,  when  they  know  the  displeasure  of  the  Almighty,  and  are  overwhelmed  with  feat 
and  remorse,  each  express  themselves  according  to  their  separate  casts  of  mind,  dispo- 
sition, and  circumstances:  their  moans  are  deeply  affecting.  To  my  taste,  this  book  is 
much  Piore  lofty  and  much  more  pathetic  than  the  ninth :  as  the  subject  was  much 
more  diflBcult,  so  it  is  executed  with  much  more  miraculous  vigour  and  originality. 

The  representation  of  the  manner  in  which  God's  judgment  upon  earth  was  executed 
by  changing  the  seasons,  putting  the  elements  into  contest,  and  deteriorating  all 
nature,  fii's  the  imagination  with  wonder,  and  brings  out  new  touches  of  poetry  with  a 
magical  effect. 

In  others  the  poetical  language  seems  a  sort  of  cover, — a  gilding;  in  Milton  it  is  a 
part  and  essence  of  the  thought  The  primary  image  is  poetical;  the  poetry  does  not 
depend  upon  the  illustration ;  though  sometimes  there  is  a  union,  and  it  is  thus  to  be 
found  in  both :  but  if  the  secondary  has  it,  the  first  never  wants  it 

The  characters  of  Milton  are  all  compound  and  reflective ;  they  are  not  merely  intui- 
tive like  Shakspeai  d's :  they  have  therefore  more  of  that  invention  which  is  compre- 
hensive, and  requires  study  to  appreciate.  The  whole  of  '  Paradise  Lost'  from  begin- 
ning to  end  is  part  of  one  inseparable  web ;  and  however  beautiful  detached  parts  may 
appear,  not  ha  f  their  genius  or  wisdom  can  be  felt  or  understood  except  in  connexion 
with  the  whole.  There  are  congruities  and  allusions  in  every  word,  which  are  lost 
unless  we  attend  to  their  essential  relation  to  the  whole  scheme. 


BOOK  X.]  PARADISE  LOST.  343 

It  ia  this  intensity  and  inseparability  of  tho  web  which  is  among  the  miracles  of 
Milton's  execution.  Grace,  strength,  splendour,  depth,  ail  depend  upon  its  unity.  As 
no  texture  was  ever  before  produced  out  of  particles  drawn  from  such  fin  extent  of 
space,  and  such  a  variety  of  mines ;  so  the  amalgamation  of  all  into  one  perfect  whole 
is  the  more  astonishing. 

Such  is  the  erudition  applied  to  this  most  wonderful  work,  that  nothing  less  than  the 
eonjoined  attempts  of  a  whole  body  of  learned  men  for  a  century  has  been  able  to 
explain  its  inexhaustible  allusions;  and  even  yet  the  task  is  not  completed. 

Little  comparative  invention  is  required  for  a  fable  drawn  from  history,  observation, 
and  experience ;  but  Milton  had  to  travel  into  other  worlds  of  higher  natures,  and 
Buperior  powers :  he  had  to  imagine  on  subjects  out  of  the  human  track,  not  only 
according  to  probability,  but  limited  both  by  authority  and  religious  awe,  where  nothing 
wanton,  fantastic,  or  unsolemn  could  be  endured. 

It  is  more  easy  to  make  the  fictitious  resemblance  of  an  ideal  conception  agreeable 
and  brilliant  at  first,  than  of  a  severe  abstract  truth.  After  deep  study  and  long  examl- 
naiion,  we  find  the  superior  grandeur  and  merit  of  the  latter.  Such  was  the  praise  to 
which  Milton  aspired,  and  to  which  he  is  entitled.  There  are  vapours  in  the  sky,  shot 
through  by  golden  beams,  at  which  we  gaze  for  a  moment  with  delight ;  but  which 
dissolve  away,  and  leave  us  disappointed  in  the  dark  :  there  are  iynes  fatiii  raised  by 
some  idle  wanderings  of  nature's  conflicts,  which  have  neither  heat,  nor  solace,  noi 
nutriment.     That  which  finds  a  clear  and  responsive  mirror  in  the  intellect  is  truth. 

There  are  certain  predispositions  in  the  human  mind  to  poetical  visionariness :  we 
love  to  view  things  more  fair  or  more  majestic  than  reality  presents.  By  imagination 
we  can  see  into  the  souls  of  characters  far  better  than  cold  history  instructs  us:  we 
behold  thus  all  the  loveliness  of  beauty,  all  the  mightiness  of  strength,  all  the  splen- 
dour of  mind,  all  the  tenderness  of  the  heart,  in  their  essences.  But  this  high  crea- 
tiveness  can  only  be  produced  by  one  of  those  purest  of  beings  who  is  endued  with  the 
positive  faculties  of  the  Muse. 

The  spacious  firmament  on  high, 
And  all  the  blue  ethereal  sky, 

when  pointed  out  by  a  poet's  hand,  fills  with  astonishment  and  devotion  those  who 
before  beheld  them  dimly  and  with  indifference.  Thus  the  charms  of  the  now  world, 
in  which  Adam  and  Eve  were  placed,  were  unheeded  till  they  were  delineated  by 
Milton's  song. 

But  it  is  in  the  associations  that  the  gr^d  art  of  impressiveness  lies.  In  this  tenth 
book  the  story  is  as  thick  wove  as  it  is  grand. 


ARGUMENT. 

Man's  transgression  known,  the  guardian-angels  forsake  Paradise,  and  return  up  to  heaven  tn 
approve  their  vigilance,  and  are  approved;  God  declaring  that  the  entrance  of  Satan  could 
not  be  by  tliem  prevented.  He  sends  his  Son  to  judge  the  transgressours;  who  descends 
and  gives  sentence  accordingly;  then  in  pity  clothes  them  both,  and  reascends.  Sin  and 
Death,  sitting  till  then  at  the  gates  of  hell,  by  wondrous  sympathy  feeling  the  success  of 
Satan  in  this  new  world,  and  the  sin  by  man  there  committed,  resolve  to  sit  no  longer  con- 
fined in  hell  but  to  follow  Satan  their  sire  up  to  the  place  of  man  :  to  make  the  way  easier 
from  hell  to  this  world  to  and  fro,  they  pave  a  broad  highway  or  bridge  over  Chaos 
according  to  the  track  that  Satan  first  made;  then,  preparing  for  earth,  they  meet  h:in, 
proud  of  his  success,  returning  to  hell ;  tlieir  mutual  gratulation.  Satan  arrives  at  Pan- 
dBcmonium ;  in  full  assembly  relates  with  boasting  his  success  against  man;  instead  of 
applause  is  entertained  with  a  general  hiss  by  all  his  audience,  transformed  with  nimsclf 
also  suddenly  into  serpents,  according  to  his  doom  given  in  Paradise;  then  deluded  witli 
a  show  of  the  forbidden  tree  springing  up  before  them,  they,  greedily  reaching  to  take  the 
fruit,  chew  dust  and  bitter  ashes.  The  proceedings  of  Sin  and  Death;  God  foretells  the 
final  victory  of  his  Son  over  them,  and  tlie  renewing  of  all  things;  but  for  the  present 
commands  his  angels  to  make  several  alterations  in  llie  heavens  and  the  elements.  Adam 
more  and  moie  perceiving  his  fallen  condition,  heavily  bewails,  rejects  the  condoiement 
of  Eve ;  she  persists,  and  at  length  appeases  htm  :  then,  to  evade  the  curse  likely  to  fall  on 
their  cfTspring,  proposes  to  Adam  violent  ways,  which  he  approves  not;  but  conceiving 
better  hope,  puts  her  in  mind  of  the  late  promise  made  them,  that  her  seed  should  be 


344  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  x. 

revenged  on  tlie  serpent ;  and  exhorta  her  with  him  to  seek  peace  of  tr.e  offended  Deity  bi 
repontancs  and  supplication. 

Meanwhile  the  heinous  and  despiteful  act 

Of  Satan  done  in  Paradise,  and  how 

He,  in  the  serpent,  had  perverted  Eve, 

Her  husband  she,  to  taste  the  fatal  fruit, 

Was  known  in  heaven  ;  for  what  can  'scape  the  eye 

Of  God  all-seeing,  or  deceive  his  heart 

Omniscient  ?  who,  in  all  things  wise  and  just, 

Hinder'd  not  Satan  to  attempt  the  mind 

Of  man,  with  strength  entire,  and  free-will  arm'd 

Complete  to  have  discover'd  and  repulsed 

Whatever  wiles  of  foe  or  seeming  friend. 

For  still  they  knew,  and  ought  to  have  still  remember' d, 

The  high  injunction  not  to  taste  that  fruit, 

Whoever  tempted  ;  which  they  not  obeying, 

Ineurr'd  (what  could  they  less?)  the  penalty; 

And,  manifold  in  sin,"  deserved  to  fall. 

Up  into  heaven  from  Paradise  in  haste 

The  angelic  guards  ascended,  mute  and  sad 

For  man ;  for  of  his  state  by  this  they  knew. 

Much  wondering  how  the  subtle  fiend  had  stolen 

Entrance  unseen.     Soon  as  the  unwelcome  news 

From  earth  arrived  at  heaven-gate,  displeased 

All  were  who  heard  ;  dim  sadness  did  not  spare  ' 

That  time  celestial  visages,  yet,  mix'd 

With  pity,  violated  not  their  bliss. 

About  the  new  arrived  in  multitudes 

The  ethereal  people  ran,  to  hear  and  know 

How  all  befel :  they  towards  the  throne  supreme, 

Accountable,  made  haste,  to  make  appear. 

With  righteous  plea,  their  utmost  vigilance, 

And  easily  approved  ;  when  the  Most  High 

Eternal  Father,  from  his  secret  cloud 

Amidst,  in  thunder  utter'd  thus  his  voice : 

Assembled  angels,  and  ye  powers  return'd 
From  unsuccessful  charge,  be  not  dismay'd, 
Nor  troubled  at  these  tidings  from  the  earth, 
Which  your  sincerest  care  could  not  prevent; 
Foretold  so  lately  what  would  come  to  pass. 
When  first  this  tempter  cross'd  the  gulf  from  hell. 
I  told  ye  then  he  should  prevail,  and  speed 

a  And,  manifold  in  sin. 

Every  sin  is  complicated  in  some  degree :  and  the  divines,  especially  those  of  Mil- 
ton's communion,  reckon  up  several  sins  as  included  in  this  one  act  of  eating  the 
forbidden  fruit;  namely,  pride,  uxoriousness,  wicked  curiosity,  infidelity,  disobedience, 
&c.;  80  that,  for  such  complicated  guilt  he  deserved  to  fall  from  his  happy  state  in 
Paradise. — Newton. 

b  Dim  sadnest  did  not  spare. 

What  a  just  and  noble  idea  does  Milton  here  give  us  of  the  blessedness  of  a  benevo- 
lent temper ;  and  how  proper,  at  the  same  time,  to  obviate  the  objection  that  might  be 
made  of  sadness  dwelling  in  heavsniy  spirits ! — Thyer. 


BOOK  X.]  PARADISE  LOST.  345 

Oa  his  bad  errand ;  man  should  be  seduced, 

And  flatter'd  out  of  all,  believing  lies 

Against  his  Maker ;  no  decree  of  mine 

Concurring,  to  necessitate  his  fall, 

Or  touch  with  lightest  moment  of  impulse 

His  free-will,  to  her  own  inclining  left 

In  even  scale.     But  fallen  he  is ;  and  now 

What  rests,  but  that  the  mortal  sentence  pass 

On  his  transgression,  death  denounced  that  day? 

Which  he  presumes  already  vain  and  void, 

Because  not  yet  inflicted,"  as  he  fear'd. 

By  some  immediate  stroke ;  but  soon  shall  find 

Forbearance  no  acquittance,  ere  day  end. 

Justice  shall  not  return  as  bounty  scorn'd. 

But  whom  send  I  to  judge  them  ?  whom  but  thee, 

Vicegerent  Son?     To  thee  I  have  transferr'd'' 

All  judgment,  whether  in  heaven,  or  earth,  or  hell. 

Easy  it  may  be  seen  that  I  intend 

Mercy  colleague  with  justice,*  sending  thee, 

Man's  friend,  his  Mediator,  his  design' d 

Both  ransom  and  lledeemer  voluntary. 

And  destined  man  himself  to  judge  man  fallen. 

So  spake  the  Father ;  and,  unfolding  bright 
Toward  the  right  hand  his  glory,  on  the  Son 
Blazed  forth  unclouded  deity  :  he  full 
Resplendent  all  his  Father  manifest 
Express'd,  and  thus  divinely  answer'd  mild  : 

Father  Eternal,  thine  is  to  decree ; 
Mine,  both  in  heaven  and  earth,  to  do  thy  will 
Supreme:  that  thou  in  me,  thy  Son  beloved, 
Mayst  ever  rest  well  pleased^     I  go  to  judge 
On  earth  these  thy  transgressours ;  but  thou  know'st, 
Whoever  judged,  the  worst  on  me  must  light. 
When  time  shall  be  j  for  so  I  undertook 
Before  thee ;  and,  not  repenting,  this  obtain 
Of  right,  that  I  may  mitigate  their  doom 
On  me  derived  :  yet  I  shall  temper  so 
Justice  with  mercy,  as  may  illustrate  most 
Them  fully  satisfied,  and  thee  appease. 
Attendance  none  shall  need,  nor  train,  where  none 
Are  to  behold  the  judgment  but  the  judged, 
Those  two ;  the  third  best  absent  is  condemn' d. 

<:  Because  not  yet  inflicted. 
So,  in  Eccles.  viii.  11 : — "Because  sentence  against  an  evil  work  is  not  exeoated 
speedily,  therefore  the  heart  of  the  sons  of  men  is  fully  set  in  them  to  do  evil." — Todd 

^  To  thee  I  have  trans/err'd. 

From  John  v.  22 : — "  For  the  Father  judgeth  no  man,  but  hath  committed  all  judg- 
ment to  the  Son." — Hcub. 

e  Colleague  vnih  justice^ 
See  Psalm  Ixxxv.  10. 
44 


Convict  by  flight,  and  rebel  to  all  law  : 
Conviction  to  the  serpent  none  belongs. 

Thus  saying,  from  his  radiant  seat  he  rose 
Of  high  collateral  glory.     Him  thrones,  and  powers, 
Princedoms,  and  dominations  ministrant, 
Accompanied  to  heaven-gate  ;  from  whence 
Eden,  and  all  the  coast,  in  prospect  lay. 
Down  he  descended  straight ;  the  speed  of  gods 
Time  counts  not,  though  with  swiftest  minutes  wing'd. 
Now  was  the  sun  in  western  cadence  low' 
From  noon ;  and  gentle  airs,  due  at  their  hour, 
To  fan  the  earth  now  waked,  and  usher  in 
The  evening  cool ;  when  he,  from  wrath  more  cool, 
Came  the  mild  Judge  and  Intercessour  both. 
To  sentence  man.     The  voice  of  God  they  heard 
Now  walking  in  the  garden,  by  soft  winds 
Brought  to  their  ears  while  day  declined ;  they  heard, 
A.nd  from  his  presence  hid  themselves  among 
The  thickest  trees,  both  man  and  wife ;  till  God 
A-pproaching,  thus  to  Adam  call'd  aloud  : 

Where  art  thou,  Adam,*  wont  with  joy  to  meet 
My  coming  seen  far  oif  ?     I  miss  thee  here; 
Not  pleased,  thus  entertain'd  with  solitude, 
Where  obvious  duty  erewhile  appcar'd  unsought :  / 

Or  come  I  less  conspicuous,  or  what  change 
Absents  thee,  or  what  chance  detains  ?     Come  forth  ! 

He  came ;  and  with  him  Eve,  more  loth,  though  first 
To  offend  ;  discountenanced  both  and  discomposed  : 
Love  was  not  in  their  looks,  either  to  God 
Or  to  each  other ;  but  apparent  guilt. 
And  shame,  and  perturbation,  and  despair, 
Anger,  and  obstinacy,  and  hate  and  guile. 
Whence  Adam,  faltering  long,  thus  answer'd  brief: 

I  heard  thee  in  the  garden;  and  of  thy  voice 
Afraid,  being  naked,  hid  myself.     To  whom 
The  gracious  Judge  without  revile  replied  : 

My  voice  thou  oft  hast  heard,  and  hast  not  fear'd. 
But  still  rejoiced ;  how  is  it  now  become 
So  dreadful  to  thee  ?     That  thou  art  naked,  who 
Hath  told  thee  ?     Hast  thou  eaten  of  the  tree. 
Whereof  I  gave  thee  charge  thou  shouldst  not  eat  ? 

To  whom  thus  Adam  sore  beset  replied :  * 

'  The  tun  in  western  cadence  low. 
This  beautiful  description  is  founded  upon  this  verse : — "And  they  heard  the  voice 
of  the  Lord  God  walking  in  the  garden  in  the  cool  of  the  day ;  and  Adam  and  his  wife 
bid  themselves  from  the  presence  of  the  Lord  God,  amongst  the  trees  in  the  garden." 
Gen.  iii.  8. — Newtok- 

K  Where  art  thou,  Adam  T 
See  Gen.  iii.  9,  Ac.    It  is  curious  to  observe  how  the  poet  paraphrases  and  enlarges 
upon  the  divine  historian. — Newton. 


BOOK  X.]  PARADISE  LOST.  347 

0  heaven  !  in  evil  strait  •"  this  day  I  stand 
Before  my  Judge ;  either  to  undergo 
Myself  the  total  crime,  or  to  accuse 

My  other  self,  the  partner  of  my  life ; 
Whose  failing,  while  her  faith  to  me  remains, 

1  should  conceal,  and  not  expose  to  blame 
By  my  complaint :  but  strict  necessity 
Subdues  me,  and  calamitous  constraint  j 
Lest  on  my  head  both  sin  and  punishment, 
However  insupportable,  be  all 

Devolved ;  though,  should  I  hold  my  peace,  yet  thou 

Wouldst  easily  detect  what  I  conceal. 

This  woman,'  whom  thou  madest  to  be  my  help, 

And  gavest  me  as  thy  perfect  gift,  so  good, 

So  fit,  so  acceptable,  so  divine, 

That  from  her  hand  I  could  suspect  no  ill  j 

And  what  she  did,  whatever  in  itself, 

Her  doing  seem'd  to  justify  the  deed; 

She  gave  me  of  the  tree  and  I  did  eat. 

To  whom  the  Sovran  Presence  thus  replied : 
Was  she  thy  God,  that  her  thou  didst  obey 
Before  his  voice  ?  or  was  she  made  thy  guide, 
Supprior,  or  but  equal,  that  to  her 
Thou  didst  resign  thy  manhood,  and.  the  place 
Wherein  God  set  thee  above  her  made  of  thee. 
And  for  thee,  whose  perfection  far  excell'd 
Hers  in  all  real  dignity  ?     Adorn'd 
She  was  indeed,  and  lovely,  to  attract 
Thy  love,  not  thy  subjection ;  and  her  gifts 
Were  such,  as  under  government  well  seem'd : 
Unseemly  to  bear  rule ;  whjch  was  thy  part 
And  person,  hadst  thou  known  thyself  aright. 

So  having  said,  he  thus  to  Eve  in  few : 
Say,  woman,  whatJ  is  this  which  thou  hast  done  ? 

To  whom  sad  Eve,  with  shame  nigh  overwhelm' d, 
Confessing  soon,  yet  not  before  her  Judge 
Bold  or  loquacious,  thus  abash' d  replied : 

b  0  heaven  !  in  evil  strait. 
Noihing  shows  Milton's  judgment  more  than  keeping  to  the  very  words  of  Scripture, 
as  far  as  possible,  in  the  preceding  conference  between  God  and  Adam;  but  the  poet 
thought  himself  here  obliged  to  deviate  from  his  rule  of  adhering  strictly  to  the  sacroJ 
text,  in  order  to  keep  «j)  some  dignity  in  Adam,  by  putting  an  apology  into  his  mouth 
for  the  accusation  that  was  to  follow. — Stillijjgfleet. 

'  This  woman. 
Miltcn  still  preserves  all  that  is  in  Scripture,  though  he  intermixes  other  things  that 
were  likely  enough  to  have  been  said  and  done.     Adam  speaks  of  Eve  much  in  the 
game  strain  as  he  had  done  before  to  the  angel,  b.  viii.  549 : — 

What  she  wills  to  do  or  say, 
Seems  wiseHt,  &c. 

and  Ms  anwillingness  to  accuse  his  wife,  and  yet  the  necessity  of  doing  it,  are  finely 
imagined. — Newton. 

J  Say,  woman,  tehxUf 
See  Gen.  iii.  13. 


348  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  x. 

The  serpent  me  beguiled,  and  I  did  eat. 

Which  when  the  Lord  God  heard,  without  delay 
To  judgment  he  proceeded  on  the  accused 
Serpent,  though  brute;  unable  to  transfer 
The  guilt  on  him  who  made  him  instrument 
Of  mischief,  and  polluted  from  the  end 
Of  his  creation  :  justly  then  accursed. 
As  vitiated  in  nature  :  more  to  know 
Concern'd  not  man  (since  he  no  farther  knew), 
Nor  alter'd  his  offence ;  yet  God  at  last 
To  Satan,  first  in  sin,  his  doom  applied ; 
Though  in  mysterious  terms,  judged  as  then  best: 
And  on  the  serpent  thus  his  curse  let  fall : 

Because  thou  hast  done  this,''  thou  art  accursed 
Above  all  cattle,  each  beast  of  the  field : 
Upon  thy  belly  grovelling  thou  shalt  go. 
And  dust  shalt  eat  all  the  days  of  thy  life. 
Between  thee  and  the  woman  I  will  put 
Enmity ;  and  between  thine  and  her  seed : 
Her  seed  shall  bruise  thy  head,  thou  bruise  his  heel. 

So  spake  this  oracle,  then  verified,^ 
When  Jesus,  son  of  Mary,  second  Eve, 
Saw  Satan  fall,'"  like  lightning,  down  from  heaven, 
Prince  of  the  air ;  then,  rising  from  his  grave, 
Spoil'd  principalities  and  powers,  triumph'd 
In  open  show ;  and,  with  ascension  bright. 
Captivity  led  captive  through  the  air, 
The  realm  itself  of  Satan,  long  usurp'd ; 
Whom  he  shall  tread  at  last  under  our  feet ; 
Ev'n  he,  who  now  foretold  his  fatal  bruise : 
And  to  the  woman "  thus  his  sentence  turn'd : 

Thy  sorrow  I  will  greatly  multiply 
By  thy  conception ;  children  thou  shalt  bring 
In  sorrow  forth ;  and  to  thy  husband's  will 

k  Because  thou  hast  done  this. 

See  Gen.  iii.  14. 

1  Oracle,  then  verified. 

Hero  is  a  manifest  indication,  that,  when  Milton  wrote  this  passage,  he  thought  Para- 
dise was  eliiefly  regained  at  our  Saviour's  resurrection.  This  would  have  been  a  copious 
Bnd  sublime  subject  for  a  second  poem.  The  wonders  then  to  be  described,  would  have 
erected  even  an  ordinary  poet's  genius;  and,  in  episodes,  he  might  have  introduced  his 
conception,  birth,  miracles,  and  all  the  history  of  his  administration  while  on  earth: 
end  I  much  grieve,  that,  instead  of  this,  he  should  choose  for  the*argument  of  his  '  Para- 
dise Regained'  the  fourth  chapter  of  Luke,  the  temptation  in  the  wilderness: — a  dry, 
barren,  and  narrow  ground  to  build  an  epic  poem  on.  In  that  work  he  has  amplified 
his  scanty  materials  to  a  surprising  dignity;  but  yet,  being  cramped  down  by  a  wrong 
choice,  without  the  expected  applause. — Bentley. 

»  (Slate  Satan  fall. 
See  Luke,  18,  in  ver.  184;  Ephes.  ii.  2;  Col.  ii.  15;  Psalm  IxviiL  18;  Ephes.  iv.  8i 
Kom.  xvi.  20.— Todd. 

fi  And  to  the  wovian. 
Milton  is  exact  in  reporting  the  sentences  pronounced  on  our  first  parents.    See  Gen. 
iii.  16 — 19. — Newton. 


Thine  shall  submit ;  he  over  thee  shall  rule. 

On  Adam  last  thus  judgment  he  pronounced : 
Because  thou  hast  hearken'd  to  the  voice  of  thy  wife, 
And  eaten  of  the  tree,  concerning  which 
I  charged  thee,  saying,  Thou  shalt  not  eat  .thereof; 
Cursed  is  the  ground  for  thy  sake  :  thou  in  sorrow 
Shalt  eat  thereof  all  the  days  of  thy  life ; 
Thorns  also  and  thistles  it  shall  bring  the^  forth 
Unhid  J  and  thou  shalt  eat  the  herb  of  the  field : 
In  the  sweat  of  thy  face  shalt  thou  eat  bread, 
Till  thou  return  unto  the  ground ;  for  thou 
Out  of  the  ground  wast  taken ;  know  thy  birth ; 
For  dust  thou  art,  and  shalt  to  dust  return. 

So  judged  he  man,  both  Judge  and  Saviour  sent; 
And  the  instant  stroke  of  death,  denounced  that  day, 
Removed  far  oiF:  then,  pitying  how  they  stood 
Before  him  naked  to  the  air,  that  now 
Must  suffer  change,  disdain'd  not  to  begin 
Thenceforth  the  form  of  servant  to  assume," 
As  when  he  wash'd  his  servants'  feet;  so  now. 
As  father  of  his  family,  he  clad 
Their  nakedness  with  skins  of  beasts,*  or  slain, 
Or  as  the  snake  with  youthful  coat  repaid ; 
And  thought  not  much  to  clothe  his  enemies : 
Nor  he  their  outward  only  with  the  skins 
Of  beasts,  but  inward  nakedness,  much  more 
Opprobrious,  with  his  robe  of  righteousness  « 
Arraying,  cover'd  from  his  Father's  sight 
To  him  with  swift  ascent  he  up  return' d, 
Into  his  blissful  bosom  reassumed. 
In  glory,  as  of  old  :  to  him  appeased, 
All,  though  all-knowing,  what  had  pass'd  with  man 
Recounted,  mixing  intercession  sweet. 

Meanwhile,  ere  thus  was  sinn'd  and  judged  on  earth. 
Within  the  gates  of  hell  sat  Sin  and  Death, 
In  counterview  within  the  gates,  that  now 
Stood  open  wide,  belching  outrageous  flame 
Far  into  Chaos,  since  the  fiend  pass'd  through. 
Sin  opening ;  who  thus  now  to  Death  began : 

0  son,  why  sit  we  here  each  other  viewing 
/         Idlj,  while  Satan,  our  great  authour,  thrives 
In  other  worlds,  and  happier  seat  provides 
For  us,  his  offspring  dear  ?     It  cannot  be 
But  that  success  attends  him ;  if  mishap, 

o  Servant  to  txggume. 
See  Phil.  ii.  7 ;  John  xiii.  6. 

p  Skins  of  beasts. 
See  Gen.  iii.  21. 

4  Bobe  of  rtghteoumete. 
See  Isaiah  Ixi.  10. 


350  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  x. 

Ere  this  he  had  return' d,  with  fury  driven 
By  his  avengers ;  since  no  place  like  this 
Can  fit  his  punishment,  or  their  revenge. 
Methinks  I  feel  new  strength  within  me  rise, 
Wings  growing,  and  dominion  given  me  large, 
Beyond  this  deep :  whatever  draws  me  on, 
Or  sympathy,  or  some  connatural  force, 
Powerful  at  gigatest  distance  to  unite 
With  secret  amity  things  of  like  kind, 
By  secretest  conveyance.     Thou,  my  shade 
Inseparable,  must  with  me  along ; 
For  Death  from  Sin  no  power  can  separate. 
•  But,  lest  the  difficulty  of  passing  back 
Stay  his  return  perhaps  over  this  gulf 
Impassable,  impervious;  let  us  try 
Adventurous  work,  yet  to  thy  power  and  miae 
Not  unagreeable,  to  found  a  path 
Over  this  main  from  hell  to  that  new  world, 
Where  Satan  now  prevails ;  a  monument 
Of  merit  high  to  all  the  infernal  host, 
Easing  their  passage  hence,  for  intercourse, 
Or  transmigration,  as  their  lot  shall  lead. 
Nor  can  I  miss  the  way,  so  strongly  drawn 
By  this  new-felt  attraction  and  instinct. 

Whom  thus  the  meagre  shadow  answer'd  sooQ  : 
Go,  whither  fate,  and  inclination  strong, 
Leads  thee ;  I  shall  not  lag  behind,  nor  err 
The  way,  thou  leading ;  such  a  scent  I  draw 
Of  carnage,  prey  innumerable,  and  taste 
The  savour  of  death  from  all  things  that  there  live ', 
Nor  shall  I  to  the  work  thou  enterprisest 
Be  wanting,  but  afi"ord  thee  equal  aid. 

So  saying,  with  delight  he  snuff'd  the  smell 
Of  mortal  change  on  earth.     As  when  a  flock  ■" 
Of  ravenous  fowl,  though  many  a  league  remote. 
Against  the  day  of  battel,  to  a  field, 
Where  armies  lie  eneamp'd,  come  flying,  lured 
With  scent  of  living  carcases  design'd 
For  death,  the  following  day,  in  bloody  fight : 
So  scented  the  grim  feature,  and  upturn'd 
His  nostril  wide  into  the  murky  air ; 
Sagacious  of  his  quarry  from  so  far. 
Then  both  from  out  hell  gates,  into  the  waste 
Wide  anarchy  of  Chaos,  damp  and  dark, 
Flew  diverse ;  and  with  power  (their  power  was  great) 
Hovering  upon  the  waters,  what  they  met 

r  Ah  when  a  Jloch. 

Dr.  Nowton  thinks  that  Lucan's  description  of  tho  ravenous  birds  that  followed  the 
Roman  camp,  and  scented  the  battle  of  Pharsalia,  gave  occasion  to  Milton's  simile.  See 
PharsaL  ^iii.  831. — Todd. 


BOOK  X.] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


351 


Solid  or  slimy,  as  in  raging  sea 

Tost  up  and  down,  together  crowded  drove, 

From  each  side  shoaling  towards  the  mouth  of  hell : 

A3  when  two  polar  winds,*  blowing  adverse 

Upon  the  Cronian  sea,  together  drive 

Mountains  of  ice,  that  stop  the  imagined  way 

Beyond  Petsora  eastward,  to  the  rich 

Cathaian  coast.     The  aggregated  soil 

Death  with  his  mace  petrific,  cold  and  dry, 

As  with  a  trident,  smote,  and  fix'd  as  firm 

As  Delos,  floating  once ;  the  rest  his  look 

Bound  with  Gorgonian  rigour  not  to  move ; 

And  with  asphaltic  slime,  broad  as  the  gate, 

Deep  to  the  roots  of  hell  the  gather'd  beach 

They  fasten'd  and  the  mole  immense  wrought  on, 

Over  the  foaming  deep  high-arch'd,  a  bridge 

Of  length  prodigious,  joining  to  the  wall 

Immoveable  of  this  now  fenceless  world, 

Forfeit  to  Death  :  from  hence  a  passage  broad. 

Smooth,  easy,  inoffensive,  down  to  hell. 

So,  if  great  things  to  small  may  be  compared, 

Xerxes,*  the  liberty  of  Greece  to  yoke. 

From  Susa,  his  Memnonian  palace  high, 

Came  to  the  sea;  and,  over  Hellespont 

Bridging  his  way,  Europe  with  Asia  join'd. 

And  scourged  with  many  a  stroke  the  indignant  wavea 

Now  had  they  brought  the  work  by  wondrous  art 

Pontifical,  a  ridge  of  pendant  rock. 

Over  the  vex'd  abyss,  following  the  track 

Of  Satan  to  the  self-same  place  where  he 

First  lighted  from  his  wing,  and  landed  safe 

From  out  of  Chaos,  to  the  olitside  bare 


«  As  when  two  polar  xcinds. 

Sin  and  Death,  flying  into  difl'erent  parts  of  Chaos,  and  driving  all  the  matter  they 
meet  there  in  shoals  towards  the  mouth  of  hell,  are  compared  to  two  polar  winds,  north 
a.nd  south,  6fo«o(>igr  nrfrerse  upon  the  Cronian  sea,  the  northern  frozen  sea;  ("A  Thule 
anius  diei  navigatione  mare  concretum  a  nonnullis  Cronium  appellantur."  Plin.  Nat 
Hist.  li').  iv.  cap.  16)  and  driving  together  mountains  of  ice,  that  stop  the  imagined 
Way,  the  north-east  passage  as  it  is  called,  which  so  many  have  attempted  to  discover ; 
beyond  Petsora  eastward,  the  most  north-eastern  province  of  Muscovy;  to  the  rich 
Cathaian  coast,  Cathay,  or  Catay,  a  country  of  Asia,  and  the  northern  part  of  China. — 
Newton, 

t  So Xerxet. 

Tbia  simile  is  very  exact  and  beautiful;  as  Sin  and  Death  built  a  bridge  over  Chaoa 
to  subdue  and  enslave  mankind ;  so  Xerxes,  to  bring  the  free  states  of  Greece  under 
his  yoke,  came  from  Susa,  the  residence  of  the  Persian  monarchs,  called  Memnonia  by 
Herodotus ;  and,  building  a  bridge  over  the  Hellespont,  the  narrow  sea  by  Constanti- 
nople that  divides  Europe  from  Asia,  to  march  his  large  army  over  it,  "  Europe  with 
Asia  join'd,  and  scourged  with  many  a  stroke  the  indignant  waves ;"  alluding  to  the 
madness  of  Xerxes,  in  ordering  the  sea  to  be  whipped  for  the  loss  of  some  of  his  ships  ; 
"indignant  waves,  scorning  and  raging  to  be  so  confined :"  as  Virgil  says,  ,^n.  viii.  728; 
"Pontemindignatus  Araxes  :"  and  Georg.  ii.  162  : 

Atque  indignatum  magoig  stridoribus  sqaor. — Niwtor. 


352  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  x. 

Of  this  round  world  :  with  pins  of  adamant 

And  chains  they  made  all  fast ;  too  fast  they  made 

And  durable !     And  now  in  little  space 

The  confines  met  of  empyrean  heaven, 

And  of  this  world ;  and,  on  the  left  hand,  hell 

With  long  reach  interposed ;  three  several  ways 

In  sight,  to  each  of  these  three  places  led. 

And  now  their  way  to  earth  they  had  descried, 

To  Paradise  first  tending ;  when,  behold  ! 

Satan,  in  likeness  of  an  angel  bright, 

Betwixt  the  Centaur"  and  the  Scorpion  steering 

His  zenith,  while  the  sun  in  Aries  rose : 

Disguised  he  came ;  but  those  his  child»"en  dear 

Their  parent  soon  discern' d,  though  in  disguise. 

He,  after  Eve  seduced,  unmii>ded  slunk 

Into  the  wood  fast  by ;  and  changing  shape, 

To  observe  the  sequel,  saw  his  guileful  act 

By  Eve,  though  all  unweeting,  seconded 

Upon  her  husband ;  saw  their  shame  that  sought 

Vain  covertures ;  but  when  he  saw  descend 

The  Son  of  God  to  judge  them,  terrified 

He  fled ;  not  hoping  to  escape,  but  shun 

The  present ;  fearing,  guilty,  what  his  wrath 

Might  suddenly  inflict;  that  past,  return'd 

By  night,  and  listening  where  the  hapless  pair 

Sat  in  their  sad  discourse  and  various  plaint, 

Thence  gather'd  his  own  doom ;  which  understood 

Not  instant,  but  of  future  time,  with  joy 

And  tidings  fraught,  to  hell  he  now  return'd  : 

And  at  the  brink  of  Chaos,  near  the  foot 

Of  this  new  wondrous  pontifice,  unhoped 

Met,  who  to  meet  him  came,  his  ofi'spring  dear. 

Great  joy  was  at  their  meeting,  and  at  sight 

Of  that  stupendous  bridge,  his  joy  increased. 

Long  he  admiring  stood ;  till  Sin,  his  fair 

Enchanting  daughter,  thus  the  silence  broke : 

0  parent,  these  are  thy  magnific  deeds, 
Thy  trophies !  which  thou  view'st  as  not  thine  own . 
Thou  art  their  authour,  and  prime  architect : 
For  I  no  sooner  in  my  heart  divined 
(My  heart,  which  by  a  secret  harmony 
Still  moves  with  thine,  join'd  in  connexion  sweet) 
That  thou  on  earth  hadst  prosper' d,  which  thy  look? 

o  Betwixt  the  Centaur. 

Alluding  to  a  ship  steering  her  course  betwixt  two  islands  :  so  Satan  directed  his  way 
between  these  two  signs  of  the  zodiac  Hpwards :  the  zenith  is  overhead. — Richardson. 

Satan,  to  avoid  being  discovered  (as  he  had  been  before,  b.  iv.  569,  <fec.)  by  Uriel, 
regent  of  the  sun,  takes  care  to  keep  at  as  great  a  distance  as  possible  ;  and  therefore 
while  the  sun  rose  in  Aries,  be  steers  his  course  directly  upwards,  betwuvt  the  Centaur 
and  the  Scorpion,  two  constellations  which  lay  in  a  quite  different  part  of  the  heavens 
from  Aries. — Newton. 


BOOK  X.]  PARADISE  LOST.  353 

Now  also  evidence,  but  straight  I  felt, 

Though  distant  from  thee  worlds  between,  yet  felt 

That  I  must  after  thee,  with  this  thy  son ; 

Such  fatal  consequence  unites  us  three. 

Hell  could  no  longer  hold  us  in  our  bounds, 

Nor  this  uuvoyageable  gulf  obscure 

Detain  from  following  thy  illustrious  track  : 

Thou  hast  achieved  our  liberty,  confined 

Within  hell-gates  till  now  j  thou  hast  impower'd 

To  fortify  thus  for,  and  overlay, 

With  this  portentous  bridge,  the  dark  abyss. 

Thine  now  is  all  the  world ;  thy  virtue  hath  won 

What  thy  hands  builded  not ;  thy  wisdom  gain'd 

With  odds  what  war  hath  lost;  and  fully  avenged 

Our  foil  in  heaven :  here  thou  shalt  monarch  reign, 

There  didst  not;  there  let  him  still  victor  sway, 

As  battel  hath  adjudged;  from  this  new  world 

Retiring,  by  his  own  doom  alienated; 

And  henceforth  monarchy  with  thee  divide 

Of  all  things,  parted  by  the  empyreal  bounds, 

His  quadrature,  from  thy  orbicular  world ; 

Or  try  thee  now  more  dangerous  to  his  throne. 

Whom  thus  the  prince  of  darkness  answer'd  glad : 
Fair  daughter,  and  thou  son  and  grandchild  both ; 
High  proof  ye  now  have  given  to  be  the  race 
Of  Satan  (for  I  glory  in  the  name. 
Antagonist  of  heaven's  Almighty  King ;) 
Amply  have  merited  of  me,  of  all 
The  infernal  empire,  that  so  near  heaven's  door 
Triumphal  with  triumphal  act  have  met, 
Mine,  with  this  glorious  work,;  and  made  one  realm, 
Hell  and  this  world,  one  realm,  one  continent 
Of  easy  thoroughfare.     Therefore, — while  I 
Descend  through  darkness,  on  your  road  with  ease, 
To  my  associate  powers,  them  to  acquaint 
With  these  successes,  and  with  them  rejoice; — 
You.  two  this  way,  among  these  numerous  orbs,. 
All  yours,  right  down  to  Paradise  descend ; 
There  dwell  and  reign  in  bliss ;  thence  on  the  earth 
Dominion  exercise  and  in  the  air. 
Chiefly  on  man,  sole  lord  of  all  declared : 
Him  first  make  sure  your  thrall,  and  lastly  kill. 
My  substitutes  I  send  ye,  and  create 
Plenipotent  on  earth,  of  matchless  might 
Issuing  from  me;  .on  your  joint  vigour  now 
My  hold  of  this  new  kingdom  all  depends. 
Through  Sin  to  Death  exposed  by  my  exploit. 
If  your  joint  power  prevail,  the  affairs  of  hell 
No  detriment  need  fear :  go,  and  be  strong  1 

So  saying,  he  dismiss'd  them ;  they  with  speed 
Their  course  through  thickest  constellations  held, 

45 


354  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  x. 

Spreading  their  bane ;  ^  the  blasted  stars  looked  wan ; »    , 

And  planets,  planet-struck,^  real  eclipse 

Then  suffer'd.     The  other  way  Satan  went  down 

The  causey  to  hell-gate :  on  either  side 

Disparted  Chaos  overbuilt  exclaim'd, 

And  with  rebounding  surged  the  bars  assail'd, 

Tliat  scorn'd  his  indignation  :  through  the  gate, 

Wide  open  and  unguarded,  Satan  pass'd, 

And  all  about  found  desolate ;  for  those, 

Appointed  to  sit  there,  had  left  their  charge, 

Flown  to  the  upper  world ;  the  rest  were  all 

Far  to  the  inland  retired,  about  the  walls 

Of  Pandaemonium,  city  and  proud  seat 

Of  Lucifer ;  so  by  allusion  call'd 

Of  that  bright  star  to  Satan  paragon'd  : 

There  kept  their  watch  the  legions,  while  the  grand 

In  council  sat,  solicitous  what  chance  ^ 

Might  intercept  their  emperour  sentj  so  he 

Departing  gave  command,  and  they  observed. 

As  when  the  Tartar  from  his  Russian  foe, 

By  Astracan,^  over  the  snowy  plains, 

Retires;  or  Bactrian  Sophi,  from  the  horns 

V  Spreading  their  hane. 
Orid's  description  of  the  journey  of  Envy  to  Athens,  and  Milton's  of  Sin  and  Deatll 
to  Paradise,  have  a  great  resemblance :  but  whatever  Milton  imitates,  he  adds  a  great- 
ness to  it ;  as  in  this  place,  he  alters  Ovid's  flowers,  herbs,  people,  and  cities,  to  stars, 
planets,  and  worlds. — Ovid,  Met.  ii.  793  : — 

Quacumque  ingreilitur,  florentia  preterit  arva, 
Exuriqiie  herbas  et  eumma  cacumina  carpit: 
Atflutuque  suo  pupulug,  urbesque,  demosque 
Polluit. 

See  an  'Essay  upon  Milton's  Imitations  of  the  Ancients,'  p.  42. — Newton. 

""  Blasted  stars  look'd  wan. 

So  Tasso,  speaking  of  Alecto,  Gier.  Lib.  c.  ix.  st.  1 : — 

Si  parte,  e  dove  passsi  campi  lieti 

Secca,  e  pallido  il  sol  si  fa  repents. — Thter. 

»  Planets,  planet-struck. 
We  say  of  a  thing,  when  it  is  blasted  and  withered,  that  it  is  planet-struck;  and  that 
la  now  applied  to  the  planets  themselves.     And  what  a  sublime  idea  doth  it  give  us  of 
the  devastations  of  Sin  and  Death ! — Newton. 

y  Aiid  tcith  rebounding  surge. 
Virg.  Qeorg.  ii.  161: — 

Lucrinoque  addita  claustra, 
Atque  indignatum  magnis  stridoribas  aequor. — ^Nkwtom. 

^  By  Astracan. 
A  considerable  part  of  the  Czar's  dominions,  formerly  a  Tartarian  kingdom,  Trith 
capital  city  of  the  same  name,  near  the  mouth  of  the  river  Volga,  at  its  fall  into  ihe 
Caspian  sea;  or  Bactrian  Sophi,  the  Persian  emperor,  named  of  Bactria,  one  of  the 
greatest  and  richest  provinces  of  Persia;  from  the  horns  of  Turkish  crescent,  hisTurkisli 
enemies,  who  bear  the  crescent  in  their  ensigns ;  leaves  all  waste  beyond  the  realm  of 
Aladule,  the  Greater  Armenia,  called  Aladule  of  its  last  k'ng  Aladules,  slain  by  Sely- 
mus  the  First,  in  his  retreat  to  Tauris,  a  great  city  of  Persia ;  now  called  Ecbatana, 
sometime  in  the  hands  of  the  Turks,  but  retaken  in  1603  by  Abas,  King  of  Persia;  or 
Casbeen,  one  of  the  greatest  cities  of  Persia,  towards  the  Caspian  sea,  where  the  Persian 
monarchs  made  their  residence  after  the  loss  of  Tauris,  from  which  it  is  distant  sixty- 
five  (ierman  miles  to  the  south-east. — Hu.me. 


BOOK  X.]  PARADISE  LOST.  355 

Of  Turkish  crescent,  leaves  all  waste  beyond 

The  realm  of  Aladule,  in  his  retreat 

To  Tauris  or  Casbeen ;  so  these,  the  late 

Heaven-banished  host,  left  desart  utmost  hell 

Many  a  dark  league,  reduced  in  careful  watch 

liound  their  metropolis;  and  now  expecting 

teach  hour  their  great  adventurer,  from  the  search 

Of  foreign  worlds :  he  through  the  midst »  unmark'd, 

In  show  plebeian  angel  militant 

Of  lowest  order,  pass'd ;  and  from  the  door, 

Of  that  Plutonian  hall,  invisible 

Ascended  his  high  throne ;  which,  under  state 

Of  richest  texture  spread,  at  the  upper  end 

Was  placed  in  regal  lustre.     Down  awhile 

He  sat,  and  round  about  him  saw,  unseen  : 

At  last,  as  from  a  cloud,  his  fulgent  head 

And  shape  star-bright  appear'd,  or  brighter;  clad 

With  what  permissive  glory  since  his  fall 

Was  left  him,  or  false  glitter :  all  amazed 

At  that  so  sudden  blaze,  the  Stygian  throng 

Bent  their  aspect,  and  whom  they  wish'd  beheld, 

Their  mighty  chief  return'd  :  loud  was  the  acclaim; 

Forth  rush'd  in  haste  the  great  consulting  peers, 

Raised  from  their  dark  divan,  and  with  like  joy 

Congratulant  approach'd  him ;  who  with  hand 

Silence,  and  with  these  words  attention,  won : 

Thrones,  dominations, "•  princedoms,  virtues,  powers; 
For  in  possession  such,  not  only  of  right, 
I  call  ye,  and  declare  ye  now;  return'd 
Successful  beyond  hope,  to  lead  ye  forth 
Triumphant  out  of  this  infernal  pit 
Abominable,  accursed,  the  house  of  woe, 
And  dungeon  of  our  tyrant :  now  possess, 
As  lords,  a  spacious  world,  to  our  native  heaven 
Little  inferiour,  by  my  adventure  hard 
With  peril  great  achieved,     Long  were  to  tell 
What  I  have  done,  what  sufFer'd ;  with  what  pain 
Voyaged  the  unreal,  vast,  unbounded  deep 
Of  horrible  confusion ;  over  which 
By  Sin  and  Death  a  broad  way  now  is  paved, 
To  expedite  your  glorious  march ;  but  I 
Toil'd  out  my  uncouth  passage,  forced  to  ride 
The  untractable  abyss,  plunged  in  the  womb 

»  He  through  the  midst. 
This  account  of  Satan's  passing  unmark'd  through  the  midst  of  the  angels;    and 
ascending  his  throne  invisible ;  and  seeing  there  about  him,  himself  unseen ;  and  then 
bursting  forth,  as  from  a  cloud,  in  glory;  seems  to  be  copied  from  a  like  adventure  of 
^neas,  Virg.  ^n.  i.  439.— Newton. 

^  Thrones,  dominations. 
It  is  commca  with  Homer  to  make  use  of  the  same  verse  several  times,  and  especially 
at  the  beginning  of  his  speeches. — Newton. 


356 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[book  X. 


Of  unoriginal  Night  and  Chaos  wild ; 

That,  jealous  of  their  secrets,  fiercely  opposed 

My  journey  strange,  with  clamorous  uproar 

Protesting  fate  supreme ;  thence  how  I  found 

The  new-created  world,  which  fame  in  heaven 

Long  had  foretold,  a  fabric  wonderful 

Of  absolute  perfection  !  therein  man 

Placed  in  a  Paradise,  by  our  exile 

Made  happy :  him  by  fraud  I  have  seduced 

From  his  Creator ;  and,  the  more  to  increase 

Your  wonder,  with  an  apple ;  he,  thereat 

Offended,  worth  your  laughter !  hath  given  up 

Both  his  beloved  man  and  all  his  world, 

To  Sin  and  Death  a  prey;  and  so  to  us, 

Without  our  hazard,  labour,  or  alarm. 

To  range  in,  and  to  dwell,  and  over  man 

To  rule,  as  over  all  he  should  have  ruled. 

True  is,  me  also  he  hath  judged,  or  rather 

Me  not,  but  the  brute  serpent,  in  whose  shape 

Man  I  deceived  :  that  which  to  me  belongs 

Is  enmity,  which  he  will  put  between 

Me  and  mankind ;  I  am  to  bruise  his  heel ; 

His  seed,  when  is  not  set,  shall  bruise  my  head. 

A  world  who  would  not  purchase  with  a  bruise, 

Or  much  more  grievous  pain  ?     Ye  have  the  account 

Of  my  performance  :  what  remains,  ye  gods, 

But  up,  and  enter  now  into  full  bliss  ? 

So  having  said,  awhile  he  stood  expecting 
Their  universal  shout,  and  high  applause, 
To  fill  his  ear :  when,  contrary,  he  hears 
On  all  sides,  from  innumerable  tongues, 
A  dismal  universal  hiss,  the  sound 
Of  public  scorn  :  he  wonder' d,  but  not  long 
Had  leisure,  wondering  at  himself  now  more : 
His  visage  drawn  he  felt  to  sharp  and  spare ; 
His  arms  clung  to  his  ribs ;  his  legs  entwining 
Each  other,  till  supplanted  down  he  fell' 
A  monstrous  serpent  ■•  on  his  belly  prone, 
Reluctant,  but  in  vain  j  a  greater  Power 


c  Supplanted  down  he  fell. 
We  may  observe  here  a  singular  beauty  and  elegance  in  Milton's  language,  and  that 
ie  his  using  words  in  their  strict  and  literal  sense,  which  are  commonly  applied  to  a 
metaphorical  meaning;  whereby  he  gives  peculiar  force  to  his  expressions,  and  the 
literal  meaning  appears  more  new  and  striking  than  the  metaphor  itself :  we  have  an 
instance  of  this  in  the  word  supplanted,  which  is  derived  from  the  Latin  "  supplanto," 
to  trip  up  one's  heels,  or  overthrow,  "  a  planta  pedis  subtus  emota :"  and  there  are 
abundance  of  other  examples  in  several  parts  of  this  work;  but  let  it  sufiSce  to  haev 
taken  notice  cf  it  here  once  for  all. — Newton. 

'  A  monstrous  serpent. 
Milton,  in  describing  Satan's  transformation  into  a  serpent,  had  no  doubt  in  mind  the 
transformation  of  Cadmus  in  the  fourth  book  of  the  Metamorphoses,  to  which  he  had 
alluded  before  in  b.  ix  905.     See  Ovid.  Met.  iv.  575. — Newton 


BOOK  X.]  PARADISE  LOST.  357 

Now  ruled  him,  punish'd  in  the  shape  he  sinn'd, 

According  to  his  doom.     He  would  have  spoke, 

But  hiss  for  hiss  return'd  with  forked  tongue 

To  forked  tongue ;  for  now  were  all  transform'd 

Alike,  to  serpents  all,  as  accessories 

To  hia  bold  riot :  dreadful  was  the  din 

Of  hissing  through  the  hall,  thick-swarming  now 

With  complicated  monsters  head  and  tail, 

Scorpion,  and  asp,  and  amphisbaena  dire. 

Cerastes  horn'd,  hydrus,  and  elops  drear. 

And  dipsas  (not  so  thick  swarm'd  once  the  soil 

Bedropt  with  blood  of  Gorgon,  or  the  isle 

Ophiusa) ;  but  still  greatest  he  the  midst, 

Now  dragon  grown,  larger  than  whom  the  sun 

Ingender'd  in  the  Pythian  vale  on  slime, 

Huge  Python,  and  his  power  no  less  he  seem'd 

Above  the  rest  still  to  retain.     They  all 

Him  foUow'd,  issuing  forth  to  the  open  field, 

Where  all  yet  left  of  that  revolted  rout. 

Heaven-fallen,  in  station  stood  or  just  array; 

Sublime  with  expectation  when  to  see 

In  triumph  issuing  forth  their  glorious  chief. 

They  saw,  but  other  sight  indeed  !  a  crowd 

Of  ugly  serpents ;  horrour  on  them  fell. 

And  horrid  sympathy ;  for  what  they  saw. 

They  felt  themselves,  now  changing :  down  their  arms, 

Down  fell  both  spear  and  shield ;  down  they  as  fast ; 

And  the  dire  hiss  renew'd,  and  the  dire  form 

Catch'd,  by  contagion  ;  like  in  punishment, 

As  in  their  crime.     Thus  was  the  applause  they  meant 

Turn'd  to  exploding  hiss,  triumph  to  shame 

Cast  on  themselves  from  their  own  mouths.     There  stood 

A  grove  hard  by,  sprung  up  with  this  their  change, 

His  will  who  reigns  above,  to  aggravate 

Their  penance,  laden  with  fair  fruit,  like  that 

Which  grew  in  Paradise,  the  bait  of  Eve 

Used  by  the  tempter  :  on  that  prospect  strange 

Their  earnest  eyes  they  fix'd,  imagining 

For  one  forbidden  tree  a  multitude 

Now  risen,  to  work  them  farther  woe  or  shame ; 

Yet,  parch'd  with  scalding  thirst  and  hunger  fierce, 

Though  to  delude  them  sent,  could  not  abstain ; 

But  on  they  roll'd  in  heaps,  and,  up  the  trees 

Climbing,  sat  thicker  than  the  snaky  locks 

That  curl'd  Megsera.     Greedily  they  pluck'd 

The  fruitage  fair  to  sight,  like  that  which  grew 

Near  that  bituminous  lake  *  where  Sodom  flamed ; 

e  Near  that  hitttminoua  lake. 
The  Dead  Sea,  or  the  lake  Asphaltites,  so  called  from  the  bitumen  which  it  is  said  to 
ha^e  east  up;  near  which  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  were  situated.    Josephus  mentions  the 
apples  of  Sudom  as  dissolving  into  ashes  and  smoke  at  the  first  touch :  but  our  country- 


358  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  x 

This  more  delusive,  not  the  touch,  but  taste 
Deceived  :  they  fondly  thinking  to  allay 
Their  appetite  with  gust,  instead  of  fruit 
Chew'd  bitter  ashes,  which  the  offended  taste 
With  spattering  noise  rejected  :  oft  they  assay'd, 
Hunger  and  thirst  constraining ;  drugg'd  as  oft, 
With  hatefulest  disrelish  writhed  their  jaws, 
With  soot  and  cinders  fiU'd ;  so  oft  they  fell 
Into  the  same  illusion,  not  as  man 

Whom  they  triumph'd  once  lapsed.'    Thus  were  they  plagued, 
And  worn  with  famine  long  and  ceaseless  hiss, 
Till  their  lost  shape,  permitted,  they  resumed ; 
Yearly  enjoin'd,  some  say,  to  undergo 
This  annual  humbling  certain  number'd  days, 
To  dash  their  pride  and  joy  for  man  seduced. 
However,  some  tradition  they  dispersed 
A-mong  the  heathen  of  their  purchase  got ; 
And  fabled  how  the  serpent,  whom  they  call'd 
Ophion,  with  Eurynome,  the  wide- 
Encroaching  Eve  perhaps,  had  first  the  rule 
Of  high  Olympus ;  thence  by  Satarn  driven 
And  Ops,  ere  yet  Dictaean  Jove  was  born. 

Meanwhile  in  Paradise  the  hellish  pair 
Too  soon  arrived  ;  Sin,  there  in  power «  before, 
Once  actual ;  now  in  body,  and  to  dwell 
Habitual  habitant ;  behind  her  Death, 
Close  following,  pace  for  pace,  not  mounted  yet 
On  his  pale  horse ;  •'  to  whom  Sin  thus  began : 

Second  of  Satan  sprung,  all-conquering  Death ! 
What  think'st  thou  of  our  empire  now,  though  earn'd 
With  travail  difficult  ?  not  better  far, 

men,  Sandys  and  Maundrell,  who  visited  the  Holy  Land,  are  inclined  to  disbelieve  that 
Buch  fruit  existed.  Cotovicus,  describing  Sodom,  <fec.,  positively  asserts  the  same  par- 
ticulars of  these  apples,  which  the  Jewish  historian  mentions,  and  to  which  the  poet 
very  minutely  alludes :  "  Hinc  quorjue  arbores  hillic  spectes  visu  pulcherrmas,  et  poma 
yiridantia  producentes,  adspectu  ridentia  et  nitida,  et  quae  edendi  generent  spectantibua 
eiipiditatem,  sed  intus  favilla  et  cinere  plena;  quae  ipsa  etiam,  si  carpas,  fatiscunt,  et  in 
cinerem  resolvuntur,  et  quasi  adhuc  arderent,  fumum  excitant."  Itin.  Hierosol.  p.  312, 
See  also  Sir  John  Mandeville's  Travels,  ed.  1725,  p.  122,  where  he  is  speaking  of  thia 
delusive  fruit. — Todd. 

f  Once  lapsed. 

When  being  once  lapsed,  they  triumphed; — in  opposition  to  themselves,  wbo  often 
fell  into  the  same  illusion. 

f  Sin,  there  in  poioer. 

The  sense  is,  that,  before  the  Fall,  Sin  was  in  power,  or  potentially  in  Paradise;  that 
once,  viz.,  upon  the  Fall,  it  was  actually  there,  though  not  Bodily;  but  that  now,  upon 
it"  arrival  in  Paradise,  it  was  there  in  body,  and  dwelt  there  as  a  constant  inhabitant. 
The  words,  in  body,  allude  to  what  St.  Paul  says,  Rom.  vi.  6,  "  that  the  body  of  sin 
might  be  d«stroyed." — Pearce. 

h  Not  mounted  yet 
On  his  pale  horse. 

Milton  has  given  a  fine  turn  to  this  poetical  thought  by  saying  that  Death  had  not 
mounted  yet  on  his  pale  horse:  for,  though  he  was  to  have  a  long  and  all-conquering 
power,  he  had  not  yet  begun,  neither  was  he  for  some  time  to  put  it  in  execution.— 

GBEEinVOCD. 


BOOK  X.]  PARADISE  LOST.  359 

Thau  still  at  hell's  dark  threshold  to  have  sat  watch, 
Uniiamed,  undreaded,  and  thyself  half-starved  ? 

Whom  thus  the  sin-born  monster  answer'd  soon  : 
To  me,  who  with  eternal  famine  pine, 
Alike  is  hell,  or  Paradise,  or  heaven ; 
There  best,  where  most  with  ravine  I  may  meet : 
Which  here,  though  plenteous,  all  too  little  seems' 
To  stuff  this  maw,  this  vast  un-hideboundJ  corpse. 

To  whom  the  incestuous  mother  thus  replied  : 
Thou  therefore  on  these  herbs,  and  fruits,  and  flowers, 
Feed  first ;  on  each  beast  next,  and  fish,  and  fowl ; 
No  homely  morsels  :  and  whatever  thing 
The  scythe  of  Time  mows  down,  devour  unspared; 
Till  I,  in  man  residing,  through  the  race. 
Hip  thoughts,  his  looks,  words,  actions,  all  infect; 
And  season  him  thy  last  and  sweetest  prey. 
This  said,  they  both  betook  them  several  ways, 
Both  to  destroy,  or  unimmortal  make 
All  kinds,  and  for  destruction  to  mature 
Sooner  or  later ;  which  the  Almighty  seeing. 
From  his  transcendant  seat  the  saints  among. 
To  those  bright  orders  utter'd  thus  his  voice : 

See,  with  what  heat  these  dogs  of  hell"  advance 
To  waste  and  havoc  yonder  world,  which  I 
So  fair  and  good  created ;  and  had  still 
Kept  in  that  state,  had  not  the  folly  of  man 
Let  in  these  wasteful  furies,  who  impute 
Folly  to  me ;  so  doth  the  prince  of  hell 
And  his  adherents,  that  with  so  much  ease 
I  suffer  them  to  enter  and  possess 
A  place  so  heavenly  ;  and,  conniving,  seem 
To  gratify  my  scornful  enemies. 
That  laugh,  as  if,  transported  with  some  fit 
Of  passion,  I  to  them  had  quitted  all. 
At  random  yielded  up  to  their  misrule ; 
And  know  not  that  I  call'd,  and  drew  them  thither. 
My  hell-hounds,  to  lick  up  the  draff  and  filth 
Which  man's  polluting  sin  with  taint  hath  shed 
On  what  was  pure ;  till,  cramm'd  and  gorged,  nigh  burst 
With  suck'd  and  glutted  offal,  at  one  sling 
Of  thy  victorious  arm,  well-pleasing  Son, 

>  Too  little  seems. 
Compare  Prov. xxvii.  30.  "Hell  and  destruction  are  never  full;  so  the  eyes  of  man 
arenerer  satisfied." — Todd. 

i  Un-hidebound. 
Not  tight-bound,  as  wbert  creatures  are  swoln  and  full. — Newton. 

k  Dogs  of  hell. 
Newton  thinks  some  of  the  expressions  in  this  description  too  coarse :  they  are  par- 
ticularly so  from  ver.  630,  but  they  have  a  worse  fault;  they  are  the  expressions  of 
mere  human  indignation  and  scorn ;  and  are  therefore  unsuitable  to  the  Deity.  The 
iifficalty,  howe  yer,  of  assigning  to  the  divine  displeasure  terms  of  language  according 
with  his  purity,  as  well  as  anger,  is  hardly  surmountable. 


360  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  x, 

Both  Sin,  and  Death,  and  yawning  grave,*  at  last, 

Through  Chaos  hurl'd,  obstruct  the  mouth  of  hell™ 

For  ever,  and  seal  up  his  ravenous  jaws 

Then  heaven  and  earth  renew'd  shall  be  made  pure 

To  sanctity,  that  shall  receive  no  stain  : 

Till  then,  the  curse  pronounced  on  both  precedes. 

He  ended,  aild  the  heavenly  audience  loud 
Sung  halleluiah,  as  the  sound  of  seas. 
Through  multitude  that  sung :  Just  are  thy  ways," 
Righteous  are  thy  decrees  on  all  thy  works : 
Who  can  extenuate  thee  ?     Next,  to  the  Son, 
Destined  Restorer  of  mankind,  by  whom 
New  heaven  and  earth  shall  to  the  ages  rise, 
Or  down  from  heaven  descend.     Such  was  their  songj 
While  the  Creator,  calling  forth  by  name 
His  mighty  angels,  gave  them  several  charge, 
As  sorted  best  with  present  things.     The  sun 
Had  first  his  precept  so  to  move,  so  shine. 
As  might  affect  the  earth  with  cold  and  heat 
Scarce  tolerable,  and  from  the  north  to  call 
Decrepit  winter;  from  the  south  to  bring 
Solstitial  summer's  heat.     To  the  blanc  moon 
Her  office  they  prescribed ;  to  the  other  five 
Their  planetary  motions,  and  aspects, 
In  sextile,"  square,  and  trine,  and  opposite, 
Of  noxious  efficacy,  and  when  to  join 
In  synod  unbenign ;  and  taught  the  fix'd 
Their  influence  malignant  when  to  shower, 
Which  of  them  rising  with  the  sun,  or  falling. 
Should  prove  tempestuous :  to  the  winds  they  set 
Their  corners,  when  with  bluster  to  confound 
Sea,  air,  and  shore ;  the  thunder  when  to  roll 
With  terrour  through  the  dark  aereal  hail. 

'  Death,  and  yawning  grave. 
Death  and  the  grave,  meaning  the  same,  is  a  pleonasm ;  which  adding  force,  and 
energy,  and  calling  forth  the  attention,  is  a  beauty  common  in  the  best  writers;  but  not 
for  that  reason  only  has  Milton  used  it :  the  Scripture  has  thus  joined  Death  and  the 
grave,  Hos.  xiii.  14;  Cor.  xv.  55;  and  Rev.  xx.  13;  where  the  word  rendered  'hell'  sig- 
nifies also  the  grave. — Kichardson. 

•n  Obstruct  the  mouth  of  hell, 
Mr.  Boyd,  the  learned  and  elegant  translator  of  Dante's  "  Inferno,"  ie  of  opinion  tha< 
the  sublime  imagination  of  Dante, — "  that  the  earthquake  which  attended  the  cruci- 
fixion, overthrew  the  infernal  ramparts,  and  obstructed  the  way  to  hell," — gave  the  hint 
to  Milton,  that  Sin  and  Death  first  built  the  infernal  bridge,  whose  partial  ruin  at  least 
fras  the  consequence  of  the  resurrection.     See  the  "  Inferno,"  c.  xsiii. — Todd. 

"  Jitst  are  thy  way». 
The  same  song,  says  Dr  Newton,  that  they  are  represented  singing  in  Revelations 
Rev.  XV.  3  ;  xvi.  7 ;  as  in  the  foregoingpassage,  which  is  remarked  also  by  Addison,  he 
alludes  to  Rev.  xix.  6. — Todd. 

0  In  sextile. 
If  an  unnecessary  ostentation  of  learning  be,  as  Addison  observes,  one  of  Milton's 
faults ;  it  certainly  must  be  an  aggravation  of  it,  where  he  not  only  introduces  but 
countenances,  such  enthusiastic,  unphilosophieal  notions,  as  this  jargon  of  the  astrolo* 
gers  is  made  up  of. — Thyer. 


BOOK  X.]  PARADISE  LOST.  361 

Some  say,  he  bid  his  angels  «•  turn  askance 

The  poles  of  earth,  twice  ten  degrees  and  more, 

From  the  sun's  axle ;  they  with  labour  push'd 

Oblique  the  centric  globe  :  some  say,  the  sun 

Was  bid  turn  reins  from  the  equinoctial  road 

Like-distant  breadth  to  Taurus  with  the  seven 

Atlantic  Sisters,  and  the  Spartan  Twins, 

Up  to  the  tropic  Crab :  thence  down  amain 

By  Leo,  and  the  Virgin,  and  the  Scales, 

As  deep  as  Capricorn ;  to  bring  in  change 

Of  seasons  to  each  clime;  else  had  the  spring 

Perpetual  smiled  on  earth  with  vernant  flowers 

Equal  in  days  and  nights,  except  to  those 

Beyond  the  polar  circles ;  to  them  day 

Had  unbenighted  shone ;  while  the  low  sun, 

To  recompense  his  distance,  in  their  sight 

Had  rounded  still  the  horizon,  and  not  known 

Or  east  or  west ;  which  had  forbid  the  snow 

From  cold  Estotiland,i  and  south  as  far 

Beneath  Magellan.     At  that  tasted  fruit, 

The  sun,  as  from  Thyestean  banquet,'  turn'd 

His  course  intended ;  else,  how  had  the  world  ' 

Inhabited,  though  sinless,  more  than  now, 

Avoided  pinching  cold  and  scorching  heat? 

These  changes  in  the  heavens,  though  slow,  produced 

Like  change  on  sea  and  land ;  sideral  blast, 

Vapour,  and  mist,  and  exhalation  hot. 

Corrupt  and  pestilent :  now  from  the  north 

Of  Norumbega,"  and  the  Samoed  shore, 

Bursting  their  brazen  dungeon,  arm'd  with  ice, 

And  snow,  and  hail,  and  stormy  gust  and  flaw, 

Boreas,  and  Caecias,*  and  A?gestes  loud, 

And  Thrascias,  rend  the  woods,  and  seas  upturn; 

p  Bid  his  angelt. 
It  was  "eternal  spring,"  b.  iv.  268,  before  the  Fall ;  and  he  is  now  accounting  for  the 
jhange  of  seasons  after  the  Fall,  and  mentions  the  two  famous  hypotheses. — Newtoh. 

q  Eatotiland. 

A  great  tract  of  land  in  the  north  of  America,  towards  the  Arctic  circle  and  Hudson'* 
Bay;  as  Magellan  is  a  country  in  South  America,  which,  together  with  its  straits,  took 
their  name  of  Ferdinandus  Magellanus,  a  Portuguese,  who  in  the  year  1520  first  dis- 
eovered  them. — Hume. 

'  Thyestean  banquet. 

The  bloody  banquet  given  by  Atreus  to  his  brother  Thyestes,  at  which  the  flesh  of 
his  own  children  was  served  up  among  the  festive  meats ;  an  implacable  resentment  of 
iin  adulterous  injury.  This  feast  was  the  master  and  leading  horror  of  classical  anti- 
quity;  it  drew  retributive  vengeance  upon  the  head  of  Agamemnon,  the  son  of  Atreus; 
followed  by  the  parricide  qf  Orestes:  but  all  these  horrors  are  summed  up  in  the 
prophetic  ravings  of  Cassandra,  as  given  by  the  daring  ^schylus,  in  his  "Agamemnon." 

•  Of  Norumhega. 
Norumbega,  a  province  of  the  northern  Armenia;  Samoieda,  in  the  north-east  of 
Muscovy,  upon  the  frozen  sea. — Hdue. 

t  Boreas  and  Caecias.  • 

In  this  account  of  the  winds,  is  a  needless  ostenta,tion  of  learning,  and  a  strange  miz- 

46 


362  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  x. 

With  adverse  blast  upturns  them  from  the  south 

Notus,  and  Afer  black  with  thunderous  clouds 

From  Serraliona :  thwart  of  these,  as  fierce, 

Forth  rush  the  Levant  and  the  Ponent  winds, 

Eurus  and  Zephyr,  with  their  lateral  noise, 

Sirocco  and  Libecchio.     Thus  began 

Outrage  from  lifeless  things  j  but  Discord  first, 

Daughter  of  Sin,  among  the  irrational 

Death  introduced,  through  fierce  antipathy  : 

Beast  now  with  beast  'gan  war,  and  fowl  with  fowl, 

And  fish  with  fish  :  to  graze  the  herb  "  all  leaving, 

Devour'd  each  other ;  nor  stood  much  in  awe 

Of  man,  but  fled  him ;  or,  with  countenance  grim. 

Glared  on  him  passing.     These  were  from  without'' 

The  growing  miseries,  which  Adam  saw 

Already  in  part,  though  hid  in  gloomiest  shade, 

To  sorrow  abandon'd,  but  worse  felt  within ; 

And,  in  a  troubled  sea  of  passion  tost. 

Thus  to  disburden  sought  with  sad  complaint : 

0  miserable  of  happy !  is  this  the  end 
Of  this  new  glorious  world,  and  me  so  late 
The  glory  of  that  glory  ?  who  now  become 
Accursed,  of  blessed,  hide  me  from  the  face 
Of  God,  whom  to  behold  was  then  my  highth 
Of  happiness  !     Yet  well,  if  here  would  end 
The  misery ;  I  deserved  it,  and  would  bear 
My  own  deservings ;  but  this  will  not  serve : 
All  that  I  eat  or  drink,  or  shall  beget. 
Is  propagated  curse.     0  voice,  once  heard 
Delightfully,  Increase  and  multiply; 
Now  death  to  hear  !  for  what  can  I  increase 
0»*  multiply,  but  curses  on  my  head  ? 
Who  of  all  ages  to  succeed,  but,  feeling 
The  evil  on  him  brought  by  me,  will  curse 
My  head  ?     Ill  fare  our  ancestor  impure  ! 
For  this  we  may  thank  Adam  !  but  his  thanks 
Shall  be  the  execration  :  so,  besides 

tnre  of  ancient  and  modem,  Latin  and  Italian  names  together.    These  are  the  foibles 
and  weak  parts  of  our  author. — Newton. 

These  "foiblfs  and  weak  parts"  of  Milton  may  not  be  equally  apparent  to  all  critics. 
lie  gratified  bis  ear  indeed  with  words  of  truly  epic  force  and  dignity;  but  it  is  best  at 
least  to  explain  such  as  are  unusual  to  the  English  reader.    The  Levant  and  the  Ponent 

i Eurus  and  Zephyr)  are  the  east  and  west  winds;  "their  lateral  noise,  Sirocco  and 
iibecchio,"  are  the  south-east  and  south-west 

n  To  graze  the  herb. 
Whether  Milton's  notion  was  right  or  not,  is  another  question ;  but  certainly  it  was 
his  notion,  that  beast,  fowl,  and  fish  grazed  the  herb  before  the  Fall. — Newton. 

»  These  teerefrom  without. 
The  transition  to  Adam  here  is  very  easy  and  natural,  and  cannot  fail  of  pleasing  the 
reader.     We  have  seen  great  alterations  produced  in  nature,  and  it  is  now  time  to  see 
how  Adam   is  affected  with  them;   and  whether  the   disorders  within  are  not  eveo 
worse  than  those  without. — Newton. 


BOOK  X.]  PARADISE  LOST.  3G3 

Mine  own  that  bide  upon  me,  all  from  me 

Shall  with  a  fierce  reflux  on  me  rebound; 

On  nie,  as  on  their  natural  centre,  light 

Heavy,  though  in  their  place.     0  fleeting  joya 

Of  Paradise,  dear-bought  with  lasting  woes  I 

Did  I  request  thee,  Maker,  from  my  clay" 

To  mould  me  man  ?     Did  I  solicit  thee 

From  darkness  to  promote  me,  or  here  place 

In  this  delicious  garden  ?     As  my  will 

Coneurr'd  not  to  my  being,  it  were  but  right 

And  equal  to  reduce  me  to  my  dust ; 

Desirous  to  resign  and  render  back 

All  I  received ;  unable  to  perform 

Thy  terms  too  hard,  by  which  I  was  to  hold 

The  good  I  sought  not.     To  the  loss  of  that, 

Sufficient  penalty,  why  hast  thou  added 

The  sense  of  endless  woes  ?     Inexplicable 

Thy  justice  seems :  yet,  to  say  truth,  too  late 

I  thus  contest ;  then  should  have  been  refused 

Those  terms,  whatever,  when  they  were  proposed : 

Thou  didst"  accept  them  ;  wilt  thou  enjoy  the  good, 

Then  cavil  the  conditions  ?  and,  though  God 

Made  thee  without  thy  leave,  what  if  thy  son 

Prove  disobedient,  and,  reproved,  retort. 

Wherefore  didst  thou  beget  me  ?     I  sought  it  not : 

Wouldst  thou  admit  for  his  contempt  of  thee 

That  proud  excuse  ?  yet  him  not  thy  election, 

But  natural  necessity  begot. 

God  made  thee  of  choice  his  own,  and  of  his  own 

To  serve  him ;  thy  reward  was  of  his  grace  j 

Thy  punishment  then  justly  is  at  his  will. 

Be  it  so,  for  I  submit;  his  "doom  is  fair. 

That  dust  1  am,  and  shall  to  dust  return : 

0  welcome  hour  whenever  !     Why  delays 

His  hand  to  execute  what  his  decree 

Fix'd  on  this  day  ?     Why  do  I  overlive  ? 

Why  am  I  mock'd  with  death,  and  lengthen'd  out 

To  deathless  pain  ?     How  gladly  would  I  meet 

Mortality  my  sentence,  and  be  earth 

Insensible !     How  glad  would  lay  me  down, 

As  in  my  mother's  lap !     There  I  should  rest, 

And  sleep  secure  j  his  dreadful  voice  ^  no  more 

w  From  my  clay. 
Seo  Isaiah's  animated  expostulation,  xiv.  9 : — "  Shall  the  clay  say  to  him  that  fiull* 
ioneth  it,  What  makest  thou  ?" — Todd. 

X  Thou  dicUt. 
The  change  of  persons,  sometimes  speaking  of  himself  in  tbe  first,  and  gometimee  to 
himself  in  the  second,  is  very  remarkable  in  this  speech,  as  well  as  the  change  ot  pas- 
sions :  and  in  like  manner  he  speaks  sometimes  of  Ood. — Newton. 

y  His  dreadful  voice. 
Perhaps  suggested  by  Job  xxxvi^.  h : — "  Qod  thundereth  marvellously  with  hiflvoice." 
— Todd. 


364  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  X 

Would  thunder  in  my  ears;  no  fear  of  worse 

To  me,  and  to  my  offspring,  would  torment  mc 

With  cruel  expectation.     Yet  one  doubt 

Pursues  me  still,  lest  all  I  cannot  die; 

Lest  that  pure  breath  of  life,*  the  spirit  of  man 

Which  God  inspired,  cannot  together  perish 

With  this  corporeal  clod  :  then  in  the  grave, 

Or  in  some  other  dismal  place,  who  knows 

But  I  shall  die  a  living  death  ?     0  thought 

Horrid,  if  true !     Yet  why  ?     It  was  but  breath 

Of  life  that  sinn'd;  what  dies  but  what  had  life 

And  sin  ?     The  body  properly  hath  neither. 

All  of  me  then  shall  die  :  let  this  appease 

The  doubt,  since  human  reach  no  farther  knows : 

For,  though  the  Lord  of  all  be  infinite, 

Is  his  wrath  also  ?     Be  it,  man  is  not  so, 

But  mortal  doom'd.     How  can  he  exercise 

Wrath  without  end  on  man,  whom  death  must  end  ? 

Can  he  make  deathless  death  ?     That  were  to  make 

Strange  contradiction,  which  to  God  himself 

Impossible  is  held;  as  argument 

Of  weakness,  not  of  power.     Will  he  draw  out, 

For  anger's  sake,  finite  to  infinite, 

In  punish'd  man,  to  satisfy  his  rigour, 

Satisfied  never  ?     That  were  to  extend 

His  sentence  beyond  dust  and  nature's  law. 

By  which  all  causes  else,"  according  still 

To  the  reception  of  their  matter,  act ; 

Not  to  the  extent  of  their  own  sphere.     But  say 

That  death  be  not  one  stroke,  as  I  supposed. 

Bereaving  sense,  but  endless  misery 

From  this  day  onward ;  which  I  feel  begun 

Both  in  me,  and  without  me ;  and  so  last 

To  perpetuity  : — ay,  me  !  that  fear 

Comes  thundering''  back  with  dreadful  revolution 

On  my  defenceless  head ;  both  death  and  I 

Am  found  eternal,  and  incorporate  both  : 

*  That  pure  breath  of  life. 
Sea  Gen.  iL  7. 

«  By  which  all  caiues  else. 
All  other  agents  act  in  proportion  to  the  reception  or  capacity  of  the  subject  matter, 
and  not  to  the  utmost  extent  of  their  own  power:  an  allusion  to  an  axiom  of  the  schools; 
.— "Omne  efficiens  agit  secundum  vires  recipientis,  non  suas." — Newton. 

b  That  fear 
Comes  thundering. 
The  thought  is  fine  as  it  is  natural.  The  sinner  may  invent  never  so  many  arguments 
fa  favour  of  the  annihilation  and  utter  extinction  of  the  soul;  but,  after  all  his  subter- 
tuges  and  evasions,  the  fear  of  a  future  state,  and  the  dread  of  everlasting  punishment^ 
will  still  pursue  him  :  he  may  put  it  off  for  a  time,  but  it  will  return  with  dreadful  revo- 
lutii/n  /  and,  lei  him  affect  what  serenity  and  gayety  he  pleases,  will,  notwithstanding 
ID  the  midst  of  it  all,  come  thundering  back  on  his  defenceless  head. — NjBn  TON. 


BOOK  X.] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


365 


Nor  I  on  my  part  single ;"  in  mc  all 

Posterity  stands  cursed  :  fair  patrimony 

That  I  must  leave  ye,  sons !     0,  were  I  able 

To  waste  it  all  myself,  and  leave  ye  none ! 

So  disinherited,  how  would  you  bless 

Me,  now  your  curse  !     Ah,  why  should  all  mankind, 

For  one  man's  fault,  thus  guiltless  be  condemned, 

If  guiltless  !     But  from  me  what  can  proceed, 

But  all  corrupt;  both  mind  and  will  depraved. 

Not  to  do  only,  but  to  will  the  same 

With  me  ?     II  ow  can  they  then  acquitted  stand 

In  sight  of  God  ?     Him,  after  all  disputes, 

Forced  I  absolve  :  all  my  evasions  vain, 

And  reasonings,  though  through  mazes,  lead  me  still   , 

But  to  my  own  conviction :  first  and  last 

On  me,  me  only,  as  the  source  and  spring 

Of  all  corruption,  all  the  blame  lights  due  ; 

So  might  the  wrath  !  Fond  wish  !  couldst  thou  support 

That  burden,  heavier  than  the  earth  to  bear ; 

Than  all  the  world  much  heavier,  though  divided 

With  that  bad  woman  ?     Thus,  what  thou  desirest, 

And  what  thou  fear'st,  alike  destroys  all  hope 

Of  refuge,  and  concludes  thee  miserable 

Beyond  all  past  example  "i  and  future  : 

To  Satan  only  like  both  crime  and  doom.    , 

0  conscience  !  into  what  abyss  of  fears 

And  horrours  hast  thou  driven  me  j  out  of  which 

1  find  no  way,  from  deep  to  deeper  plunged ! 

Thus  Adam  to  himself  lamented  loud, 
Through  the  still  night ; "  not  now,  as  ere  man  fell. 
Wholesome,  and  cool,  and  njild,  but  with  black  air 
Accompanied;  with  damps  and  dreadful  gloom; 
Which  to  his  evil  conscience  represented 
All  things  with  double  terrour :  on  the  ground 
Outstretch'd  he  lay,  on  the  cold  ground;  and  oft 
Cursed  his  creation ;  death  as  oft  accused 
Of  tardy  execution,  since  denounced 
The  day  of  his  offence.     Why  comes  not  death, 


«  Nor  I  on  my  part  tingle, 
And  this  curse  was  the  patrimony  which  he  was  to  leave  to  his  sons.     Thfl  authorhad 
in  \iew  2  Esdr.  vii.  48: — "0  thou  Adam,  what  hast  thou  done?  for  though  it  was  thon 
that  sinned,  thou  art  not  fallen  alone,  but  we  all  that  come  of  thee." — Newton. 

<•  Beyond  all  past  example. 

As  Adam  is  here  speaking  in  great  agonies  of  mind,  he  aggravates  his  own  misery, 
ftnd  concludes  it  to  be  greater  and  worse  than  that  of  the  fallen  angels,  or  all  future 
men;  as  having  in  himself  alone  the  source  of  misery  for  all  his  posterity;  wherea? 
both  angels  and  men  had  only  their  own  to  bear.  Satan  was  only  like  him,  as  being 
the  ringleader;  and  this  added  very  much  to  his  remorse;  as  we  read  in  b.  i.  605.— 
Nkwton. 

e  Through  the  still  night. 

This,  we  Q-^nceive,  must  be  some  other  night  than  that  immediately  after  the  Fall. — 
Newton. 


366  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  x. 

Said  he,  with  one  thrice-acceptable  stroke 

To  end  me  ?     Shall  truth  fail  to  keep  her  word, 

Justice  divine  not  hasten  to  be  just  ? 

But  death  comes  not  at  call;  justice  divine 

Mends  not  her  slowest  pace  for  prayers  or  cries. 

0  woods,  0  fountains,  hillocks,  dales,  and  bowers  I 
With  other  echo  late  I  taught  your  shades 

To  answer,  and  resound  far  other  song. 
Whom  thus  afflicted  when  sad  Eve  beheld, 
Desolate  where  she  sat,  approaching  nigh, 
Soft  words  to  his  fierce  passion  she  assay'd; 
But  her  with  stern  regard  he  thus  repell'd : 

Out  of  my  sight,  thou  serpent !     That  name  best 
Be§ts  thee  with  him  leagued,  thyself  as  false 
And  hateful ;  nothing  wants,  but  that  thy  shape, 
Like  his,  and  colour  serpentine,  may  show 
Thy  inward  fraud ;  to  warn  all  creatures  from  thee 
Henceforth ;  lest  that  too  heavenly  form,  pretended 
To  hellish  falsehood,  snare  them  !     But  for  thee 

1  had  persisted  happy  :  had  not  thy  pride 
And  wandering  vanity,  when  least  was  safe, 
Rejected  my  forewarning,  and  disdain'd 
Not  to  be  trusted ;  longing  to  be  seen. 
Though  by  the  devil  himself,  him  overweening 
To  over-reach ;  but,  with  the  serpent  meeting, 
Fool'd  and  beguiled ;  by  him  thou,  I  by  thee, 
To  trust  thee  from  my  side ;  imagined  wise. 
Constant,  mature,  proof  against  all  assaults  j 
And  understood  not  all  was  but  a  show. 
Rather  than  solid  virtue ;  all  but  a  rib 
Crook'd  by  nature,  bent,  as  now  appears. 
More  to  the  part  sinister,  from  me  drawn ; 
Well  if  thrown  out,  as  supernuinerary 

To  my  just  number  found.     0 !  why  did  God, 
Creator  wise,  that  peopled  highest  heaven 
With  spirits  masculine,  create  at  last 
This  novelty  on  earth,  this  fair  defect 
Of  nature,  and  not  fill  the  world  at  once 
With  men,  as  angels,  without  feminine ; 
Or  find  some  other  way  to  generate 
Mankind  ?  This  mischief  had  not  then  befallen. 
And  more  that  shall  befall ;  innumerable 
Disturbances  on  earth  through  female  snares. 
And  strait  conjunction  with  this  sex :  for  either 
He  never  shall  find  out  fit  mate,  but  such 
As  some  misfortune  brings  him,  or  mistake; 
Or  whom  he  wishes  most  shall  seldom  gain, 
Through  her  perverseness,  but  shall  see  her  gain'd 
By  a  far  worse ;  or,  if  she  love,  withheld 
By  parents;  or  his  happiest  choice  too  late 
Shall  meet,  already  link'd  and  wedlock-bound 


BOOK  X.]  PARADISE  LOST.  367 

To  a  fell  adversary,  his  hate  or  shame : 

Which  infinite  calamity  shall  cause 

To  human  life,  and  household  peace  confound. 

He  added  not,  and  from  her  turn'd ;  but  Eve, 
Not  so  repulsed,  with  tears  that  ceased  not  flowing, 
And  tresses  all  disordor'd,  at  his  feet 
Fell  humble ;  and,  embracing  them,  besought 
His  peace,  and  thus  proceeded  in  her  plaint: 

Forsake  me  not  thus,  Adam  !  witness,  Heaven, 
What  love  sincere,  and  reverence  in  my  heart 
I  bear  thee,  and  unweeting  have  offended. 
Unhappily  deceived  !  Thy  suppliant, 
I  beg,  and  clasp  thy  knees :  bereave  me  not, 
Whereon  I  live,  thy  gentle  looks,  thy  aid, 
Thy  counsel,  in  this  uttermost  distress 
My  only  strength  and  stay  :  forlorn  of  thee, 
Whither  shall  I  betake  me,  where  subsist  ? 
While  yet  we  live,  scarce  one  short  hour  perhaps, 
Between  us  two  let  there  be  peace;  both  joining. 
As  join'd  in  injuries,  one  enmity 
Against  a  foe  by  doom  express  assign'd  us, 
That  cruel  serpent :  on  me  exercise  not 
Thy  hatred  for  this  misery  befallen ; 
On  me  already  lost,  me  than  thyself 
More  miserable  !  both  have  sinn'd  ;  but  thou 
Against  God  only,  I  against  God  and  thee ; 
And  to  the  place  of  judgment  will  return. 
There  with  my  cries  importune  Heaven,  that  all 
The  sentence,  from  thy  head  removed,  may  light 
On  me,  sole  cause  to  thee  of  all  this  woe ; 
Me,  me  only,  just  object  of  his  ire  ! 

She  ended  weeping ;  and  her  lowly  plight, 
Immoveable,  till  peace  obtain'd  from  fault 
Acknowledged  and  deplored,  in  Adam  wrought 
Commiseration  :  soon  his  heart  relented ' 
Towards  her,  his  life  so  late,  and  sole  delight. 

t  Soon  Ms  heart  relented. 
Thi?  picture  of  Eve's  distress,  her  submissive  tender  address  to  her  husband,  and  hig 
generous  rfeconcilement  to  her,  are  extremely  beautiful, — I  had  almost  said  beyond 
Bnything  in  the  whole  poem ;  and  that  reader  must  have  a  very  sour  and  unfriendly 
turn  of  mind,  whose  heart  does  not  relent  with  Adam's,  and  melt  into  »  sympathiieing 
commiseration  towards  the  mother  of  mankind;  so  well  has  Milton  here  followed 
Horace's  advice, — 

8i  vis  me  flere,  dolendum  est 
Primum  ipsi  tibi. 

Milton  with  great  depth  of  judgment  observes,  in  his  "  Apology  for  Smectymnuus,'' 
that,  "he  who  would  not  be  frustrate  of  his  hope  to  write  well  in  laudable  things,  ought 
himself  to  be  a  true  poem,  that  is,  a  composition  of  the  best  and  honourablest  things  5 
(ind  have  in  himself  the  experience  and  practice  of  all  which  is  praiseworthy."  Of  the 
□ruth  of  which  observation  he  himself  is,  I  think,  a  shining  instance  in  this  charming 
Bcono  now  before  us;  since  there  is  little  room  to  doubt  but  that  the  particular  beauties 
of  it  are  owing  to  an  interview  of  the  same  nature  which  he  had  with  his  own  wife; 
and  that  he  is  only  here  describing  those  tender  and  generous  sentiments  which  he 
then  felt  and  experienced. — Thyek, 


3G8  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  x. 

Now  at  his  feet  submissive  in  distress ; 
Creature  so  fair  his  reconcilement  seeking, 
His  counsel,  whom  she  had  displeased,  his  aid : 
As  one  disarra'd,  his  anger  all  he  lost ; 
And  thus  with  peaceful  words  upraised  her  soon : 

Unwary,  and  too  desirous,  as  before 
So  now,  of  what  thou  know'st  not,  who  desirest 
The  punishment  all  on  thyself;  alas  ! 
Bear  thine  own  first,  ill  able  to  sustain 
His  full  wrath,  whose  thou  feel'st  as  yet  least  part, 
And  my  displeasure  bear'st  so  ill.     If  prayers 
Could  alter  high  decrees,  I  to  that  place 
Would  speed  before  thee,  and  be  louder  heard, 
That  on  my  head  all  might  be  visited ; 
Thy  frailty  and  infirmer  sex  forgiven. 
To  me  committed,  and  by  me  exposed. 
But  rise;  let  us  no  more  contend,  nor  blame 
Each  other,  blamed  enough  elsewhere ;  but  strive 
In  offices  of  love,  how  we  may  lighten 
Each  other's  burden,  in  our  share  of  woe ; 
Since  this  day's  death  denounced,  if  aught  I  see. 
Will  prove  no  sudden,  but  a  slow-paced  evil ; 
A  long  day's  dying,  to  augment  our  pain ; 
And  to  our  seed  (0  hapless  seed !)  derived. 

To  whom  thus  Eve,  recovering  heart,  replied : 
Adam,  by  sad  experiment  I  know 
How  little  weight  my  words  with  thee  can  find, 
Found  so  erroneous ;  thence  by  just  event 
Found  so  unfortunate  :  nevertheless, 
Restored  by  thee,  vile  as  I  am,  to  place 
Of  new  acceptance,  hopeful  to  regain 
Thy  love,  the  sole  contentment  of  my  heart, 
Living  or  dying,  from  thee  I  will  not  hide 
What  thoughts  in  my  unquiet  breast  are  risen. 
Tending  to  some  reliefs  of  our  extremes. 
Or  end ;  though  sharp  and  sad,  yet  tolerable, 
As  in  our  evils,  and  of  easier  choice. 
If  care  of  our  descent  perplex  us  most, 
Which  must  be  born  to  certain  woe,  devour*d 
By  Death  at  last ;  and  miserable  it  is, 
To  be  to  others  cause  of  misery, 
Our  own  begotten,  and  of  our  loins  to  bring 

e  Tending  to  some  relief, 
Adam  had  said  before,  that  the  death  denounced  upon  them,  as  far  as  he  could  Fee, 
would  prove  no  sudden,  but  a  slow-paced  evil,  a  long  day's  dying,  and  would  likewise 
be  derived  to  their  posterity.  Eve  therefore  proposes,  to  prevent  its  being  derived  to 
their  posterity,  that  they  should  resolve  to  remain  childless ;  or,  if  they  found  it  diffi- 
cult  to  do  so,  that  then,  to  prevent  a  long  day's  dying  to  themselves  and  seed,  at  once, 
they  should  make  short,  and  destroy  themselves.  The  former  method  she  considers  aa 
tome  relief  of  their  extremes,  the  latter  as  the  end.  And,  as  Dr.  Greenwood  observes, 
Milton  might  possibly  take  the  hint  of  putting  these  proposals  into  the  mouth  of  Eve, 
from  Job's  wife  attempting  to  persuade  her  husband  in  his  afflictions  to  "curse  God,  and 
die,"  Job  ii.  9,  10  — Nbwtoh. 


BOOK  X.] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


369 


Into  this  cursed  world  a  woful  race, 
That  after  wretched  life  must  be  at  last 
Food  for  so  foul  a  monster;  in  thy  power 
Tt  lies,  yet  ere  conception,  to  prevent 
The  race  unblest,  to  being  yet  unbegot. 
Childless  thou  art,  childless  remain  :  so  Death 
Shall  be  deceived  his  glut,  and  with  us  two 
Be  forced  to  satisfy  his  ravenous  maw. 
But  if  thou  judge  it  hard  and  difl&cult. 
Conversing,  looking,  loving,  to  abstain 
Prom  love's  due  rites,  nuptial  embraces  sweet; 
And  with  desire  to  languish  without  hope, 
Before  the  present  object  languishing 
With  like  desire ;  which  would  be  misery 
A.nd  torment  less  than  none  of  what  we  dread ; 
Then,  both  ourselves  and  seed  at  once  to  free 
From  what  we  fear  for  both,  let  us  make  short- 
Let  us  seek  death  ;*'  or,  he  not  found,  supply 
With  our  own  hands  his  office  on  ourselves. 
Why  stand  we  longer  shivering  under  fears, 
That  show  no  end  but  death ;  and  have  the  power, 
Of  many  ways  to  die  the  shortest  choosing, 
Destruction  with  destruction  to  destroy  ? 

She  ended  here,  or  vehement  despair 
Broke  off  the  rest  j  so  much  of  death  her  thoughts 
Had  entertain'd,  as  dyed  her  cheeks  with  pale. 
But  Adam,  with  such  counsel  nothing  sway'd, 
To  better  hopes  his  more  attentive  mind 
Labouring  had  raised ;  and  thus  to  Eve  replied : 

Eve,  thy  contempt  of  life  and  pleasure  seems 
To  argue  in  thee  something  more  sublime 
And  excellent,  than  what  thy  mind  contemns; 
But  self-destruction  therefore  sought,  refutes 
That  excellence  thought  in  thee  :  and  implies, 
Not  thy  contempt,  but  anguish  and  regret 
For  loss  of  life  and  pleasure  overloved. 
Or  if  thou  covet  death,  as  utmost  end 
Of  misery,  so  thinking  to  evade 
The  penalty  pronounced ;  doubt  not  but  God 
Hath  wiselier  arm'd  his  vengeful  ire,  than  so 
To  be  forestall' d ;  much  more  I  fear  lest  death, 
So  snatch'd,  will  not  exempt  us  from  the  pain 
We  are  by  doom  to  pay;  rather,  such  acts 
Of  contumacy  will  provoke  the  Highest 
To  make  death  in  us  live :  then  let  us  seek 
Some  safer  resolution,  which  methinks 
I  have  in  view,  calling  to  mind  with  heed 
Part  of  our  sentence,  that  thy  seed  shall  bruise 

>>  Let  Its  seek  death. 
Eve's  speech,  as  Dr.  Gillies  observes,  breathes  the  language  of  despair;  Adam's  the 
Beutiments  of  a  mind  enlightened  and  encouraged  bv  the  Word  of  God. — looo. 
47 


370  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  x. 

The  serpent's  head  j  piteous  amends  !  unless 

Be  meant,  whom  I  conjecture,  our  grand  foe, 

Satan ;  who,  in  the  serpent,  hath  contrived 

Against  us  this  deceit :  to  crush  his  head 

Would  be  revenge  indeed !  which  will  be  lost 

By  death  brought  on  ourselves,  or  childless  days 

Resolved,  as  thou  proposest ;  so  our  foe 

Shall  'scape  his  punishment  ordain'd,  and  we 

Instead  shall  double  ours  upon  our  heads. 

No  more  be  mention'd  then  of  violence 

Against  ourselves;  and  wilful  barrenness, 

That  cuts  us  off  from  hope ;  and  savours  only 

Rancour  and  pride,  impatience  and  despite, 

Reluctance  against  God  and  his  just  yoke 

Laid  on  our  necks.     Remember  with  what  mild 

And  gracious  temper  he  both  heard,  and  judged, 

Without  wrath  or  reviling  :  we  expected 

Immediate  dissolution,  which  we  thought 

Was  meant  by  death  that  day ;  when,  lo !  to  thee 

Pains  only  in  child-bearing  were  foretold, 

And  bringing  forth ;  soon  recompensed  with  joy. 

Fruit  of  thy  womb :  on  me  the  curse  aslope 

Glanced  on  the  ground ;  with  labour  I  must  earn 

My  bread ;  what  harm  ?     Idleness  had  been  worse : 

My  labour  will  sustain  me ;  and,  lest  cold 

Or  heat  should  injure  us,  his  timely  care 

Hath,  unbesought,  provided;  and  his  hands 

Clothed  us,  unworthy,  pitying  while  he  judged; 

How  much  more,  if  we  pray  him,  will  his  ear 

Be  open,  and  his  heart  to  pity  incline. 

And  teach  us  fai-ther  by  what  means  to  shun 

The  inclement  seasons,  rain,  ice,  hail,  and  snow! 

Which  now  the  sky,  with  various  face,  begins 

To  show  us  in  this  mountain;  while  the  winds 

Blow  moist  and  keen,  shattering  the  graceful  locks 

Of  these  fair-spreading  trees ;  which  bids  us  seek  ' 

Some  better  shroud,  some  better  warmth  to  cherish 

Our  limbs  benumm'd,  ere  this  diurnal  star 

Leave  cold  the  night,  how  we  his  gather'd  beams 

Reflected  may  with  matter  sere  foment; 

Or,  by  collision  of  two  bodies,  grind 

The  air  attrite  to  fire ;  as  late  the  clouds 

Justling,  or  push'd  with  winds,  rude  in  their  shock. 

Tine  the  slant  lightning ;  whose  thwart  flame,  driven  down. 

Kindles  the  gummy  bark  of  fir  or  pine. 

And  sends  a  comfortable  heat  from  far. 

Which  might  supply  the  sun  :  such  fire  to  use, 

And  what  may  else  be  remedy  or  cure 

To  evils  which  our  own  misdeeds  have  wrought, 

He  will  instruct  us  praying,  and  of  grace 

Beseeching  him ;  so  as  we  need  not  fear 


BOOK  X.]  PARADISE  LOST.  371 

To  pass  commodiously  this  life,  sustain'd 
By  him  with  many  comforts,  till  we  end 
In  dust,  our  final  rest  and  native  home. 
What  better  can  we  do,  than,  to  the  place 
Kepairing  where  he  judged  us,  prostrate  fall 
Before  him  reverent;  and  there  confess 
Humbly  our  faults,  and  pardon  beg ;  with  tears 
Watering  the  ground,  and  with  our  sighs  the  air 
Frequenting,  sent  from  hearts  contrite,  in  sign 
Of  sorrow  unfeign'd,  and  humiliation  meek  ? 
Undoubtedly  he  will  relent,  and  turn 
From  his  displeasure ;  in  whose  look  serene, 
When  angry  most  he  seem'd  and  most  severe, 
What'  else  but  favour,  grace,  and  mercy  shone  ? 

So  spake  our  father  penitent ;  nor  Eve 
Felt  less  remorse :  they,  forthwith  to  the  place 
Repairing  where  he  judged  them,  prostrate  fell 
Before  him  reverent;  and  both  confess'd 
Humbly  their  faults,  and  pardon  begg'd ;  with  tears 
Watering  the  ground,  and  with  their  sighs  the  air 
Frequenting,  sent  from  hearts  contrite,  in  sign 
Of  sorrow  unfeign'd,  and  humiliation  meek. 

^8  Addison's  remarks  on  this  book  are  longer  than  usual,  I  am  compelled  to  abridge 
them. 

He  remarks,  that  this  tenth  book  contains  a  greater  number  of  persons  in  it  than  any 
other  in  the  whole  poem;  and  that  here  are  introduced  all  who  had  any  concern  in  the 
action  :  these  he  divides  into  the  celestial,  the  infernal,  the  human,  and  the  imaginary 
persons.     The  first  are  very  finely  laid  together  in  the  beginning  of  this  book. 

Satan's  first  appearance  in  the  assembly  of  fallen  angels  is  worked  up  with  circum- 
Btances  which  give  a  delightful  suspense  to  the  reader;  but  there  is  no  incident  in  the 
whole  poem  which  does  this  more  than  the  transformation  of  the  whole  audience,  that 
follows  the  account  their  leader  gives  them  of  his  expedition.  The  unexpected  hiss, 
which  arises  in  this  episode ;  the  dimensions  and  bulk  of  Satan,  with  the  annual  change 
which  the  spirits  are  supposed  to  undergo,  are  circumstances  very  striking.  The 
beauty  ot  the  diction  too  is  remarkable  in  this  whole  episode.  Milton's  skill  is  no- 
where more  shown  than  in  conducting  the  parts  of  Adam  and  Eve. 

The  imaginary  persons  are  Sin  and  Death.  This  allegory  is  one  of  the  finest  compo- 
sitions of  genius;  but  Addison  deems  it  not  agreeable  to  the  nature  of  an  epii  pcem. 
Homer  and  Virgil,  he  says,  are  full  of  imaginary  persons,  who  are  very  beautiful  when 
they  are  shown  without  being  engaged  in  any  series  of  action  :  but  when  such  persons 
a:e  introduced  as  principal  actors,  and  engaged  in  a  series  of  adventures,  they  take  too 
much  upon  them,  and  are  by  no  means  proper  for  an  heroic  poem,  which  ought  to 
appear  credible  in  its  principal  parts,  "i  cannot  forbear  therefore-thinking,"  he  adds, 
"that  Sin  and  Death  are  as  improper  agents  in  a  work  of  this  nature,  as  Strength  and 
Necessity  in  one  of  the  tragedies  of  ^schylus,  who  represented  those  two  persons  nail- 
kg  down  Prometheus  to  a  rockj  for  which  be  has  been  justly  censured  by  the  greatest 
critics" 


372  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  xi. 


BOOK  XL 

INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS, 

Addison  observes,  that  this  eleventh  book  of '  Paradise  Lost'  is  not  generally  reckoned 
among  the  most  shining  books  of  the  poem.  How  is  it  possible  thai  every  be  ok  where 
the  splendour  is  so  excessive,  should  blaze  equally?  Probably  there  is  less  invention 
in  this  book;  but  the  descriptive  parts  are  not  less  powerful,  nr.r  less  important,  in- 
structive, and  awful  in  their  topics.  The  Deluge  was  a  trial  of  strength  with  the 
Ancients,  since  it  forms  so  important  a  feature  in  Ovid's  poems.  So  far  as  there  is 
invention  in  this  book,  it  lies  in  the  selection  of  circumstances,  in  picturesque  epithets, 
and  in  moral,  political,  and  religious  reflections:  its  intellectual  compass  is  vast  and 
stupendous.  Such  a  view  opened  upon  Adam  of  the  fate  of  his  posterity,  could  only  be 
conceived  and  comprehended  by  the  splendid  force  of  the  poetical  eye  of  Miltou. 
Wonderful  as  is  the  liveliness  and  truth  of  shape  and  tint  of  each  part,  still  the  greater 
wonder  is  in  the  united  brilliance  of  the  whole. 

It  is  truly  said,  that  Milton  everywhere  follows  the  great  ancients,  and  improves 
upon  them :  he  despises  all  the  petty  gildings  and  artifices,  which  are  so  much  boasted 
in  modern  poetry.  His  object  is,  to  convey  images  and  ideas — not  words;  and  the 
plainer  the  words,  so  that  they  do  not  disgrace  the  thought,  the  better !  lie  would 
never  sacrifice  the  force  of  the  language  to  the  metre.  The  mark  of  this  is,  that  when 
he  had  occasion  to  use  the  terms  of  the  Scripture,  he  would  not  derange  them  for  the 
sake  of  the  rhythm. 

On  that  which  pleases  us  individually,  without  consulting  the  feelings  and  opinions 
of  others,  we  cannot  rely :  but  when  what  delights  us  has  made  the  same  impression 
on  gifted  persons  of  all  ages,  and  under  all  diflferent  circumstances,  then  we  may  be 
sure  that  its  charms  are  intrinsic,  and  such  as  it  is  important  to  bring  out,  and  render 
more  impressive.  Thus  Miltou  is  full  of  imagery,  which  makes  the  spell  of  Homei 
and  Virgil. 

There  are  those  who  think  that  poetry  is  not  of  the  essence  of  intellectual  cultivation : 
they  think  so  because  they  have  no  idea  of  the  nature  of  true  poetry;  without  which 
there  can  be  no  due  conception  of  the  wonders  and  charms  of  the  creation. 

Smooth  verses  are  indeed  but  childish  amusements  to  the  ear,  which  would  be  bettej 
fed  by  common  and  unpolished  sounds  conveying  useful  knowledge  through  the  sense 
to  the  mind. 


ARGUMENT. 

The  Son  of  God  presents  to  his  Father  the  prayers  of  our  first  parents  now  repenting,  and 
intercedes  for  them  :  God  accepts  them,  but  declares  they  must  no  longer  abide  in  Para- 
dise; sends  Michael  with  a  bund  of  cherubim  to  dispossess  them;  but  first  to  reveal  to 
Adam  future  things:  Michael's  coming  down.  Adam  shows  to  Eve  certain  ominoa« 
signs;  he  discerns  Michael's  approach  ;  goes  out  to  meet  hiru  ;  the  angel  denounces  theit 
departure;  Eve's  lamentation.  Adam  pleads,  but  submits:  the  angel  leads  him  up  to  a 
high  hill ;  sets  before  him  in  vision  what  shall  happen  till  the  flood. 

Thus  they,  in  lowliest  plight,  repentant  stood, 
'Praying;  for  from  the  mercy-seat  above 
Prevenient  grace  descending  had  removed 
'The  stony  from  their  hearts,  and  made  new  flesh 
Regenerate  grow  instead;  that  sighs  now  breathed" 

»  Sight  novo  breathed. 
See  Rom.  viii.  26 : — "  Likewise  the  Spirit  also  helpeth  our  infirmities ;  for  we  know 


BOOK  XI.]  ,  PARADISE  LOST.  373 

•  Unutterable ;  which  the  Spirit  of  prayer 
Inspired,  and  wing'd  for  heaven  with  speedier  flight 
Jhan  loudest  oratory  :  yet  their  porf" 
Not  of  mean  suitors  ;  nor  important  less 
\§eem'd  their  petition,  than  when  the  ancient  pair 
In  fables  old,  less  ancient  yet  than  these, 
^Peucalion  and  chaste  Pyrrha,  to  restore 
The  race  of  mankind  drown'd,  before  the  shrine 
Of  Themis  stood  devout.     To  heaven  their  prayers 
Flew  up,  nor  miss'd  the  way,  by  envious  winds 
Blown  vagabond  or  frustrate  :  in  they  pass'd 
Dimensiouless  through  heavenly  doors;  then  clad 
N^^th  iucense,'=  where  the  golden  altar  fumed, 
By  their  great  Intercessour,  came  in  sight 
's^efore  the  Father's  throne :  them  the  glad  Son 
Presenting,  thus  to  intercede  began  : 

See,  Father,  what  first-fruits  on  earth  are  sprung 
From  thy  implanted  grace  in  man  j  these  sighs 
"^And  prayers,  which  in  this  golden  censer,  mix'd 
With  incense,  I  thy  priest  before  thee  bring; 
vaults  of  more  pleasing  savour,  from  thy  seed 
Sown  with  contrition  in  his  heart,  than  those 
^^hich,  his  own  hand  manuring,  all  the  trees 
Of  Paradise  could  have  produced,  ere  fallen 
vfjom  innocence.     Now  therefore  bend  thine  ear 
To  supplication  ;  hear  his  sighs,  though  mute : 
\JJpskilful  with  what  words  to  pray,  let  me 
Interpret  for  him ;  me,  his  Advocate 
v,Ajid  propitiation ;  all  his  works  on  me, 
Good  or  not  good,  ingraft;  my  merit  tho?3 
v^all  perfect,  and  for  these  my  death  shall  pay. 
Accept  me ;  and,  in  me,  from  these  receive 
.Xhe  smell  of  peace  toward  mankind  :  let  him  live 
Before  thee  reconciled,  at  least  his  days 
>^umber'd,  though  sad ;  till  death,  his  doom,  (which  I 
To  mitigate  thus  plead,  not  to  reverse) 
vCoJaetter  life  shall  yield  him ;  where  with  me 

not  what  we  should  pray  for  as  we  ought;  but  the  Spirit  itself  maketh  intercession  for 
as  with  groanings  which  cannot  be  uttered." — Hume. 

b  Yet  their  port. 

The  poet  could  not  have  thought  of  a  more  apt  similitude  to  illustrate  his  subject 
(than  that  of  Deucalion  and  Pyrrha),  and  he  has  plainly  fetched  it  from  Ovid,  Met.  i. 
318,  &c.  Milton  has  been  often  censured  for  his  frequent  allusions  to  the  heathen 
niylhdlogy,  and  for  mixing  fables  with  sacred  truths:  but  it  may  be  observed  in  favour 
of  him,  that  what  he  borrows  from  the  heathen  mythology  he  commonly  applies  only 
by  way  of  similitude ;  and  a  .similitude  from  thence  may  illustrate  his  subject  as  well  aE 
from  anything  else. — Newton. 

Ovid,  who  was  a  favourite  with  Milton,  might  be  so,  among  other  reasons,  from  so 
many  of  his  subjects  being  in  a  certain  degree  founded  on  Scripture,  or  at  least  having 
a  palpabh  relation  thereto;  as  the  creation,  deluge,  foreshowing  of  the  destruction  of 
the  world  by  fire,  Ac. — Dunster. 

e  With  incense. 

See  Psalm  cxli.  2 : —  'Let  my  prayer  be  set  before  thee  as  incense." — Todd. 


SU  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  xi. 

All  my  redeem'd  may  dwell  in  joy  and  bliss; 
v^ade  one  with  me,  as  I  with  thee  am  one. 

To  whom  the  Father,  without  cloud,  serene : 
^^11  thy  request  for  man,  accepted  Son, 
Obtain ;  all  thy  request  was  my  decree : 
•But,  longer  in  that  Paradise  to  dwell, 
The  law  I  gave  to  nature  him  forbids : 
Those  pure  immortal  elements,  that  know 
No  gross,  no  unharmonious  mixture  foul, 
Eject  him,  tainted  now;  and  purge  him  off, 
As  a  distemper  gross,  to  air  as  gross. 
And  mortal  food ;  as  may  dispose  him  best 
For  dissolution  wrought  by  sin,  that  first 
Distemper'd  all  things,  and  of  incorrupt 
Corrupted.     I,  at  first,  with  two  fair  gifts 
Created  him  endow'd ;  with  happiness, 
And  immortality  :  that  fondly  lost, 
vj'his  other  served  but  to  eternize  woe ; 
Till  I  provided  death :  so  death  becomes 
kjjis  final  remedy ;  and,  after  life, 
Tried  in  sharp  tribulation,  and  refined  , 

vBy  faith  and  faithful  works,  to  second  life, 
Waked  in  the  renovation  of  the  just, 
^Resigns  him  up  with  heaven  and  earth  renew' d. 
But  let  us  call  to  synod  all  the  bless'd, 
Through  heaven's  wide  bounds:  from  them  I  will  not  hide 
My  judgments;  how  with  mankind  I  proceed. 
As  how  with  peccant  angels  late  they  saw ; 
And  in  their  state,  though  firm,  stood  more  confirmed. 

He  ended,  and  the  Son  gave  signal  high 
To  the  bright  minister  that  watch'd  :  he  blew 
His  trumpet,  heard  in  Oreb  since  perhaps 
When  God  descended,  and  perhaps  once  more. 
To  sound  at  general  doom.     The  angelic  blast 
Fill'd  all  the  regions  :  from  their  blissful  bowers 
Of  amaranthine  shade,  fountain  or  spring, 
By  the  waters  of  life,  where'er  they  sat 
-In  fellowships  of  joy,  the  sons  of  light 
Hasted,  resorting  to  the  summons  high ; 
And  took  their  seats :  till  from  his  throne  supreme 
The  Almighty  thu8  pronounced  his  sovran  will: 

0  sons,**  like  one  of  us  man  is  become, 
To  know  both  good  and  evil,  since  his  taste 
Of  that  defended  fruit  j  but  let  him  boast 
His  knowledge  of  good  lost,  and  evil  got ; 
Happier,  had  it  sufficed  him  to  have  kmjjrn 
Good  by  itself  and  evil  not  at  all. 
He  sorrowsnow,  repents,  and  prays  contrite, 

'  ,  ^  0  Bont. 

'   The  whole  epeeoh  is  founded  upon  Oen.  iii.  22 — 24. — "Svmon, 


BOOK  XI.]        '  PARADISE  LOST.  375 

My  motions  in  him;  longer  than  they  move, 
■-  ITis  heart  I  know  how  variable  and  vain, 
Self-left,     Lest  therefore  his  now  bolder  hand 
Reach  also  of  the  tree  of  life,  and  eat, 
And  live  for  ever,  dream  at  least  to  live 
For  ever,  to  remove  him  I  decree. 
And  send  him  from  the  garden  fprth  to  till 
The  ground  whence  he  was  taken,  fitter  soil. 
Michael,  this  my  behest  have  thou  in  charge: 
Take  to  thee  from  among  the  cherubim 
Thy  choice  of  flaming  warriours,  lest  the  fiend, 
Or  in  behalf  of  man,  or  to  invade 
Vacant  possession,  some  new  trouble  raise : 
Haste  thee,  and  from  the  Paradise  of  God 
Without  remorse  drive  out  the  sinful  pair; 
From  hallow'd  ground  the  unholy ;  and  denounce 
To  them,  and  to  their  progeny,  from  thence 
Perpetual  banishment.     Yet,  lest  they  faint 
At  the  sad  sentence  rigorously  urged, 
(For  I  behold  tliem  soften'd,  and  with  tears 
Bewailing  their  excess)  all  terrour  hide. 
If  patiently  thy  bidding  they  obey. 
Dismiss  them  not  disconsolate ;  reveal 
To  Adam  what  shall  come  in  future  days, 
As  I  shall  thee  enlighten ;  intermix     - 
My  covenant  in  the  woman's  sped  renew'd ; 
So  send  them  forth,  though  sorrowing,  yet  in  peace : 
And  on  the  east  side  of  the  garden  place, 
Where  entrance  up  from  Eden  easiest  climbs, 
•Cherubic  watch;  and  of  a  sword  the  flame 
Wide-waving  j  all  approach  far  oflF  to  fright, 
And  guard  all  passage  to  tile  tree  of  life ; 
Lest  Paradise  a  receptacle  prove 
Tp  spirits  foul,  and  all  my  trees  their  prey ; 
With  whose  stolen  fruit  man  once  more  to  delude. 
JB.e  ceased ;  and  the  archangelic  power  prepared 
For  swift  descent ;  with  him  the  cohort  bright 
Of  watchful  cherubim  •  four  faces  each  * 
Had,  like  a  double  Janus ;  all  their  shape 
Spangled  with  eyes  more  numerous  than  those 
Of  Argus,  and  more  wakeful  than  to  drowse, 
Charm'd  with  Arcadian  pipe,  the  pastoral  reed 
or  Hermes,  or  his  opiate  rod.     Meanwhile, 
^  resalute  the  world  with  sacred  light, 
Leucothea'  waked,  and  with  fresh  dews  embalm'd 

e  Four  faces  each, 
Ezekiel  says  that  "every  one  had  four  faces,"  x.  14;  see  also  x,  12: — "And  thei» 
whole  body,  and  their  backs,  and  their  hands,  and  their  wings,  were  full  of  eyes  round 
about" — Nbwtoh. 

'  Leucothea. 
The  white  goddess,  as  the  name  in  Greek  imports :  the  same  with  Matuta  in  Latin. 

f 


376 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[book  XI. 


vjhe  earth ;  when  7SLdam  and  first  matron  Eve 

Had  ended  now  their  orisons,  and  found 
V^Strength  added  from  above ;  new  hope  to  spring 

Out  of  despair ;  joy,  but  with  fear  yet  link'd  j 

.Which  thus  to  Eve  hiji  welcome  words  renew'd  : 

Eve,  easily  may  faith  admit,  that  all 
^he  good  which  we  enjoy  from  Heaven  descends j 

!But  that  from  us  aught  should  ascend  to  Heaven 
ySo  prevalent,  as  to  concern  the  mind 

Of  God  high-blest,  or  to  incline  his  will, 
Jlard  to  belief  may  seem ;  yet  this  will  prayer, 

Or  one  short  sigh  of  human  breath,  upborne 
vjiv'n  to  the  seat  of  God  :  for  since  I  sought 

By  prayer  the  offended  Deity  to  appease, 
^^neel'd,  and  before  him  humbled  all  my  heart, 

Methought  I  saw  him  placable  and  mild 
JBending  his  ear ',  persuasion  in  me  grew 

That  I  was  heard  with  favour  j  peace  return'd 
^ome  to  my  breast,  and  to  my  memory 

His  promise,  that  thy  iseed  shall  bruise  our  foe ; 

K^Jiich,  then  not  minded  in  dismay,  yet  now 

Assures  me  that  the  bitterness  of  death 

Js  past,  and  we  shall  live.     Whence  hail  to  thee. 

Eve,  rightly  call'd  mother  of  all  mankind, 

^lother  of  all  things  living,  since  by  thee 

5lan  is  to  live ;  and  all.  things  live  for  man. 
,^  whom  thus  Eve,  with  sad  demeanour,  meek : 

Hl-worthy  I,  such  title  should  belong 

^0  me  transgressour ;  who,  for  thee  ordain'd 

A  help,  became  thy  snare;  to  me  reproach 
father  belons;,  distrust,  and  all  dispraise: 

But  infinite  in  pardon  was  my  Judge, 

sThat  I,  who  first  brought  death  on  all,  am  graced 

The  source  of  life ;   next  favourable  thou, 
vWho  highly  thus  to  entitle  me  vouchsafest. 

Far  other  name  deserving.     But  the  field 
vsTo  labour  calls  us,  now  with  sweat  imposed, 

Though  after  sleepless  night :  for  see  !  the  morn, 
^11  unconcern'd  with  our  unrest,  begins 

Her  rosy  progress  smiling  :  let  us  forth ; 
vjjiever  from  thy  side  henceforth  to  stray, 

Where'er  our  day's  work  lies,  though  now  enjoin'd 
-.Laborious  till  day  droop  :  while  here  we  dwell, 

What  can  be  toilsome  in  these  pleasant  walks  ? 
vHere  let  us  live,  though  in  fallen  state,  content. 

So  spake,  so  wish'd,  much-humbled  Eve ;  but  fate 
v^Subscribed  not :  nature  first  gave  signs,  impress'd 

Matuta  is  the  early  morning,  that  ushors  in  the  Aurora  rosy  with  the  sunbeams,  iwword- 
ing  to  Lucretius,  v.  655 ;  and  from  Matuta  is  derived  matutinus,  "  early  in  the  morn- 
ing." This  is  the  last  morning  in  the  poem;  the  morxiing  of  the  fatal  day  wherein  our 
first  parents  were  expelled  out  of  Paradise.—  Nkwtom. 


BOOK  XI.]  PARADISE  LOST.  3^1 

On  birdj  beast,  air;  air  suddenly  eclipsed, 

4/ter  short  blush  of  morn :  nigh  in  her  sight 

The  bird  of  Jove,  stoop'd  from  his  aery  tour, 

Two  birds  of  gayest  plumes  before  him  drove; 

Down  from  a  hill  the  beast  that  reigns  in  woods, 

Eirst  hunter  then,  pursued  a  gentle  brace, 
'ifioodliest  of  all  the  forest,  hart  and  hind  : 
JDirect  to  the  eastern  gate  was  bent  their  flight. 

Adam  observed ;  and  with  his  eye  the  chase  - 
v£ursuing,  not  unmoved,  to  Eve  thus  spake : 
0  Eve,  some  farther  change  awaits  us  nigh, 

T^hich  Heaven  by  these  mute  signs  in  nature  shows 

Fw-erunners  of  his  purpose ;  or  to  warn 

^s,  haply  to  secure  of  our  discharge 

From  penalty,  because  from  death  released 

^^rae  days :  how  long,  and  what  till  then  our  life, 

Who  knows  ?  or  more  than  this,  that  we  are  dust, 

And  thither  must  return,  and  be  no  more  ? 

Why  else  this  double  object  in  our  sight, 
^Of  flight  pursued  in  the  air,  and  o'er  the  ground, 

One  way  the  self-same  hour  ?  why  in  the  east 
>Parkness  ere  day's  mid-course,  and  morning-light 

More  orient  in  yon  western  cloud,  that  draws 
vij>ler  the  blue  firmament  a  radiant  white, 

And  slow  descends  with  something  heavenly  fraught? 
vJ3£  err'd  not;  for  by  this  the  heavenly  bands 

Down  from  a  sky  of  jasper  lighted  now 
\In  Paradise,  and  on  a  hill  made  halt ; 

A  glorious  apparition,  had  not  doubt 
>And  carnal  fear  that  day  dimm'd  Adam's  eye. 

Not  that  more  gloric/us,""  when  the  angels  met 
.Jacob  in  Mahanaim,  where  he  saw 

The  field  pavilion'd  with  his  guardians  bright ; 
\^r  that,  which  on  the  flaming  mount  appear'd 

In  Dothan,  cover'd  with  a  camp  of  fire, 
i^^inst  the  Syrian  king,  who  to  surprise 

One  man,  assassin-like,  nad  levied  war, 

K  Two  btrdt  of  gayest  plume. 

Such  omens  are  not  unusual  in  the  poets;  see  Virg.  .^n.  i.  393;  and  Mn.  xii.  247. 
But  these  omens  have  a  singular  beauty  here,  as  they  show  the  change  that  is  going  to 
be  made  in  the  condition  of  Adam  and  Eve ;  and  nothing  could  be  invented  more  appo- 
gite  and  proper  for  this  purpose ; — an  eagle  pursuing  two  beautiful  birds,  and  a  lion 
chasing  a  fine  hart  and  hind;  and  both  to  the  eastern  gate  of  Paradise;  as  Adam  and 
Eve  were  to  be  driven  out  by  the  angel  at  that  gate. — Newton. 

These  two  incidents  are  indeed  inimitably  beautiful  and  affecting. 

h  Not  that  more  glorious. 
That  was  not  a  more  glorious  apparition  of  the  angels,  which  appeared  to  Jacob  in 
Mahanaim,  Gen.  xxxii.  1,  2 ;  nor  that  which  appeared  on  the  flaming  mount  in  Dothan, 
against  the  king  of  Syria,  when  he  levied  war  against  a  single  man,  not  like  a  generous 
enemy,  but,  like  a  base  assassin,  endeavoured  to  take  him  by  surprise  ;  namely,  Elisha^ 
for  havirg  disclosed  the  designs  of  the  king  of  Syria  to  the  king  of  Israel,  2  Kings,  vi. 
13,  4c. — Newton. 
48 


378  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  xi. 

War  unproclaim'd.'     The  princely  hierarch 

In  their  bright  stand  there  left  his  powers,  to  seize 
^possession  of  the  garden  :  he  alone, 

To  find  where  Adam  shelter'd,  took  his  way, 
yNot  unperceived  of  Adam ;  who  to  Eve, 

While  the  great  visitant  approach'd,  thus  spake  : 
^  Eve,  now  expect  great  tidings,  which  perhaps 

Of  us  will  soon  determine,  or  impose 
vNew  laws  to  be  observ'd :  for  I  descry, 

From  yonder  blazing  cloud  that  veils  the  hill, 
^One  of  the  heavenly  host;  and,  by  his  gait, 

I^one  of  the  meanest :  some  great  potentate, 
(^r  of  the  thrones  above ;  such  majesty 

Invests  him  coming  :  yet  not  terrible, 
(That  I  should  fearj  nor  sociably  mild, 

As  Raphael,  that  I  should  much  confide ; 
(.But  solemn  and  sublime :  whom,  not  to  ofi'end, 

With  reverence  I  must  meet,  and  thou  retire. 
^^He  ended ;  and  the  archangel  soon  drew  nigh, 

Not  in  his  shape  celestial,  but  as  man 

Clad  to  meet  man :  over  his  lucid  arms 

A.  military  vest  of  purple  flow'd, 
yLivelier  than  Meliboean,J  or  the  grain 

Df  Sarra,  worn  by  kings  and  heroes  old 

Jn  time  of  truce;  Iris  had  dipt  the  woof: 

His  starry  helm  unbuckled  show'd  him  prime 
Uji  manhood  where  youth  ended :  by  his  side, 

As  in  a  glistering  zodiac,  hung  the  sword, 
Satan's  dire  dread ;  and  in  his  hand  the  spear. 

Adam  bow'd  low :  he,  kingly,  from  his  state 

Inclined  not,  but  his  coming  thus  declared : 
Adam,  Heaven's  high  behest  no  preface  needs : 

Sufficient  that  thy  prayers  are  heard ;  and  Death, 
^hen  due  by  sentence  when  thou  didst  transgress, 
,  Defeated  of  his  seizure  many  days. 

Given  thee  of  grace ;  wherein  thou  mayst  repent, 
vAnd  one  bad  act  with  many  deeds  well  done     . 

Mayst  cover :  well  may  then  thy  Lord,  appeased, 
.Jledeem  thee  quite  from  Death's  rapacious  claim  : 

But  longer  in  this  Paradise  to  dwell 
vPermits  not :  to  remove  thee  I  am  come. 

And  send  thee  from  the  garden  forth,  to  till 
v^hg^  ground  whence  thou  wast  taken,  fitter  soil. 

i  War  unproclaim'd. 
The  severe  censure  on  this  makes  me  fancy  that  Milton  hinted  at  the  war  with  Hol- 
land, which  broke  out  in  1664,  when  we  surprised  and  took  the  Dutch  Bordeaux  fleet 
before  war  was  proclaimed;  which  the  whigs  much  exclaimed  against. — Warburton. 

j  Livelier  than  Melihoean. 
Meliboea,  a  city  of  Thessaly,  famous  for  its  dyeing  the  noblest  purple,    Smra.  the 
dye  of  Tyre. — Hume. 


BOOK  XI.]  PARADISE  LOST.  379 

He  added  not ;  for  Adam,  at  the  news 
^Heart-struck,  with  chilling  gripe  of  sorrow  stood, 

That  all  his  senses  bound :  Kve,  who  unseen, 

.ypt  all  had  heard,  with  audible  lament 

Discover'd  soon  the  place  of  her  retire  : 
^^unexpected  stroke,  worse  than  of  death ! 

Slust  I  thus  leave  thee,''  Paradise  ?  thus  leave 
•c^hee,  native  soil !  these  happy  walks  and  shades, 

Fit  haunt  of  gods  ?  where  I  had  hope  to  spend, 
vQuiet  though  sad,  the  respite  of  that  day 

That  must  be  mortal  to  us  both.     0  flowers, 
vThat  never  will  in  other  climate  grow, 

My  early  visitation,  and  my  last 
(At  Even,  which  I  bred  up  with  tender  hand 

From  the  first  opening  bud,  and  gave  ye  names  I 

-^ho  now  shall  rear  ye  to  the  sun,  or  rank 

Your  tribes,  and  water  from  the  ambrosial  fount  ? 
vThee  lastly,  nuptial  bower  !  by  me  adorn'd 

^ith  what  to  sight  or  smell  was  sweet !  from  thee 
^\|Ipw  shall  I  part,  and  whither  wander  down 

Into  a  lower  world,  to  this  obscure 
vAjd  wild  ?  how  shall  we  breathe  in  other  air 

Less  pure,  accustom'd  to  immortal  fruits  ? 
^W^hom  thus  the  angel  interrupted  mild : 

Lament  not.  Eve ;  but  patiently  resign 

hat  justly  thou  hast  lost;  nor  set  thy  heart, 
hus  over-fond,  on  that  which  is  not  thine : 

Thy  going  is  not  lonely ;  with  thee  goes 
y  husband  ;  him  to  follow  thou  art  bound  : 

v^here  he  abides,  think  there  thy  native  soil. 

Adam,  by  this  from  the  cold  sudden  damp 

^Recovering,  and  his  scatter' (T  spirits  return'd, 

To  Michael  thus  his  humble  words  address'd : 
Celestial,  whether  among  the  thrones,  or  named 

Of  them  the  highest ;  for  such  of  shape  may  seem 
^]^ince  above  princes  !  gently  hast  thou  told 

Thy  message,  which  might  else  in  telling  wound, 
i^nd  in  performing  end  us ;  what  besides 

Of  sorrow,  and  dejection,  and  despair, 

Our  frailty  can  sustain,  thy  tidings  bring ; 

Departure  from  this  happy  place,  our  sweet 
\Recess,  and  only  consolation  left 

Familiar  to  our  eyes  :  all  places  else 
inhospitable  appear,  and  desolate ; 

Nor  knowing  us,  nor  known  :  and,  if  by  prayer 
-vlncessant  I  could  hope  to  change  the  will 

k  Must  I  leave  thee  f 

These  eentiments  of  Eve  exceed,  both  in  pathos  and  variety,  the  farewjll  ot  Philoc- 
tetes  to  his  cave,  which  Milton  probably  had  in  view.  Sophoc.  Philoct.  v.  1487;  ed.  P. 
Stephan. 

There  is  nothing  in  all  poetry  more  beautiful  and  affecting  than  this  passage. 


380  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  xi. 

Of  Him  who  all  things  can,  I  would  not  cease 
>  To  weary  him  with  my  assiduous  cries : 
But  prayer  against  his  absolute  decree 
^No  more  avails  than  breath  against  the   wind, 
Blown  stifling  back  on  him  that  breathes  it  forth : 
Therefore  to  his  great  bidding  I  submit. 
This  most  afflicts  me  ;  that  departing  hence, 
-As  from  his  face  I  shall  be  hid,  deprived 
His  blessed  countenance  :  here  I  could  frequent 
^ith  worship  place  by  place  where  he  vouchsafed 
Presence  Divine;  and  to  my  sons  relate; — 
On  this  mount  he  appear'd ;  under  this  tree 
Stood  visible ;  among  these  pines  his  voice 
\I  heard ;  here  with  him  at  this  fountain  talk'd  : — 
So  many  grateful  altars '  I  would  rear 
,0f  grassy  turf,  and  pile  up  every  stone 
Or  lustre  from  the  brook,  in  memory 
vOr  monument  to  ages ;  and  thereon 
Offer  sweet-smelling  gums,  and  fruits,  and  flowers. 
^In  yonder  nether  world  where  shall  I  seek 
His  bright  appearances,  or  footstep  trace  ? 
*Eor  though  I  fled  him  angry,  yet,  recall'd 
To  life  prolong'd  and  promised  race,  I  now 
vGladly  behold  though  but  his  utmost  skirts 
Of  glory;  and  far  off  his  steps  adore. 

To  whom  thus  Michael  with  regard  benign : 
Adam,  thou  know'st  heaven  his,  and  all  the  earth ; 
v^ot  this  rock  only ;  his  omnipresence  fills 
Land,  sea,  and  air,  and  every  kind  that  lives," 
^Fomented  by  his  virtual  power  and  warm'd : 
All  the  earth  he  gave  thee  to  possess  and  rule, 
^J^o  despicable  gift ;  surmise  not  then 
His  presence  to  these  narrow  bounds  confined 
Of  Paradise,  or  Eden  :  this  had  been 
Perhaps  thy  capital  seat,  from  whence  had  spread 
^U  generations ;  and  had  hither  come 

•  So  many  grateful  altars. 
Besides  the  beauty  of  the  sentiments,  there  seems  to  be  a  propriety  in  thlo  passage 
which  the  commentators  have  not  remarked.  From  the  desire  which  mankind  have 
had  in  all  ages  of  preserving  the  memory  of  important  and  interesting  transaction?, 
many  expedients  were  employed  to  transmit  knowledge  to  succeeding  ages,  before  the 
invention  of  writing:  groves  and  altars,  tombs,  pillars,  and  heaps  of  stones,  were  the 
lepresentutive  symbols  of  past  transactions,  and  memorials  to  instruct  posterity.  With- 
out mentioning  many  other  particular  instances,  which  are  enumerated  by  different 
writers,  we  find  from  various  parts  of  the  book  of  Genesis,  that  the  patriarchs  raised 
altars  where  God  had  appeared  to  them.  See  ch.  xi.  7,  xxv.  25. — To  this  custom  of  the 
primitive  and  patriarchal  ages  Milton  seems  to  have  alluded. — Bishop  Bubqess. 

«n  Every  kind  that  lives. 
See  Lucan  ix.  578. 

Estne  Dei  sedes  nisi  terra,  et  pontus,  et  aer, 

Et  coelum,  et  virtus  ?    Superos  quid  quaerimns  ultra  ? 

Jupiter  est  quodcunque  vides,  &c.    Newtow. 

See  Jeremiah  xxiii.  24.     "  Do  I  not  fill  heaven  and  earth  ?  saitl;  the  Lord."— Todd. 


BOOK  XI.]  PARADISE  LOST. ' 381. 

From  all  the  ends  of  the  earth  to  celebrate 

,And  reverence  thee,  their  great  progenitor. 

But  this  pre-eminence  thou  hast  lost,  brought  down 
K  To  dwell  on  even  ground  now  with  thy  sons  : 

Yet  doubt  not  but  in  valley  and  in  plain, 

\fiod  is,  as  here ;  and  will  be  found  alike 

Present ;  and  of  his  presence  many  a  sign 
\gtill  following  thee,  still  compassing  thee  round 

With  goodness  and  paternal  love,  his  face 
vExpress,  and  of  his  steps  the  track  divine. 

Which  that  thou  mayst  believe,  and  be  confirm'd 
JEre  thou  from  hence  depart,  know,  I  am  sent" 

To  show  thee  what  shall  come  in  future  days 
VTo,  thee  and  to  thy  offspring :  good  with  bad 

Expect  to  hear,  supernal  grace  contending 

^Vith  sinfulness  of  men ;  thereby  to  learn 

True  patience,  and  to  temper  joy  with  fear 
s^nd  pious  sorrow ;  equally  inured 

Sy  moderation  either  state  to  bear, 
>^^osperous  or  adverse  :  so  shalt  thou  lead 

Safest  thy  life,  and  best  prepared  endure 
vjhy  mortal  passage  when  it  comes.     Ascend 

This  hill ;  let  Eve  (for  I  have  drench'd  her  eyes) 
.  Here  sleep  below,  while  thou  to  foresight  wakest; 

As  once  thou  slept' st,  while  she  to  life  was  form'd.. 
,  To  whom  thus  Adam  gratefully  replied : 

Ascend ;  I  follow  thee,  safe  guide,  the  path 

Thou  lead' st  me;  and  to  the  hand  of  Heaven  submit, 

However  chastening ;  to  the  evil  turn 

My  obvious  breast ;  arming  to  overcome 

By  suffering,  and  earn  rest  frojn  labour  won, 

If  so  I  may  attain.     So  both  ascend 
^In  the  visions  of  God.     It  was  a  hill. 

Of  Paradise  the  highest ;  from  whose  top, 
vThe  hemisphere  of  earth,  in  clearest  ken. 

Stretch' d  out  to  the  amplest  reach  of  prospect  lay. 
^s^ot  higher  that  hill,"  nor  wider  looking  round, 

Whereon,  for  different  cause,  the  tempter  set 

Our  second  Adam,  in  the  wilderness  j 

To^Vow  him  all  earth's  kingdoms,  and  their  glory. 

His  eye  might  there  command  wherever  stood 

City  of  old  or  modern  fame,  the  seat 

Of  mightiest  empire,  from  the  destined  walla 

n  Know,  I  am  »ent. 
See  Dan.  v.  14. — Todd. 

°  Not  higher  that  hill. 
Whereon  the  devil  set  our  Saviour,  the  second  man,  the  "last  Adam,"  1  Cor.  xv.  45, 
47 ;  "  to  show  him  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  world,  and  the  glory  of  them,"  Mat'.,  iv.  8. 
The  prospects  are  well  compared  together;  and  the  first  thought  of  the  one  might 
probably  be  taken  from  the  other:  and  as  the  one  makes  part  of  the  subject  of  'Para- 
dise Lost,'  80  doth  the  other  of  '  Paradise  Regained.' — Newton. 


382  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  xi. 

Of  CambalujP  seat  of  Cathaian  Can, 
vAnd  Samarchand  by  Oxus,  Temir's  throne, 
To  Paquin  of  Sinaean  kings;  and  thence 
,To  Agra  and  Lahor  of  Great  Mogul, 
Down  to  the  Golden  Chersonese ;  or  where 
The  Persian  in  Ecbatan  sat,  or  since 
In  Hispahan;  or  where  the  Russian  ksar 
In  Mosco  J  or  the  sultan  in  Bizance, 
Turchestan-born  :  nor  could  his  eye  not  ken 
The  empire  of  Negus  to  his  utmost  port 
Ercoco,  and  the  less  maratim  kings, 
.Mombaza,  and  Quiloa,  and  Melind, 
And  Sofala,  thought  Ophir,  to  the  realm 
Qf  Congo,  and  Angola  farthest  south ; 
Or  thence  from  Niger  flood  to  Atlas  mount, 
\The  kingdoms  of  Almansor,  Fez  and  Sus, 
Morocco,  and  Algiers,  and  Tremisen ; 
vOn  Europe  thence,  and  where  Rome  was  to  sway 
The  world :  in  spirit  perhaps  he  also  saw 
v^ich  Mexico,  the  seat  of  Montezume, 
And  Cusco  in  Peru,  the  richer  seat 
vjQf  Atabalipa ;  and  yet  unspoil'd 
■  Guiana,''  whose  great  city  Geryon's  sons 
\Qall  El  Dorado.     But  to  nobler  sights'" 
Michael  from  Adam's  eyes  the  film  removed, 
.^Vhich  that  false  fruit  that  promised  clearer  sight 
Had  bred ;  then  purged  with  euphrasy  and  rue 
vThe  visual  nerve,  for  he  had  much  to  see ; 
And  from  the  well  of  life  three  drops  instill'd. 
So  deep  the  power  of  these  ingredients  pierced, 
Ev'n  to  the  inmost  seat  of  mental  sight, 
That  Adam,  now  enforced  to  close  his  eyes, 
Suuk  down,  and  all  his  spirits  became  entranced; 
But  him  the  gentle  angel  by  the  hand 
Soon  raised,  and  his  attention  thus  recall'd : 

P  Of  Cambalu. 

Thus  he  surveys  the  four  dififerent  parts  of  the  world,  but,  it  must  he  confessed,  more 
with  an  ostentation  of  learning,  than  with  any  additional  beauty  to  the  poera.  But  Mr. 
Thyer  is  of  opinion  that  such  little  sallies  of  the  Muse  agreeably  enough  diversify  the 
Bcene;  and  observes,  that  Tasso,  whoee  'Godfrey'  is  no  very  imperfect  model  of  a 
regular  epio  poem,  has  in  his  fifteenth  canto  employed  thirty  or  forty  stanzas  togeth  w 
in  a  description  of  this  sort,  which  had  no  necessary  connexion  with  his  general  plan. 
— Newton. 

To  me  it  appears  that  this  long  enumeration  of  sounding  names  fills  the  mind,  tb6ugh 
somewhat  vaguely,  with  an  infinity  of  stirring  imagery. 

q  yet  unspoil'd 
Giiiana. 
I  suppose  Milton  alluded  to  the  many  frustrated  voyages  which  had  been  made  in 
ssarch  of  this  golden  country.     If  I  remember  right,  this  was  the  famous  place  that  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh  was  to  have  brought  such  treasures  from.— Thyer. 

>■  Nobler  sights. 
Nobler  sights, — being  not  only  of  cities  and  kingdoms,  but  of  the  principal  actions  of 
men  to  the  final  consummation  of  all  things. — Newton. 


BOOK  XI.]  PARADISE  LOST.  383 

Adam,  now  ope  thine  eyes ;  and  first  behold 
The  effects,  which  thy  original  crime  hath  wrought 
In  some  to  spring  from  thee ;  who  never  touch'd 
The  excepted  tree;  nor  with  the  snake  conspired; 
Nor  sinn'd  thy  sin :  yet  from  that  sin  derive 
Corruption,  to  bring  forth  more  violent  deeds. 

His  eyes  he  open  d,  and  beheld  a  field, 
Part  arable  and  tilth,  whereon  were  sheaves 
New-reap'd;  the  other  part  sheep-walks  and  folds: 
In  the  midst  an  altar  as  the  landmark  stood 
Rustic,  of  grassy  sord  :  thither  anon 
A  sweaty  rraper"  from  his  tillage  brought 
First-fruits,  the  green  ear,  and  the  yellow  sheaf, 
Uncull'd,  as  came  to  hand ;  a  shepherd  next. 
More  meek,  came  with  the  firstlings  of  his  flock, 
Choicest  and  best ;  then,  sacrificing,  laid 
The  inwards  and  their  fat,  with  incense  strow'd. 
On  the  cleft  wood,  and  all  due  rites  performed : 
His  offering  soon  propitious  fire  from  heaven 
Consumed  with  nimble  glance  and  grateful  steam; 
The  other's  not,  for  his  was  not  sincere ; 
Whereat  he  inly  raged,  and,  as  they  talk'd, 
Smote  him  into  the  midriff  with  a  stone 
That  beat  out  life  :  he  fell ;  and,  deadly  pale, 
Groan'd  out  his  soul  with  gushing  blood  effused. 
Much  at  that  sight  was  Adam  in  his  heart 
Dismay'd,  and  thus  in  haste  to  the  angel  cried : 

0  teacher,  some  great  mischief  hath  befallen 
To  that  meek  man,  who  well  had  sacrificed : 
Is  piety  thus  and  pure  devotion  paid  ? 

To  whom  Michael  thus,  he  also  moved,  replied : 
These  two  are  brethren,  AdSm,  and  to  come 
Out  of  thy  loins;  the  unjust  the  just  hath  slain, 
For  envy  that  his  brother's  offering  found 
From  Heaven  acceptance;  but  the  bloody  fact 
Will  be  aveng'd ;  and  the  other's  faith  approved. 
Lose  no  reward ;  though  here  thou  see  him  die, 
Rolling  in  dust  and  gore.     To  which  our  sire : 

Alas  !  both  for  the  deed,  and  for  the  cause ! 
But  have  I  now  seen  death  ?     Is  this  the  way 
I  must  return  to  native  dust  ?  0  sight 
Of  terrour,  foul  and  ugly  to  behold. 
Horrid  to  think,  how  horrible  to  feel ! 

To  whom  thus  Michael :  Death  thou  hast  seen 
In  his  first  shape  on  man ;  but  many  shapes  . 

Of  death,  and  many  are  the  ways  that  lead 
To  his  grim  cave,  all  dismal ;  yet  to  sense 
More  terrible  at  the  entrance,  flian  within. 

*  A  sweaty  reaper. 
See  Gen.  iv.  2. 


384  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  xi. 

Some,  as  thou  saw'st,  by  violent  stroke  shall  die; 
By  fire,  flood,  famine,  by  intemperance  more 
in  meats  and  drinks,  which  on  the  earth  shall  bring 
Diseases  dire,  of  which  a  monstrous  crew 
Before  thee  shall  appear ;  that  thou  mayst  know 
What  misery  the  inabstinence  of  Eve 
Shall  bring  on  men.     Immediately  a  place 
Before  his  eyes  appcar'd,  sad,  noisome,  dark ; 
A  lazar-house  it  seem'd  ;  wherein  were  laid 
Numbers  of  all  diseased ;  all  maladies 
Of  ghastly  spasm,  or  racking  torture,  qualm^ 
Of  heart-sick  agony,  all  feverous  kinds, 
Convulsions,  epilepsies,  fierce  catarrhs. 
Intestine  stone  and  ulcer,  colic  pangs; 
Demoniac  phrensy,  moping  melancholy. 
And  moon-struck  madness,  pining  atrophy^ 
Marasmus,  and  wide  wasting  pestilence. 
Dropsies,  and  asthmas,  and  joint-racking  rheums 
Dire  was  the  tossing,  deep  the  groans ;  Despair 
Tended  the  sick,  busiest  from  couch  to  couch ; 
And  over  them  triumphant  Death  his  dart 
Shook,  but  delay'd  to  strike,  though  oft  invoked 
With  vows,  as  their  chief  good  and  final  hope. 
Sight  so  deform  what  heart  of  rock  could  long 
Dry-eyed  behold  ?     Adam  could  not,  but  wept. 
Though  not  of  woman  born;  compassion  quell'd 
His  best  of  man,  and  gave  him  up  to  tears 
A  space,  till  firmer  thoughts  restrain'd  excess ; 
And,  scarce  recovering  words,  his  plaint  renew'd  : 

0  miserable  mankind,  to  what  fall 
Degraded,  to  what  wretched  state  reserved ! 
Better  end  here  unborn.     Why  is  life  given 
To  be  thus  wrested  from  us  ?  rather,  why 
Obtruded  on  us  thus  ?  who,  if  we  knew 
What  we  receive,  would  either  not  accept 
Life  ofi"er'd,  or  soon  beg  to  lay  it  down ; 
Glad  to  be  so  dismiss'd  in  peace.     Can  thus 
The  image  of  God  in  man,  created  once 
So  goodly  and  erect,  though  faulty  since, 
To  such  unsightly  sufferings  bei  debased 
Under  inhuman  pains  ?     Whj'^  should  not  mail) 
Retaining  still  divine  similitude 
In  part,  from  such  deformities  be  free, 
And,  for  his  Maker's  image  sake,  exempt? 
/^~Their  Maker's  image,  answer'd  Michael,  then, 
'Forsook  them,  when  themselves  they  vilified 
To  serve  ungovern'd  appetite ;  and  took  " 
His  image  whom  they  served,  a  brutish  vice, 
Inductive  mainly  to  the  sin  of  Eve. 
Therefore  so  abject  is  their  punishment. 
Disfiguring  not  God's  likeness,  but  their  own  : 


BOOK  XT.] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


385 


Or  if  his  likeness,  by  themselves  defaced ; 
While  they  pervert  pure  Nature's  healthful  rules 
To  loathsome  sickness;  worthily,  since  they 
God's  image  did  not  reverence  in  themselves. 

I  yield  it  just,  said  Adam,  and  submit. 
But  is  there  yet  no  other  way,  besides 
These  painful  passages,  how  we  may  come 
To  death,  and  mix  with  our  connatural  dust? 

There  is,  said  Michael,  if  thou  well  observe 
The  rule  of — Not  too  much  :  by  temperance  taught, 
In  what  thou  eat'et  and  drink'st ;  seeking  from  thence 
Due  nourishment,  not  gluttonous  delight; 
Till  many  years  over  thy  head  return. 
So  mayst  thou  live ;  till,  like  ripe  fruit,  thou  drop 
Into  thy  mother's  lap;  or  be  with  ease 
Gather'd,  not  harshly  pluck'd ;  for  death  mature  : 
This  is  old  age;*  but  then,  thou  must  outlive 
Thy  youth,  thy  strength,  thy  beauty ;  which  will  change 
To  wither'd,  weak,  and  gray;  thy  senses  then, 
Obtuse,  all  taste  of  pleasure  must  forego, 
To  what  thou  hast ;  and,  for  the  air  of  youth, 
Hopeful  and  cheerful,  in  thy  blood  will  reign 
A  melancholy  damp  of  cold  and  dry 
To  weigh  thy  spirits  down,  and  last  consume 
The  balm  of  life.     To  whom  our  ancestor : 

Henceforth  I  fly  not  death,  nor  would  prolong 
Life  much ;  bent  rather,  how  I  may  be  quit, 
Fairest  and  easiest,  of  his  cumbrous  charge ; 
Which  I  must  keep  till  my  appointed  day" 
Of  rendering  up,  and  patiently  attend 
My  dissolution.     Michael  repjied  : 

Nor  love  thy  life,  nor  hate ;  but  what  thou  livest 
Live  well ;  how  long,  or  short,  permit  to  heaven : 
And  now  prepare  thee  for  another  sight. 

He  look'd  and  saw  a  spacious  plain,  whereon 
Were  tents  of  various  hue ;  by  some,  were  herds 
Of  cattle  grazing ;  others,  whence  the  sound 
Of  instruments,  that  made  melodious  chime. 
Was  heard,  of  harp  and  organ ;  and  who  moved 
Their  stops  and  chords  was  seen ;  his  volant  touch 

»  This  ia  old  age. 
The  tender  comparison  here  made  between  youth  and  age  may  receive  its  best  illns- 
tration  from  another  of  the  same  nature   in  Shakspeare,  which  in   aQ  probability 
suggested  that  before  us,  from  ver.  538  to  646  inclusive : — 

Thou  hast  nor  youth  nor  age ; 
But,  as  it  wfire,  an  after-dinner's  sleep, 
Drenming  on  both  ;  for  all  thy  blessed  youth 
Becomes  as  nged,  and  doth  beg  the  alms 
Of  palsied  eld  ;  and  when  thou  art  old  and  rich. 
Thou  hast  neither  heut,  affection,  limb,  or  beauty, 
To  make  thy  riches  pleasant. — Meas./or'Meas.  act  iii. 


I  Job  xir.  14. 

49 


1  Appointed  day. 


386 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[book  XI. 


Instinct  through  all  proportions,  low  and  high, 

Fled  and  pursued  transverse  the  resonant  fugue. 

In  other  part  stood  one  who,  at  the  forge 

Labouring,  two  massy  clods  of  iron  and  brass 

Had  melted  (whether  found  where  casual  fire 

Had  wasted  woods  on  mountain  or  in  vale, 

Down  to  the  veins  of  earth ;  thence  gliding  hot 

To  some  cave's  mouth ;  or  whether  wash'd  by  stream 

From  under  ground;)  the  liquid  ore  he  drain'd 

Into  fit  moulds  prepared ;  from  which  he  form'd 

First  his  own  tools ;  then,  what  might  else  be  wrought 

Fusil  or  graven  in.  metal.     After  these,"^ 

But  on  the  hither  side,  a  difierent  sort 

From  the  high  neighbouring  hills,  which  was  their  seat, 

Down  to  the  plain  descended  j  by  their  guise 

Just  men  they  seem'd  and  all  their  study  bent 

To  worship  God  aright,  and  know  his  works 

Not  hid ;  nor  those  things  last,  which  might  preserve 

Freedom  and  peace  to  men :  they  on  the  plain 

Long  had  not  walk'd,  when  from  the  tents,  behold ! 

A  bevy  of  fair  women,  richly  gay 

In  gems  and  wanton  dress  j  to  the  harp  they  sung 

Soft  amorous  ditties,  and  in  dance  came  on. 

The  men,  though  grave,  eyed  them,  and  let  their  eyes 

Hove  without  rein ;  till,  in  the  amorous  net 

Fast  caught,  they  liked ;  and  each  his  liking  chose. 

And  now  of  love  they  treat,  till  the  evening  star, 

Love's  harbinger,  appear'd ;  then,  all  in  heat. 

They  light  the  nuptial  torch,  and  bid  invoke 

Hymen,  then  first  to  marriage  rites  invoked : 

With  feast  and  music  all  the  tents  resound. 

Such  happy  interview,  and  fair  event 

Of  love  and  youth  not  lost,  songs,  garlands,  flowers, 

And  charming  symphonies,  attach'd  the  heart 

Of  Adam,  soon  inclined  to  admit  delight, 

The  bent  of  nature ;  which  he  thus  express'd : 

True  opener  of  mine  eyes,  prime  angel  blest; 
Much  better  seems  this  vision,  and  more  hope 


T  After  these. 
As  being  the  descendants  of  the  younger  brother,  but  on  the  hither  side,  Cain  having 
been  banished  into  a  more  distant  country ;  a  different  sort,  the  posterity  of  Seth,  wholly 
different  from  that  of  Cain ;  from  the  hiyh  neighbouring  hilh,  which  was  their  seat,  having 
their  habitation  in  the  mountains  near  Paradise;  down  to  the  plain  descended,  where  the 
Cainites  dwelt;  by  their  guise  just  men  they  seem'd,  and  all  their  study  bent  to  worship 
God  aright,  the  Scripture  itself  speaks  of  them  as  the  worshippers  of  the  true  God; 
and  know  his  works  not  hid,  and  Josephus  and  other  writers  inform  us,  that  they  were 
addicted  to  the  study  of  natural  philosophy,  and  especially  of  astronomy ;  nor  those 
tMngs  last  which  might  preserve,  nor  was  it  their  last  care  and  study  to  know  those  things 
which  might  preserve /reerfom  and  peace  to  men.  Though  this  account  of  the  Sothites 
be,  in  the  general,  agreeable  to  Scripture ;  yet  the  particulars  of  their  living  in  the 
mountains  near  Paradise,  and  of  their  descending  thence  into  the  plain,  and  their  cor- 
rupting  themselves  in  *ha.t  manner  with  the  daughters  of  Cain,  Milton  seems  to  have 
taken  from  the  Oriental  vriters,  and  particularly  from  the  annals  of  Eutycbius. — Newtoh. 


BOOK  XI.] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


387 


Of  peaceful  days  portends,  than  those  two  past : 
Those  were  of  hate  and  death,  or  pain  much  worse; 
Here  nature  seems  fulfill'd  in  all  her  ends. 

To  whom  thus  Michael :  Judge  not  what  is  best 
By  pleasure,  though  to  nature  seeming  meet; 
Created  as  thou  art,  to  nobler  end 
Holy  and  pure,  conformity  divine, 
Those  tents  thou  saw'st  so  pleasant,  were  the  tents 
Of  wickedness,  wherein  shall  dwell  his  race 
Who  slew  his  brother ;  studious  they  appear 
Of  arts  that  polish  life,  inventors  rare ; 
Unmindful  of  their  Maker,  though  his  Spirit 
Taught  them ;  but  they  his  gifts  acknowledged  none. 
Yet  they  a  beauteous  offspring  shall  beget ; 
For  that  fair  female  troop  thou  saw'st,  that  seem'd 
Of  goddesses,  go  blithe,  so  smooth,  so  gay, 
Yet  empty  of  all  good,  wherein  consists 
Woman's  domestic  honour  and  chief  praise  j 
Bred  only  and  completed  to  the  taste 
Of  lustful  appetence,  to  sing,  to  dance. 
To  dress,  and  troll  the  tongue,  and  roll  the  eye;— 
To  these  that  sober  race  of  men,*  whose  lives 
Religious  titled  them  the  sons  of  God, 
Shall  yield  up  all  their  virtue,  all  their  fame. 
Ignobly,  to  the  trains  and  to  the  smiles 
Of  these  fair  atheists  ;  and  now  swim  in  joy, 
Ere  long  to  swim  at  large ;  and  laugh,  for  which 
The  world  ere  long  a  world  of  tears  must  weep. 

To  whom  thus  Adam,  of  short  joy  bereft : 
0  pity  and  shame,  that  they,  who  to  live  well 
Enter'd  so  fair,  should  turn  aside  to  tread 
Paths  indirect,  or  in  the  midway  faint ! 
But  still  I  see  the  tenour  of  man's  woe 
Holds  on  the  same  from  woman  to  begin. 

From  man's  effeminate  slackness  it  begins. 
Said  the  angel,  who  should  better  hold  his  place 
By  wisdom,  and  superiour  gifts  received. 
But  now  prepare  thee  for  another  scene. 

He  look'd,  and  saw  wide  territory  spread 
Before  him,  towns,  and  rural  works  between ; 
Cities  of  men  with  lofty  gates  and  towers, 
Concourse  in  arms,  fierce  faces  threatening  war, 
Giants  of  mighty  bone  and  bold  emprise ; 


-    "  7%at  aoher  race  of  men. 

As  we  read  in  Gen.  vi.  2 :  "The  sons  of  God  saw  the  daughters  of  men,  that  they 
were  fair,  and  they  took  them  wives  of  all  which  they  chose."  It  is  now  generally 
agreed  that  this  passage  is  to  be  understood  of  the  sons  of  Seth,  the  worshippers  of  the 
true  God,  making  matches  with  the  idolatrous  daughters  of  wicked  Cain  ;  and  Milton 
puts  this  construction  upon  it  here,  though  elsewhere  he  seems  to  give  in  to  the  old 
exploded  conceit  of  the  angels  becoming  enamoured  of  the  daughters  of  men.  See  b. 
lii.  463 ;  and  b.  v.  447,  and  Par.  Reg.  b.  ii.  178,  Ac— Nkwtoh. 


388 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[book  XI. 


Part  wield  their  arms,  part  curb  the  foaming  steed, 

Single  or  in  array  of  battle  ranged 

Both  horse  and  foot,  nor  idly  mustering  stood : 

One  way  a  band  select  from  forage  drives 

A  herd  of  beeves,  fair  oxen  and  fair  kine, 

From  a  fat  meadow-ground ;  or  fleecy  flock. 

Ewes  and  their  bleating  lambs  over  the  plain, 

Their  booty;  scarce  with  life  the  shepherds  fly, 

But  call  in  aid,  which  makes  a  bloody  fray  : 

With  cruel  tournament  the  squadrons  join  ; 

Where  cattle  pastured  late,  now  scatter'd  lies 

With  carcases  and  arms  the  ensanguined  field, 

Deserted  :  others  to  a  city  strong 

Lay  siege,  encamp'd ;  by  battery,  scale,  and  mine, 

Assaulting  :  others  from  the  wall  defend 

With  dart  and  javelin,  stones  and  sulphurous  fire  ; 

On  each  hand  slaughter,  and  gigantic  deeds. 

In  other  part  the  sceptred  heralds  call 

To  council,  in  the  city-gates;  anon 

Gray-headed  men  and  grave,  with  warriours  mix'd, 

Assemble,  and  harangues  are  heard,  but  soon 

In  factious  opposition ;  till  at  last 

Of  middle  age  one  rising,''  eminent 

In  wise  deport,  spake  much  of  right  and  wrong. 

Of  justice,  of  religion,  truth,  and  peace. 

And  judgment  from  above  :  him  old  and  young. 

Exploded,  and  had  seized  with  violent  hands; 

Had  not  a  cloud  descending  snatch'd  him  thence, 

Unseen  amid  the  throng  :  so  violence 

Proceeded,  and  oppression,  and  sword-law. 

Through  all  the  plain,  and  refuge  none  was  found. 

Adam  was  all  in  tears,  and  to  his  guide 

Lamenting  turn'd  full  sad :  0,  what  are  these, 

Death's  ministers,  not  men  ?  who  thus  deal  death 

Inhumanly  to  men,  and  multiply 

Ten  thousand-fold  the  sin  of  him  who  slew 

His  brother :  for  of  whom  such  massacre 

Make  they,  but  of  their  brethren ;  men  of  men  ? 

But  who  was  that  just  man,  whom  had  not  Heaven 

Rescued,  had  in  his  righteousness  been  lost  ? 

To  whom  thus  Michael :  These  are  the  product 
Of  those  ill-mated  marriages  thou  saw'st; 
Where  good  with  bad  were  match'd,  who  of  themselves 
Abhor  to  join;  and,  by  imprudence  mix'd. 
Produce  prodigious  births  of  body  or  mind. 
Such  were  these  giants,  men  of  high  renown ; 
For  in  these  days  might  only  shall  be  admired, 


X  Of  middle  age  one  rising. 
Bnoch,  said  to  be  of  middle  age,  because  he  was  translated  when  he  WM  but  S65  years 
old;  a  middle  age  then.     Qen,  v.  23. — Richardson. 


BOOK  XI.]  PARADISE  LOST.  389 

And  valour  and  heroic  virtue  call'd. 

To  overcome  in  battle,  and  subdue 

Nations,  and  bring  home  spoils  with  infinite 

Man-slaughter,  shall  be  held  the  highest  pitch 

Of  human  glory ;  and  for  glory  done 

Of  triumph,  to  be  styled  great  conquerours. 

Patrons  of  mankind,  gods,  and  sons  of  gods ; 

Destroyers  rightlier  call'd,  and  plagues  of  men. 

Thus  fame  shall  be  achieved,  renown  on  earth ; 

And  what  most  merits  fame  in  silence  hid. 

But  he,  the  seventh  from  thee,  whom  thou  beheldst 

The  only  righteous  in  a  world  perverse. 

And  therefore  hated,  therefore  so  beset 

With  foes,  for  daring  single  to  be  just. 

And  utter  odious  truth,  that  God  would  come  ^ 

To  judge  them  with  his  saints;  him  the  Most  High, 

Wrapt  in  a  balmy  cloud  with  winged  steeds, 

Didj  as  thou  saw'st,  receive,  to  walk  with  God 

High  in  salvation,  and  the  climes  of  bliss. 

Exempt  from  death ;  to  show  thee  what  reward 

Awaits  the  good,  the  rest  what  punishment ; 

Which  now  direct  thine  eyes,  and  soon  behold. 

He  look'd,  and  saw  the  face  of  things  quite  changed : 
The  brazen  throat  of  war  had  ceased  to  roar; 
All  now  was  turn'd  to  jollity  and  game, 
To  luxury  and  riot,  feast  and  dance  ; 
Marrying  or  prostituting,  as  befell. 
Rape  or  adultery,  where  passing  fair 
Allured  them  j  thence  from  cups  to  civil  broils. 
At  length  a  reverend  sire  among  them  came, 
And  of  their  doings  great  dislike  declared, 
And  testified  against  their  ways  :  he  oft 
Frequented  their  assemblies,  whereso  met. 
Triumphs  or  festivals  j  and  to  them  preach'd 
Conversion  and  "repentauce,^  as  to  souls 
In  prison,  under  judgments  imminent; 
But  all  in  vain :  which  when  he  saw,  he  ceased 
Contending,  and  removed  his  tents  far  off: 
Then,  from  the  mountain  hewing  timber  tall, 
Began  to  build  a  vessel  of  huge  bulk ; 
Measured  by  cubit,  length,  and  breadth,  and  highth  j 
Smear'd  round  with  pitch ;  and  in  the  side  a  door 
Contrived ;  and  of  provisions  laid  in  large, 
For  man  and  beast :  when,  lo,  a  wonder  strange  I 
Of  every  beast,  and  bird,  and  insect  small, 
Came  sevens  and'pairs,  and  enter'd  in  as  taught 
Their  ord3r :  last  the  sire  and  his  three  sons, 

y  Conversion  and  repentance. 

This  account  of  Noah's  preaching  is  founded  chiefly  on  St.  Peter,  1  Pet.  iii.  19,  20, 
is  what  follows  of  his  desisting,  when  he  found  his  preaching  ineffectual,  and  of  remov- 
ing into  another  country,  is  taken  from  Josephus,  Antq.  Jud.  lib.  i,  c.  3. — Newton. 


390  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  xi. 

With  their  four  wives ;  and  God  made  fast  the  door. 
Meanwhile  the  south  wind  rose,  and  with  black  wings 
Wide-hovering,  all  the  clouds  together  drove 
From  under  heaven ;  the  hills  to  their  supply 
Vapour,  and  exhalation,  dusk  and  moist, 
Sent  up  amain  :  and  now  the  thicken'd  sky- 
Like  a  dark  ceiling  stood ;  down  rush'd  the  rain 
Impetuous ;  and  continued,  till  the  earth 
No  more  was  seen  :  the  floating  vessel  swum 
Uplifted,  and  secure  with  peaked  prow 
Rode  tilting  o'er  the  waves ;  all  dwellings  else 
Flood  overwhelm'd,  and  them  with  all  their  pomp 
Deep  under  water  roll'd  :  sea  cover'd  sea, 
Sea  without  shore ;  and  in  their  palaces. 
Where  luxury  late  reign'd,  sea-monsters  whelp'd 
And  stabled ;  of  mankind,  so  numerous  late. 
All  left  in  one  small  bottom  swum  imbark'd. 
How  didst  thou  grieve  then,  Adam,  to  behold 
The  end  of  all  thy  oflfspring,  end  so  sad, 
Depopulation  !     Thee  another  flood. 
Of  tears  and  sorrow  a  flood,  thee  also  drown'd, 
And  sunk  thee  as  thy  sons ;  till,  gently  rear'd 
By  the  angel,  on  thy  feet  thou  stood'st  at  last, 
Though  comfortless ;  as  when  a  father  mourns 
His  children  all  in  view  destroy'd  at  once; 
And  scarce  to  the  angel  utter'dst  thus  thy  plaint : 

0  visions  ill  foreseen  !  better  had  I 
Lived  ignorant  of  future ;  so  had  borne 
My  part  of  evil  only,  each  day's  lot 
Enough  to  bear ;  those  now,  that  were  dispensed 
•   The  burden  of  many  ages,  on  me  light 
At  once,  by  my  foreknowledge  gaining  birth 
Abortive,  to  torment  me  ere  their  being. 
With  thought  that  they  must  be.     Let  no  man  seek 
Henceforth  to  be  foretold,  what  shall  befall 
Him  or  his  children ;  evil  he  may  be  sure. 
Which  neither  his  foreknowing  can  prevent  j 
And  he  the  future  evil  shall  no  less 
In  apprehension  than  in  substance  feel, 
Grievous  to  bear  :  but  that  care  now  is  past ; 
Man  is  not  whom  to  warn :  those  few  escaped 
Famine  and  anguish  will  at  last  consume. 
Wandering  that  watery  desert :  I  had  hope, 
When  violence  was  ceased,  and  war  on  earth. 
All  would  have  then  gone  -well  j  peace  would  have  crown'd 
With  length  of  happy  days  the  race  of  man ; 
But  I  was  far  deceived ;  for  now  I  see 
Peace  to  corrupt  no  less  than  war  to  waste. 
How  comes  it  thus  ?  unfold,  celestial  guide, 
And  whether  here  the  race  of  man  will  end. 
To  whom  thus  Michael :  Those,  whom  last  thou  saw'st 


BOOK  XI.]  PARADISE  LOST.  391 

In  triumph  and  luxurious  wealth,  are  they 

First  seen  in  acts  of  prowess  eminent 

And  great  exploits,  but  of  true  virtue  void ; 

Who,  having  spilt  much  blood,  and  done  much  waste, 

Subduing  nations,  and  achieved  thereby 

Fame  in  the  world,  high  titles,  and  rich  prey ; 

Shall  change  their  course  to  pleasure,  ease,  and  sloth, 

Surfeit,  and  lust ;  till  wantonness  and  pride 

Raise  out  of  friendship  hostile  deeds  in  peace. 

The  conquer'd  also,  and  enslaved  by  war. 

Shall,  with  their  freedom  lost,*  all  virtue  lose 

And  fear  of  God ;  from  whom  their  piety  feign'd ' 

In  sharp  contest  of  battel  found  no  aid 

Against  invaders  j  therefore,  cool'd  in  zeal, 

Thenceforth  shall  practise  how  to  live  secure, 

Worldly  or  dissolute,  on  what  their  lords 

Shall  leave  them  to  enjoy;  for  the  earth  shall  bear 

More  than  enough,  that  temperance  may  be  tried : 

So  all  shall  turn  degenerate,  all  depraved ; 

Justice  and  temperance,  truth  and  faith  forgot; 

One  man  except,  the  only  son  of  light 

In  a  dark  age,  against  example  good, 

Against  allurement,  custom,  and  a  world 

Offended  :  fearless  of  reproach  and  scorn, 

Or  violence,  he  of  their  wicked  ways 

Shall  them  admonish ;  and  before  them  set 

The  paths  of  righteousness,  how  much  more  safe, 

And  full  of  peace ;  denouncing  wrath  to  come 

On  their  impenitence ;  and  shall  return 

Of  them  derided,  but  of  God  observed 

The  one  just  man  alive  :  by  his  command 

Shall  build  a  wondrous  ark'  as  thou  beheldst. 

To  save  himself  and  household,  from  amidst 

A  world  devote  to  universal  wrack. 

No  sooner  he,  with  them  of  man  and  beast 

Select  for  life,  shall  in  the  ark  be  lodged. 

And  shelter'd  round,  but  all  the  cataracts 

Of  heaven  set  open  on  the  earth  shall  pour 

Bain,  day  and  night  j  all  fountains  of  the  deep. 

Broke  up,  shall  heave  the  ocean  to  usurp 

Beyond  all  bounds ;  till  inundation  rise 

X  Freedom  lost. 

Milton  everywhere  shows  his  love  of  liberty ;  and  here  he  observes  very  rightly,  that 
the  loss  of  liberty  is  soon  followed  by  the  loss  of  all  virtue  and  religion.  There  are 
such  sentiments  in  several  parts  of  his  prose  works,  as  well  as  in  Aristotle,  and  other 
masters  of  politics. — NewtOn. 

»  Piety  feign'd. 

[  conceive  this  to  be  unquestionably  political.  Milton  was,  it  has  been  supposed,  well 
aware  of  \hQ  feign'd  piety  )f  many  of  his  own  party,  whom  he  had  once  considered  as 
saints ;  and  \^ose  temporizing  at  the  Restoration  completed  in  his  mind  the  hypocrisy 
of  their  character.  Hypocrisy,  it  may  be  observed,  Milton,  in  various  parts  of  his  poem, 
has  branded  as  the  most  abominable  of  crimes. — Dunster. 


392  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  xi, 

Above  the  highest  hills  :  then  shall  this  mount 

Of  Paradise  ^  by  might  of  waves  be  moved 

Out  of  his  place,  push'd  by  the  horned  flood, 

With  all  his  verdure  spoil' d,  and  trees  adrift, 

Pown  the  great  river  to  the  opening  gulf. 

And  there  take  root,  an  island  salt  and  bare. 

The  haunt  of  seals,  and  orcs,"=  and  sea-mews'  clang; 

To  teach  thee  that  God  attributes  to  place 

No  sanctity,''  if  none  be  thither  brought 

By  men  who  there  frequent,  or  therein  dwell. 

And  now,  what  farther  shall  ensue,  behold. 

He  look'd,  and  saw  the  ark  hull  on  the  flood, 
Which  now  abated ;  for  the  clouds  were  fled. 
Driven  by  a  keen  north  wind,  that,  blowing  dry, 
Wrinkled  the  face  of  deluge,*  as  decay'd ; 

b  Then  shall  this  mount 
Of  Paradise. 
It  is  the  opinion  of  manj  learned  men,  that  Paradise  was  des.royed  by  the  deluge  j 
and  Milton  describes  it  in  a  very  poetical  manner: — Push'd  by  tie  horned  flood :  so  that 
it  was  before  the  flood  became  universal;  and  while  it  poured  along  like  a  vast  river; 
for  rivers,  when  they  meet  with  anything  to  obstruct  their  passage,  divide  themselvesi 
and  become  horned,  as  it  were ;  and  hence  the  ancients  have  compared  them  to  bulls. — 


Newton, 
Ores,  a  species  of  whale. — Todd. 


«  Ores. 
i  God  attributes  to  place 


No  sanctity. 

Milton  omits  no  opportunity  of  lashing  what  he  thought  superstitions.  These  lines 
may  serve  as  one  instance;  and  I  think  he  plainly  here  alludes  to  the  manner  of  con- 
secrating churches  used  by  archbishop  Laud,  which  was  prodigiously  clamoured  against 
by  ptsople  of  our  author's  way  of  thinking,  as  superstitious  and  popish. — Thter. 

"  Wrinkled  the  face  of  deluge. 
The  circumstances  of  this  description  of  the  abating  of  the  flood  are  few,  but  selected 
with  great  judgment,  and  expressed  with  no  less  spirit  and  beauty.  In  this  respect  it ' 
must  be  owned,  Milton  greatly  excels  the  Italians,  who  are  generally  too  prolix  in  their 
descriptions,  and  think  they  have  never  said  enough  while  anything  remains  unsaid. 
When  once  enough  is  said  to  excite  in  the  reader's  mind  a  proper  idea  of  what  the  poet 
is  representing ;  whatever  is  added,  however  beautiful,  serves  only  to  tease  the  fancy, 
instead  of  pleasing  it;  and  rather  cools  than  improves  that  glow  of  pleasure  which 
arises  in  the  mind  upon  its  first  contemplation  of  any  surprising  scene  of  nature  well 
painted  out — Thyek. 

Again  I  have  to  observe,  that  Mr.  Addison's  remarks  upon  the  book  before  us  are 
similar  to  such  as  are  to  be  found  in  the  notes  of  subsequent  commentators  already 
copied :  it  is  probable  that  the  originality  lay  with  Addison,  who,  not  having  produced 
them  detached,  but  as  parts  of  one  critique,  has  given  them  in  a  more  popultr  form. 
Still,  when  the  matter  of  them  is  so  anticipated,  I  must  forbear  to  repe.at  them  at  length : 
I  shall,  however,  notice  them  in  a  summary  way.  He  observes,  that  the  acceptance  of 
the  prayers  of  Adam  and  Eve  at  the  beginning  of  this  eleventh  book  is  formed  upon 
that  beautiful  passage  in  Holy  Writ: — "And  another  angel  came  and  stood  at  the  altar, 
having  a  golden  censer;  and  there  was  given  unto  him  much  incense,  that  he  should 
ofier  it  with  the  prayers  of  all  saints  upon  the  golden  altar,  which  was  before  the  throne; 
and  the  smoke  of  the  incense,  which  came  with  the  prayers  of  the  saints,  ascended  up 
before  God."  He  then  notices  the  poetical  beauty  of  the  vision  of  the  angels  to  Ezekiel, 
where  "  every  one  had  four  faces ;  all  their  shape  spangled  with  eyes ;"  next,  the 
assembly  of  the  angels  to  hear  the  judgment  passed  upon  man ;  then  the  conference  of 
Adam  and  Eve,  and  the  subsequent  morning  notice  of  the  signs  of  the  changes  about 
to  take  place  in  aU  the  creation  surrounding  them.  The  next  striking  passage  is  the 
description  of  the  appearance  of  the  archangel  Michael,  sent  to  expel  them  from 
Paradise. 


BOOK  XI.]  PARADISE  LOST.  393 

And  the  clear  sun  on  his  wide  watery  glass 
Gazed  hot,  and  of  the  fresh  wave  largely  drew, 
As  after  thirst ;  which  made  their  flowing  shrink 
From  standing  lake  to  tripping  ebb,  that  stole 
With  soft  foot  towards  the  deep ;  who  now  had  stopt 
His  sluices,  as  the  heaven  his  windows  shut. 
The  ark  no  more  now  floats,  but  seems  on  ground, 
Fast  on  the  top  of  dome  high  mountain  fix'd. 
And  now  the  tops  of  hills,  as  rocks,  appear ; 
With  clamour  thence  the  rapid  currents  drive, 
Towards  the  retreating  sea,  their  furious  tide. 
Forthwith  from  out  the  ark  a  raven  flies ; 
And,  after  him,  the  surer  messenger, 
A  dove,  sent  forth  once  and  again  to  spy 
Green  tree  or  ground,  whereon  his  foot  may.  light : 
The  second  time  returning,  in  his  bill 
An  olive-leaf  he  brings,  pacific  sign  : 
Anon  dry  ground  appears,  and  from  his  ark 
The  ancient  sire  descends,  with  all  his  train : 
Then  with  uplifted  hands,  and  eyes  devout, 
Grateful  to  Heaven,  over  his  head  beholds 
A  dewy  cloud,  and  in  the  cloud  a  bow 
Conspicuous  with  three  listed  colours  gay, 
Betokening  peace  from  God,  and  covenant  new : 
Whereat  the  heart  of  Adam,  erst  so  sad, 
Greatly  rejoiced;  and  thus  his  joy  broke  forth : 

0  thou,  who  future  things  canst  represent 
As  present,  heavenly  instructor  !     I  revive 
At  this  last  sight ;  assured  that  man  shall  live, 
With  all  the  creatures,  and  their  seed  preserve. 
Far  less  I  now  lament  for  one  whole  world 
Of  wicked  sons  destroy'd,  than  I  rejoice 
For  one  man  found  so  perfect,  and  so  just, 
That  God  vouchsafes  to  raise  another  world 
From  him,  and  all  his  anger  to  forget. 
But  say,  what  mean  those  colour'd  streaks  in  heaven 
Distended,  as  the  brow  of  God  appeased  ? 
Or  serve  they,  as  a  flowery  verge,  to  bind 
The  fluid  skirts  of  that  same  watery  cloud, 
Lest  it  again  dissolve,  and  shower  the  earth  ? 

To  whom  the  archangel :  Dextrously  thou  aim'st  • 
So  willingly  doth  God  remit  his  ire. 
Though  late  repenting  him  of  man  depraved ; 
Grieved  at  his  heart,  when  looking  down  he  saw 

Addison  gives  the  full  measure  of  praise  to  Eve's  complaint  on  receiving  the  notice 
that  she  must  quit  Paradise,  and  the  more  masculine  and  elevated  speech  of  Adam. 

The  critic  then  commends  that  noble  part,  where  the  angel  leads  Adam  to  the  highest 
mount  of  Paradise,  and  lays  before  him  a  whole  hemisphere,  as  a  proper  stage  for  those 
visions  which  were  to  be  represented  on  it.  The  image  of  death  in  the  second  vision 
is  represented  in  all  its  varieties  and  attitudes :  then,  by  way  of  contrast,  comes  a  scene 
of  mirth,  love,  and  jollity.  The  deluge  is  drawn  witJi  the  most  powerful  and  masterly 
hand. 

60 


394  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  xi. 

The  whole  earth  fill'd  with  violence,  and  all  flesh 
Corrupting  each  their  way;  yet,  those  removed, 
Such  grace  shall  one  just  man  find  in  his  sight, 
That  he  relents,  not  to  blot  out  mankind ; 
And  makes  a  covenant  never  to  destroy 
The  earth  again  by  flood ;  nor  let  the  sea 
Surpass  his  bounds ;  nor  rain  to  drown  the  world, 
With  man  therein  or  beast ;  but,  when  he  brings 
Over  the  earth  a  cloud,  will  therein  set 
His  triple-colour' d  bow,  whereon  to  look, 
And  call  to  mind  his  covenant :  day  and  night, 
Seed  time  and  harvest,  heat  and  hoary  frost, 
Shall  hold  their  course ;  till  fire  purge  all  things  new. 
Both  heaven  and  earth,  wherein  the  just  shall  dwell. 


BOOK  XII.]  PARADISE  LOST.  395 


BOOK  XII* 

INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 

The  present  twelfth  book  being  only  one  half  of  the  original  and  then  conclnding 
tenth,  the  revelations  of  the  archangel  Michael  were  to  be  continued  from  the  flood,  at 
which  the  eleventh  book  closes :  and  indeed  it  was  a  fortunate  circumstance  that 
Milton,  previously  to  the  division,  had  changed  the  medium  of  impression  from  vision 
to  narration;  because  it  bestows  a  feature  of  novelty  and  distinction  upon  his  con< 
eluding  book. 

It  is  therefore  with  some  surprise  that  we  meet  with  any  objection  to  this  arrange* 
ment  of  the  poet,  and  the  wish  that  he  had  imparted  all  his  disclosures  in  the  way  of 
picture  and  vision,  in  which  they  commenced :  but  Mr.  Dunster  goes  at  once  to  the 
"  heart  of  the  mystery,"  and  inquires  Whether  all  the  coming  subjects  were  equally 
Buited  to  the  specular  mount?  The  plagues  of  Egypt,  as  he  observes,  so  represented, 
must  have  been  tedious.  How  was  the  delivery  of  the  law  to  have  been  represented, 
ander  all  its  sublime  circumstances,  in  vision  ?  How  could  the  great  miracle  (related 
with  concise  sublimity)  of  the  heavenly  bodies  standing  still  at  the  command  of  Joshua, 
be  exhibited  in  vision  ?  Could  the  nativity,  the  life  and  death  of  our  blessed  Lord,  or 
his  resurrection  (each  related  in  a  few  lines  of  exquisite  beauty)  have  been  so  clearly 
or  adequately  displayed  in  picture?  or  could  his  ascension,  and  resumption  of  his 
heavenly  seat,  and  his  coming  again  to  judge  the  world,  have  been  adequately  exhi- 
bited at  all  ? 

The  pictures  even  of  the  eleventh  book  were  of  necessity  accompanied  by  some 
verbal  explanations.  In  the  remainder  of  the  history,  as  Mr.  Dunster  remarks,  "the 
accruing  materials  come  too  thick  to  be  represented  in  visions :  the  task  would  have 
been  laborious  to  the  artist,  who  would  have  fatigued  and  disgusted  those  whom  ho 
wished  to  inform  and  delight."    Here,  therefore,  the  poet  judiciously  reversed  his  plan. 

But  there  is  another  topic  o*"  remark  4v2iich  the  concluding  book  of  Milton's  divine 
poem  suggests ;  it  is  his  comparative  affluence  of  invention.  The  sentence  upon  Adam 
might  have  been  attended  by  immediate  expulsion :  but  how  gracious  is  the  divine 
condescension,  to  allow  some  inter'^al  of  reflection ;  and,  previously  to  ejectment,  to 
fortify  the  minds  of  the  repentant  pair  with  anticipated  knowledge  and  distant  conso- 
lation !  Thus  the  interest  of  the  poem  is  kept  alive  with  the  reader  to  the  last  lino. 
The  whole  of  the  twelfth  book  closely  relates  to  Adam  and  his  posterity ;  and  so 
delightfully  are  these  soothing  hopes  of  happiness  administered  by  the  archangel,  that 
we,  equally  with  Adam,  forget  that  we  are  to  quit  Paradise ;  and  are,  like  him,  heart- 
struck  by  the  sudden  warning,  that  "the  hour  is  come,  the  very  minute  of  it;"  and 
attend  the  "hastening  angel;  to-the  gates  of  exclusion,  with  all  the  sad  and  lingering 
acquiescence  of  our  first  parents." 


*  The  first  edition  was  in  ten  books.  In  the  second  edition,  the  seventh  and  the  tenth  books, 
being  grently  beyoiid  the  rest  in  the  number  of  the  verses,  were  diviiled  ench  into  two;  m 
that  the  seventh  became  the  eighth  also;  the  eighth  of  the  first  editirm  then  stood  nmth ;  the 
ninth,  tenth ;  and  thu  tenth  of  t!ie  first  edition  became  of  course,  when  divided,  the  present 
eleventh  end  twelfth. 


396  PARADISE  LOST,  [book  xii. 


ARGUMENT. 

The  angel  Michael  continues,  from  the  Flood,  to  relate  what  shall  succeed;  then,  in  the 
mention  of  Abraham,  comes  by  degrees  to  explain  who  that  seed  of  the  woman  shall  be 
which  was  promised  Adam  and  Eve  in  the  Fall ;  his  incarnation,  death,  resurrection,  and 
ascension;  the  state  of  the  church  till  his  second  coming.  Adam,  greatly  satisfied  and 
rejomforted  by  these  relations  and  promises,  descends  the  hill  with  Michael ;  wakens  Eve, 
who  all  this  while  had  slept,  but  with  gentle  dreams  composed  to  quietness  of  mind  and 
submission.  Michael  in  either  hand  leads  them  out  of  Paradise  ;  the  fiery  sword  waving 
behind  them,  and  the  cherubim  taking  their  stations  to  guard  the  place. 

As  one  who  on  his  journey  bates  at  noon, 
'  Though  bent  on  speed ;  so  here  the  archangel  paused 
Betwixt  the  world  destroy'd  and  world  restored, 
<Jf  Adam  aught  perhaps  might  interpose; 
Then,  with  transition  sweet,  new  speech  resumes : 
^  Thus  thou  hast  seen  one  world  begin,  and  end; 
And  man,  as  from  a  second  stock,  proceed. 
sMuch  thou  hast  yet  to  see  j  but  I  perceive 
Thy  mortal  sight  to  fail ;  objects  divine 
vMust  needs  impair  and  weary  human  sense : 
Henceforth  what  is  to  come  I  will  relate ; 
^hou  therefore  give  due  audience,  and  attend. 

This  second  source  of  men,  while  yet  but  few, 
And  while  the  dread  of  judgment  past  remains 
Fresh  in  their  minds,  fearing  the  Deity, 
^ith  some  regard ■'  to  what  is  just  and  right 
Shall  lead  their  lives,  and  multiply  apace; 
^Labouring  the  soil,  and  reaping  plenteous  crop, 
Corn,  wine,  and  oil ;  and,  from  the  herd  or  flock, 
sOft  sacrificing  bullock,  lamb,  or  kid. 
With  large  wine-offerings*  pour'd,  and  sacred  feast, 
^hall  spend  their  days  in  joy  unblamed ;  and  dwell 
liong  time  in  peace,  by  families  and  tribes, 
vUnder  paternal  rule  :  till  one  shall  rise  * 
Of  proud  ambitious  heart ;  who  not  content 
With  fair  equality,  fraternal  state, 
Will  arrogate  dominion  undeserved 
^ver  his  brethren,  and  quite  dispossess 
Concord  and  law  of  nature  from  the  earth ; 
^fiunting,  (and  men  not  beasts  shall  be  his  game,) 


»  With  some  regard. 
This  answers  to  the  silver  age  of  the  poets;  the  paradisiacal  state  ia  the  golden  one) 
that  of  iron  begins  soon,  v.  24. — Richardson. 

b  Wine-offering*, 
See  Exodus,  zxix.  40. — Todd. 

e  Till  one  shall  rite. 
It  is  generally  agreed  that  the  first  governments  in  the  world  were  patriarchal,  "by 
families  and  tribes ;"  and  that  Nimrod  was  the  first  who  laid  the  foundation  of  kingly 
government  among  mankind.  Milton,  therefore,  (who  was  no  friend  to  kingly  govern- 
ment at  the  best,)  represents  him  in  a  very  bad  light,  as  a  most  wicked  and  insolent 
fyrant;  but  he  has  great  authorities,  both  Jewish  and  Christian,  to  justify  him  for  so 
doing. — Newton. 


BOOK  XII.]  PARADISE  LOST.  397 

With  war,  and  hostile  snare,  such  as  refuse 
s  Subjection  to  his  empire  tyrannous : 
^  mighty  hunter  thence  he  shall  be  styled 
.Before  the  Lord;  as  in  despite  of  Heaven, 
Or  from  Heaven,  claiming  second  sovrantyj 
And  from  rebellion  shall  derive  his  name, 
Though  of  rebellion*  others  he  accuse. 
He  with  a  crew,  whom  like  ambition  joins 
tVith  him  or  under  him  to  tyrannise. 
Marching  from  Eden*  towards  the  west,  shall  find 
The  plain,  wherein  a  black  bituminous  gurge 
(Boils  out  from  under  ground,  the  mouth  of  hell : 
Of  brick,  and  of  that  stuff,  they  cast  to  build 
\4  city  and  tower,  whose  top  may  reach  to  heaven, 
And  get  themselves  a  name ;  lest,  far  dispersed 
Vin  foreign  lands,  their  memory  be  lost ; 
Regardless  whether  good  or  evil  fame. 
']But  God,  who  oft  descends  to  visit  men 
tfnseen,  and  through  their  habitations  walks 
jTo  mark  their  doings,  them  beholding  soon, 
Comes  down  to  see  their  city,'  ere  the  tower 
pbstruct  heaven-towers ;  and  in  derision  sets 
Upon  their  tongues  a  various  spirit,  to  rase 
v^ Quite  out  their  native  language ;  and,  instead, 
To  sow  a  jangling  noise  of  words  unknown  : 
Jjarthwith  a  hideous  gabble  rises  loud, 
Among  the  builders ;  each  to  other  calls, 
"^t  understood ;  till  hoarse,  and  all  in  rage, 
As  mock'd  they  storm:  great  laughter  was  in  heaven, 
.^nd  looking  down,  to  see  the  hubbub  strange, 
Arid  hear  the  din :  thus  was  the  building  left 
\EJdiculous,  and  the  work  Confusion  named.* 
Whereto  thus  Adam,  fatherly  displeased; 
0  execrable  son  !  so  to  aspire 
Afbove  his  brethren;  to  himself  assuming 
-Authority  usurp'd,  from  God  not  given  : 
He  gave  us  only  over  beast,  fish,  fowl, 

d  Though  of  rebellion. 
This  was  added  by  our  author,  probably  not  without  a  view  to  his  own  time ;  when 
himself  and  those  of  his  own  party  were  stigmatised  as  the  worst  of  rebels. — Newton. 

e  Marching  from  Eden. 
See  Gen.  xi.  2,  Ac. :  "And  it  came  to  pass  as  they  journeyed  in  the  east,  that  they 
found  a  plain  in  the  land  of  S^inar ;  and  they  had  brick  for  stone,  and  slime  had  they 
for  mortar.  And  they  said,  Go  to,  let  us  build  us  a  city  and  a  tower,  whose  top  may 
reach  unto  heaven  ;  and  let  us  make  us  a  name,  lest  we  be  scattered  abroad  upon  the 
face  of  the  whole  earth." — Newton. 

f  See  their  city. 
See  Gen.  xi.  5,  Ac.     The  Scripture  speaks  after  the  manner  of  men:  so  the  heathen 
gods  are  often  represented  as  coming  down  to  observe  human  actions,  aa  in  the  stories 
of  Lycaou,  Baucis  and  Philemon,  Ac. 

g  Confusion  named. 
Babel  In  Hebrew  signifies  confusion. — Nbwton. 


398  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  xil 

■J)ominioa  absolute;  that  right  we  hold 

By  his  d>  minion  ;  but  man  over  men 

s^e  made  not  lord ;  such  title  to  himself 

Reserving,  human  left  from  human  free.*" 
V,  But  this  usurper  his  encroachment  proud 

^tays  not  on  man ;  to  God  his  tower  intends 
,  Siege  and  defiance  :  wretched  man  !  what  food 

^ill  he  convey  up  thither,  to  sustain 

vjlimself  and  his  rash  army;  where  thin  air 

Above  the  clouds  will  pine  his  entrails  gross, 

^nd  famish  him  of  breath,  if  not  of  bread  ? 
To  whom  thus  Michael :  Justly  thou  abhorr'st 

^That  son,  who  on  the  quiet  state  of  men 

Such  trouble  brought,  aflFecting  to  subdue 

f-ational  liberty ;  yet  know  withal, 
ince  thy  original  lapse,  true  liberty' 
\Js  lost,  which  always  with  right  reason  dwells 

I'winn'd,  and  from  her  hath  no  dividual  being : 
\Reason  in  man  obscured,  or  not  obey'd, 

litnmediately  inordinate  desires 
^nd  upstart  passions  catch  the  government 

From  reason ;  and  to  servitude  reduce 
yMan,  till  then  free.     Therefore,  since  he  permits 

Within  himself  unworthy  powers  to  reign 
vQver  free  reason,  God,  in  judgment  just, 

Subjects  him  from  without  to  violent  lords ; 

Who  oft  as  undeservedly  enthral 

His  outward  freedom  :  tyranny  must  be ; 
^hough  to  the  tyrant  thereby  no  excuse. 

jTet  sometimes  nations  will  decline  so  low 
^rom  virtue,  which  is  reason,  that  no  wrong, 

But  justice,  and  some  fatal  curse  annex'd, 
^^  i/|OJ)eprives  them  of  their  outward  liberty; 
'      ''xheir  inward  lost :  witness  the  irreverent  son 
^f  him  who  built  the  ark ;  who  for  the  shame 

Done  to  his  father,  heard  this  heavy  curse, 
^Servant  of  servants,  on  his  vicious  race. 

Thus  will  this  latter,  as  the  former  world, 

Still  tend  from  bad  to  worse ;  till  God  at  last, 

Wearied  with  their  iniquities,  withdraw 
\His  presence  from  among  them,  and  avert 

His  holy  eyes ;  resolving  from  thenceforth 
^0  leave  them  to  their  own  polluted  w^ys ; 

And  one  peculiar  nation  to  select 
v|Vom  all  the  rest,  of  whom  to  be  invoked, 

h  From  human  free. 
Left  mankind  in  full  and  free  possession  of  their  liberty. — Humb. 

i  True  liberty. 

So  Milton  in  his  sonnet : — 

liberty :—  f 

For  wbo  loves  that  must  first  be  wise  and  good. 


BOOK  XII.]  PARADISE  LOST.  399 

A  nation  from  one  faithful  man  to  spring : 
Him  on  this  side  Euphrates  yet  residing, 
Bred  up  in  idol-worship  -J  0,  that  men 
(Canst  thou  believe  ?)  should  be  so  stupid  grown, 
While  yet  the  patriarch  lived  "^  who  'scaped  the  flood, 
,^8  to  forsake  the  living  God,  and  fall 
To  worship  their  own  work  in  wood  and  stone 
vFor  gods  !  Yet  him  God  the  Most  High  vouchsafes 
To  call  by  vision,  from  his  father's  house, 
His  kindred,  and  false  gods,  into  a  land 
Which  he  will  show  him ;  and  from  him  will  raise 
lA  mighty  nation,  and  upon  him  shower 
His  benediction  so,  that  in  his  seed 
All  nations  shall  be  blest :  he  straight  obeys ;  > 
Not  knowing  to  what  land,  yet  firm  believes : 
J  see  him,"  but  thou  canst  not,  with  what  faith 
He  leaves  his  gods,  his  friends,  and  native  soil, 
XJr  of  Chaldaea,"  passing  now  the  ford 
^0  Haran ;  after  him  a  cumbrous  train » 
Of  herds  and  flocks,  and  numerous  servitude ; 
Not  wandering  poor,  but  trusting  all  his  wealth 
\;i^ith  God,  who  call'd  him,  in  a  land  unknown. 
Canaan  he  now  attains ;  I  see  his  tents 

J  Bred  up  in  idol-worship. 
We  read  in  Josh.  xxiv.  2:  "Your  fathers  dwelt  on  the  other  side  of  the  flood  in  old 
time,  even  Terah  the  father  of  Abraham,  and  the  father  of  Nachor :  and  they  served 
other  gods."  Now  as  Terah,  Abraham's  father,  was  an  idolater,  I  think  we  may  be 
certain  that  Abraham  was  bred  up  in  the  religion  of  his  father,  though  he  renounced  it 
afterwards,  and  in  all  probability  converted  his  father  likewise ;  for  Terah  removed  with 
Abraham  to  Haran,  and  there  died.     See  Gen.  xi.  31,  32. — Newton. 

k  While  yet  the  patriarch  lived. 
It  appears  from  the  computations  given  by  Moses,  Gen.  xi.  that  Terah,  the  father  of 
Abraham,  was  born  two  hundred  and  twenty-two  years  after  the  flood,  but  Noah  lived 
after  the  flood  three  hundred  and  fifty  years.  Gen.  ix.  28;  and  we  have  proved  from 
Joshua,  that  Terah,  and  the  ancestors  of  Abraham,  "  served  other  gods ;"  and  from  the 
Jewish  traditions  we  learn  farther,  that  Terah,  and  Nachor  his  father,  and  Serug  his 
grandfather,  were  statuaries  and  carvers  of  idols :  and  therefore  idolatry  was  set  up  in 
the  world,  while  yet  the  patriarch  lived  who  'scaped  the  fiood. — Newton. 

I  He  straight  obeys. 
See  Heb.  xi.  8. 

>n  1  see  hint. 
Milton,  sensible  that  this  long  historical  description  might  grow  irksome,  has  varied 
the  manner  of  representing  it  as  much  as  possible ;  beginning  first  with  supposing 
Adam  to  have  a  prospect  of  it  before  his  eyes;  next,  by  making  the  angel  the  relator 
of  it ;  and,  lastly,  by  uniting  the  two  former  methods,  and  making  Michael  see  it  as  in 
vision,  and  give  a  rapturous  enlivened  account  of  it  to  Adam.  This  gives  great  ease 
to  the  languishing  attention  of  the  reader, — Thter. 

n  Ur  of  Chaldcea. 
See  Gen.  xi.  31.  Chaldsea;  a  province  of  Asia,  lying  east  of  the  Euphrates,  and  west 
of  the  Tigris;  Ur,  a  city  of  Chaldaea,  the  country  of  Abraham  and  Terah. — Newton. 

0  A  cumbrous  train. 
The  poet  here  has  an  opportunity  of  introducing  the. picturesque  description  of  Abra- 
ham, with  his  long  train  of  flocks,  herds,  family  and  servants,  passing  in  procession  the 
river,  which  description  I  consider  as  a  fortunate  application  of  the  account  given  of 
Jacola's  returning  from  Mesopotomia  into  Canaan,  Gen.  xxxii.  13, 16,  22,  23. — Dunstbb. 


400  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  xii. 

Pitch'd  about  Sechem,  and  the  neighbouring  plain 
Of  Moreh ;  there  by  promise  he  receives 
;Gift  to  his  progeny  of  all  that  land, 
From  Hamath  northward  to  the  Desert  south ; 
y  (Things  by  their  names  I  call,  though  yet  unnamed) 
r'rom  Hermon  east  to  the  great  western  sea ; 
(Mount  Hermon  ;  yonder  sea  : — each  place  behold 
In  prospect,  as  I  point  them ;  on  the  shore, 
v3Iount  Carmel ;  here,  the  double-founted  stream, 
Jordan,  true  limit  eastward ;  but  his  sons 
Shall  dwell  to  Senir,  that  long  ridge  of  hills. 
This  ponder,  that  all  nations  of  the  earth 
Shall  in  his  seed  be  blessed :  by  that  seed 
Is  meant  thy  great  Deliverer,  who  shall  bruise 
vTbe  serpent's  head ;  whereof  to  thee  anon 
Plain licr  shall  be  reveal'd.     This  patriarch  blest, 
^  Whom  faithful  Abraham  due  time  shall  call, 
A  son,  and  of  his  son  a  grandchild,  leaves; 
^  Like  him  in  faith,  in  wisdom,  and  renown  j 
The  grandchild,  with  twelve  sons  increased,  departs 
vFrom  Canaan,  to  a  land  hereafter  call'd 
Egypt,  divided  by  the  river  Nile ; 
See  where  it  flows,  disgorging  at  seven  mouths 
Into  the  sea :  to  sojourn  in  that  land 
He  comes,  invited  by  a  younger  son 
In  time  of  dearth ;  a  son,  whose  worthy  deeds 
Raise  him  to  be  the  second  in  that  realm 
Of  Pharaoh :  there  he  dies,  and  leaves  his  race 
Growing  into  a  nation  ;  and  now  grown 
Suspected  to  a  sequent  king,  who  seeks 
To  stop  their  overgrowth,  as  inmate  guests 
Too  numerous ;  whence  of  guests  he  makes  them  slaves 
(Inhospitably,  and  kills  their  infant  males : 
Till  by  two  brethren  (these  two  brethren  call 
vJVIoscs  and  Aaron)  sent  from  God  to  claim 
His  people  from  enthralment,  they  return, 
s^'^ith  glory  and  spoil,  back  to  their  promised  land. 
But  first,  the  lawless  tyrant,  who  denies 
vTo  know  their  God,  or  message  to  regard, 
Must  be  compell'd  by  signs  and  judgments  direj 
^0  blood  unshed  the  rivers  must  be  turn'd ; 
Frogs,  lice,  and  flies  must  all  his  palace  fill 
^^ith  loathed  intrusion,  and  fill  all  the  land ; 
His  cattle  must  of  rot  and  murren  die ; 
vJ3otches  and  blains  must  all  his  flesh  emboss. 
And  all  his  people ;  thunder  mix'd  with  hail, 
,Hail  mix'd  with  fire,  must  rend  the  Egyptian  sky. 
And  wheel  on  the  earth,  devouring  where  it  rolls; 
What  it  devours  not,  herb,  or  fruit,  or  grain, 
A  darksome  cloud  of  locusts  swarming  down 
Must  eat,  and  on  the  ground  leave  nothing  green  • 


BOOK  XII.] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


401, 


Darkness  must  overshadow  all  his  bounds, 
iPalpable  darkness,  and  blot  out  three  days j 
Cast,  with  one  midnight-stroke,  all  the  first-born 
,0f  Egypt  must  lie  dead.     Thus  with  ten  wounds 
The  river-dragon "  tamed  at  length  submits 
To  let  his  sojourners  depart,  and  oft 
Humbles  his  stubborn  heart :  but  still,  as  ice 
More  harden'd  after  thaw ;  till,  in  his  rage 
Pursu'ng  whom  he  late  dismiss'd,  the  sea 
Swallows  him  with  his  host;  but  them  lets  pass, 
As  on  dry  land,  between  two  crystal  walls ; 
vA-wed  by  the  rod  of  Moses  so  to  stand 
Divided  till  his  rescued  gain  their  shore  : 
Such  wondrous  pv  wer  Grod  to  his  saint  will  lend, 
Though  present  in  his  angel ;  who  shall  go 
!  Before  them  in  a  cloud,  and  pillar  of  fire  ; 
By  day  a  cloud,  by  night  a  pillar  of  fire ; 
\To  guide  them  in  their  journey,  and  remove 
Behind  them,  while  the  obdurate  king  pursues : 
Ji\\  night  he  will  pursue ;  but  his  approach 

Darkness  defends  between  till  morning  watch ; 

Then  through  the  fiery  pillar  and  the  cloud, 
1? '     '  God  looking  forth  will  trouble  all  his  host, 

And  craze  their  chariot-wheels :  when  by  command 

Moses  once  more  his  potent  rod  extends 

Over  the  sea ;  the  sea  his  rod  obeys ; 

On  their  embattel'd  ranks  the  waves  return, 

And  overwhelm  their  war  :  the  race  elect' 

Safe  towards  Canaan  from  the  shore  advance 

Through  the  wild  Desert ;  not  the  readiest  way. 

Lest,  entering  on  the  Canaaoite  alarm'd. 

War  terrify  them  inexpert,  and  fear 

Return  them  back  to  Egypt,  choosing  rather 

Inglorious  life  with  servitude ;  for  life 

To  noble  and  ignoble  is  more  sweet 

Untrain'd  in  arms,  where  rashness  leads  not  on. 

This  also  shall  they  gain  by  their  delay 

-In  the  wide  wilderness ;  there  they  shall  found 

Their  government,  and  their  great  senate  choose 
x^hrough  the  twelve  tribes,  to  rule  by  laws,  ordain'd : 

God  from  the  mount  of  Sinai,  whose  gray  top 

^all  tremble,  he  descending,  will  himself 

p  7%e  river-dragon. 
The  river-dragon,  as  Addison  has  observed,  is  Pharaoh,  in  allusion  to  Ezekiel,  xxix. 
3.— Todd, 

q  Th*  race  elect. 
It  is  remarkable  that  here  Milton  omite  tho  moral  cause,  though  he  gives  the  poeti- 
cal, of  the  Israelites  wandering  forty  years  in  the  wilderness;  and  this  was  their  poltron 
mutiny  on  the  return  of  the  spies.  He  omitted  this  with  judgment;  for  this  last 
epeech  of  the  angel  was  to  give  such  a  representation  of  things  as  might  convey  com- 
fort to  Adam ;  otherwise  the  story  of  the  brazen  serpent  would  have  afforded  noble 
imagery. — Wabburton  . 
51 


402 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[book  XII. 


In  thunder,  lightning,  and  loud  trumpets'  sound, 
.Ordain  them  laws ; ''  part,  such  as  appertain 
To  civil  justice  ;  part,  religious  rites 
^Of  sacrifice  ;  informing  them,  by  types 
And  shadows,  of  that  destined  Seed  to  bruise 
^The  serpent,  by  what  means  he  shall  achieve 
Mankind's  deliverance.     But  the  voice  of  Grod 
To  mortal  ear  is  dreadful :  they  beseech 
That  Moses  might  report  to  them  his  will, 
\^nd  terrour  cease :  he  grants  what  they  besought, 
Instructed  that  to  God  is  no  access 
■.Without  mediator;  whose  high  office  now 
Moses  in  figure  bears,  to  introduce 
^.One  greater,  of  whose  day  he  shall  foretell ; 
And  all  the  prophets  in  their  age  the  times 
Of  great  Messiah  shall  sing.     Thus,  laws  and  rites 
Establish'd,  such  delight  hath  God  in  men, 
pbedient  to  his  will,  that  he  vouchsafes 
Among  them  to  set  up  his  tabernacle  ; — 
\Ihe  Holy  One  with  mortal  men  to  dwell : 
By  his  prescript  a  sanctuary  is  framed 
vQf  cedar,  overlaid  with  gold ;  therein 
An  ark,  and  in  the  ark  his  testimony, 
(The  records  of  his  covenant ;  over  these 
A  mercy-seat  of  gold,  between  the  wings 
'Of  two  bright  cherubim ;  before  him  burn 
Seven  lamps,  as  in  a  zodiac"  representing 
>The  heavenly  fires  j  over  the  tent  a  cloud 
Shall  rest  by  day,  a  fiery  gleam  by  night ; 
-Save  when  they  journey,*  and  at  length  they  come, 

r  Ver.  230,  d;c. 

By  these  passage?  Milton  seems  to  have  understood  no  more  of  the  Jewish  institution 
than  he  saw  in  the  small  presbyterian  systems;  otherwise  the  true  idea  of  the  theocracy 
would  have  afforded  some  noble  observations. — Warburton. 

Milton  speaks  of  the  civil  and  the  ritual,  the  judicial  and  the  ceremonial  precepts 
delivered  to  the  Jews ;  but  why  did  he  omit  the  moral  law  contained  in  the  ten  com- 
mandments ?  possibly  his  reason  might  be,  because  this  was  supposed  to  be  written 
originally  in  the  heart  of  man,  and  therefore  Adam  must  have  been  perfectly  acquaint- 
ed with  it ;  but  however  I  think,  this  should  have  been  particularly  mentioned,  as  it 
was  published  at  this  time  in  the  most  solemn  manner  by  God  from  Mount  Sinai;  and 
aa  it  was  thought  worthy  to  be  written  with  his  own  finger  upon  two  tables  of  stone, 
when  the  rest  was  conveyed  to  the  people  by  the  writing  and  preaching  of  Moses,  as  a 
mediator  between  God  and  them. — Greenwood. 

•  Seven  lamps,  as  in  a  zodiac. 
That  the  seven  lamps  signified  the  seven  planets,  and  that  therefore  the  lamps  stood 
slope-wise,  as  it  were  to  express  the  obliquity  of  the  zodiac,  is  the  gloss  of  Josephus, 
from  whom  probably  Milton  borrowed  it.  Joseph.  Antiq.  lib.  iii.  c.  vi.  and  vii.,  and 
De  Bel.  Jud.  lib.  v.  c.  5.  See  likewise  Mede's  discourse  x.  upon  the  seven  archangels, 
Mr.  Hume  quotes  likewise  the  Latin  of  Philo  to  the  same  purpose.  See  Cornelius  a 
Lapide,  upon  Exod.  xxv.  31. — Newton. 

t  Save  token  they  Journey. 

See  Exod.  xl.  34,  Ac. :  "  Then  a  cloud  covered  the  tent  of  the  congregation,  and  the 

glory  of  the  Lord  filled  the  tabernacle.     And  Moses  was  not  able  to  enter  into  the  tent 

of  tlie  congregation,  because  the  cloud  abode  thereon,  and  the  glory  of  the  Lord  filled 

the  tabernacle :  and  when  the  cloud  was  taken  up  from  over  the  tabernacle,  the  chll- 


BOOK  XII.]  PARADISE  LOST.  403 

Conducted  by  his  angel,  to  the  land 

Promised  to  Abraham  and  his  seed :  the  rest 

Were  long  to  tell ;  how  many  battles  fought ; 

JIow  many  kings  destroy'd,  and  kingdoms  won ; 

Or  how  the  sun  shall  in  mid  heaven  stand  still 

A  day  entire,  and  night's  due  course  adjourn, 

Man's  voice  commanding, — Sun,  in  Gibeon  stand 
vAnd  thou,  moon,  in  the  vale  of  Aialon 

Till  Israel  overcome ! — so  call  the  third, 

Prom  Abraham,  son  of  Isaac;  and  from  him 

His  whole  descent,  who  thus  shall  Canaan  win. 
Here  Adam  interposed  :  0  sent  from  Heaven, 

Enlightener  of  my  darkness,  gracious  things 

Thou  hast  reveal'd ;  those  chiefly,  which  concern 

Just  Abraham  and  his  seed ;  now  first  I  find 
•Mine  eyes  true  opening,  and  my  heart  much  eased; 

Erewhile  pcrplex'd  with  thoughts,  what  would  become 

Of  me  and  all  mankind :  but  now  I  see 

His  day,  in  whom  all  nations  shall  be  blest ; 
'^J'^vour  unmerited  by  me  who  sought 

Forbidden  knowledge  by  forbidden  means. 

This  yet  I  apprehend  not;  why  to  those, 

Among  whom  God  will  deign  to  dwell  on  earth, 
^  So  many  and  so  various  laws  are  given : 

So  many  laws  argue  "  so  many  sins 
vAmong  them :  how  can  God  with  such  reside  ? 

To  whom  thus  Michael ;  Doubt  not  but  that  sin 
•  Will  reign  among  them,  as  of  thee  begot ; 

A.nd  therefore  was  law  given  them,  to  evince 
<  Their  natural  pravity  by  stirring  up 

Sin  against  law  to  fight;  that  when  they  see 
vjiavy  can  discover  sin,  but  not'remove, 

dren  of  Israel  went  onward  in  all  their  journeys;  but  if  the  cloud  were  not  taken  up, 
then  they  journeyed  not  till  the  day  that  it  was  taken  up;  for  the  cloud  of  the  Lord 
was  upon  the  tabernacle  by  day,  and  fire  was  on  it  by  mght,  in  the  sight  of  all  the 
bouse  of  Israel,  throughout  all  their  journeys."  Thus  it  was  in  all  places  wherever 
they  oame  :  and  this  is  what  Milton  says :  in  short,  the  cloud  was  over  the  tent  by  day, 
and  the  fire  (called  here  a  fiery  gleam)  by  night,  when  they  journeyed  not.  He  takes 
no  notice  how  it  was  when  they  did:  which  this  text  (for  the  infinite  beauty  of  which 
we  have  given  it  at  length)  explains;  the  cloud  was  then  taken  up;  how  then?  "The 
Lord  went  before  them  by  day  in  a  pillar  of  a  cloud  to  lead  them  the  wayj  and  by 
night  in  a  pillar  of  fire  to  give  them  light,  to  go  by  day  and  night."  c.  xiii.  2L  Other 
armies  pitch  their  ensigns  when  they  encamp,  and  lift  them  up  when  they  march :  so 
does  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  leading  forth  his  people.  But,  what  ensigns !  how  Bublime ! 
Milton  seems  too  concise  here. — Richardson. 

"  So  many  laws  argue. 
The  scruple  of  our  first  father,  and  the  reply  of  the  angel,  are  grounded  upon  St. 
Paul's  epistles,  and  particularly -those  to  the  Ephesians,  Galatians,  and  Hebrews,  as 
the  reader,  who  is  at  all  conversant  with  these  sacred  writings,  will  easily  perceive. 
Compare  the  following  texts  with  the  poet:  Gal.  iii.  19.  Bom.  vii.  7,  8.  Rom.  iii.  20. 
Heb.  ix.  13,  14.  Hob.  x.  4,  5.  Rom.  iv.  22,  23,  24.  Rom.  v.  1.  Heb.  vii.  18, 19.  Heb. 
X.  1.  Gal.  iii.  11,  12,  23.  Gal.  iv.  7.  Rom.  viii.  15.  Milton  has  here,  in  a  few  verses, 
admirably  summed  up  the  sense  and  argument  of  these  and  more  texts  of  Scripture.  It 
U  really  wonderful  how  he  could  comprise  so  much  divinity  in  so  few  words,  and  at  the 
same  time  express  it  with  so  much  strength  and  perspicuity. — Newton. 


i04 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[book  XII, 


Save  by  those  shadowy  expiations  weak, 

^e  blood  of  bulls  and  goats ;  they  may  conclude 
Some  blood  more  precious  must  be  paid  for  man ; 

vjust  for  unjust ;  that  in  such  righteousness 

To  them  by  faith  imputed  they  may  find 

vjustification  towards  God  and  peace 

Of  conscience;  which  the  law  by  ceremonies 

vCannot  appease ;  nor  man  the  moral  part 

Perform ;  and,  not  performing,  cannot  live. 

<So  law  appears  imperfect ;  and  but  given 

With  purpose  to  resign  them  in  full  time, 

vUp  to  a  better  covenant ;  disciplined 

From  shadowy  types  to  truth ;  from  flesh  to  spirit ; 

vFrom  imposition  of  strict  laws  to  free 

Acceptance  of  large  grace ;  from  servile  fear 

To  filial ;  works  of  law  to  works  of  faith. 

And  therefore  shall  not  Moses,^  though  of  God 

Highly  beloved,  being  but  the  minister 

Of  law,  his  people  into  Canaan  lead ; 

But  Joshua,  whom  the  Gentiles  Jesus  call ; 
.  His  name  and  office  bearing,*  who  shall  quell 
vjhe  adversary  serpent,  and  bring  back 

Through  the  world's  wilderness  long-wander'd  man 
v§afe  to  eternal  Paradise  of  rest. 

Meanwhile  they,  in  their  earthly  Canaan  placed, 
vLong  time  shall  dwell  and  prosper,  but  when  sins 

National  interrupt  their  public  peace, 
provoking  God  to  raise  them  enemies ; 

From  whom  as  oft  he  saves  them  penitent 
<JBy  judges  first,  then  under  kings ;  of  whom 

The  second,  both  for  piety  renown' d 
vAnd  puissant  deeds,  a  promise  shall  receive 

Irrevocable,  that  his  regal  throne 
^JFor  ever  shall  endure ;  the  like  shall  sing 

All  prophecy,  that  of  the  royal  stock 
vQf  David  (so  I  name  this  king)  shall  rise 

A  son,  the  woman's  seed  to  thee  foretold, 
foretold  to  Abraham,  as  in  whom  shall  tnist 

All  nations ;  and  to  kings  foretold  of  kings 
vThe  last ;  for  of  his  reign  shall  be  no  end.     . 

But  first  a  long  succession  must  ensue ; 
^Ajad  his  next  son  for  wealth  and  wisdom  famed, 

»  And  therefore  shall  not  Moiea. 
Moses  died  in  Mount  Nebo,  in  the  land  of  Moab,  from  whence  he  had  the  prospect 
of  the  Promised  Land,  but  not  the  honour  of  leading  the  Israelites  to  possess  it;  which 
was  reserved  for  Joshua;  Deut.  xxxiv.  Josh.  i. — Hume. 

w  Hia  name  and  office  bearing. 
Joshua  was  in  many  things  a  type  of  Jesus ;  and  the  names  are  the  same,  "Joshua" 
according  to  the  Hebrew,  and  "  Jesus"  in  Greek.  The  Seventy  always  render  "  Joshua" 
by  "Jesus;"  and  there  are  two  passages  in  the  New  Testament,  where  "Jesus"  is  used 
for  "Joshua;"  once  by  St.  Stephen,  Acts  vii.  45,  and  again  by  St.  Paul,  Heb.  iv.  8,  And 
the  name  Joshua,  or  Jesus,  signifies  a  Saviour. — Newton. 


BOOK  xn.]  PARADISE  LOST.  405 

The  clouded  ark  of  God,  till  then  in  tents 

Wandering,  shall  in  a  glorious  temple  enshrine. 

Such  follow  him  as  shall  be  register'd 

J*art  good,  part  bad ;  of  bad  the  longer  scroll : 

Whose  foul  idolatries,  and  other  faults 

Heap'd  to  the  popular  sum,  will  so  incense 

God,  as  to  leave  them,  and  expose  their  land, 

5'heir  city,  his  temple,  and  his  holy  ark, 

With  all  his  sacred  things,  a  scorn  and  prey 
\To.that  proud  city  whose  high  walls  thou  saw'st 

Left  in  confusion ;  Babylon  thence  call'd. 
vThere  in  captivity  he  lets  them  dwell 

The  space  of  seventy  years ;  then  brings  them  back, 
vKemembering  mercy,  and  his  covenant  sworn 

To  David,  stablish'd  as  the  days  of  heaven. 

fifiturn'd  from  Babylon  by  leave  of  kings 

Their  lords,  whom  God  disposed,  the  house  of  God 
^hey  first  re-edify ;  and  for  a  while 

In  mean  estate  live  moderate;  till,  grown 
v^  wealth  and  multitude,  factious  they  grow : 

But  first  among  the  priests  dissension  springs, 
^en  who  attend  the  altar,  and  should  most 

Endeavour  peace  :  their  strife  pollution  brings* 

\TJpon  the  temple  itself :  at  last  they  seize 

The  sceptre,  and  regard  not  David's  sons ; 
\!£hen  lose  it  to  a  stranger,  that  the  true 

Anointed  King  Messiah  might  be  born 
vBarr'd  of  his  right  j  yet  at  his  birth  a  star, 

Unseeil  before  in  heaven,  proclaims  him  come ; 
vAnd  guides  the  eastern  sages,  who  inquire 

His  place,  to  offer  incense,  myrrh,  and  gold : 
^His  place  of  birth  a  solemn *angel  tells 

To  simple  shepherds,  keeping  watch  by  night : 

^hey  gladly  thither  haste,  and  by  a  quire 

Of  squadron'd  angels  hear  his  carol  sung. 

,A  virgin  is  his  mother,  but  his  sire 

The  power  of  the  Most  High ;  he  shall  ascend 

vThe  throne  hereditary,  and  bound  his  reign 
With  earth's  wide  bounds,  his  glory  with  the  heavens. 
vHe  ceased ;  discerning  Adam  with  such  joy 
3urcha 


Surcharged,  as  had  like  grief  been  dew'd  in  tears, 
s^ithout  the  vent  of  words,  which  these  he  breathed : 

(5  prophet  of  glad  tidings,  finisher 
v.Qf  utmost  hope ;  now  clear  I  understand 


_»  Their  »trt/e  pollution  brings. 
For  it  was  chiefly  through  the  contests  between  Jason  and  Menelaus,  high  priests  of 
the  Jews,  that  the  temple  was  polluted  by  Antiochus  Epiphanes.  See  2  Maccab,  v., 
and  Prideaux.  At  last  they  seize  the  sceptre  ;  Aristobulus,  eldest  son  of  Hyrcanus,  high- 
priest  of  the  Jews,  was  the  first  who  assumed  the  title  of  king  after  the  Babylonish 
captivity  i  before  Christ  107.  And  regard  not  David's  sons,  none  of  that  family  having 
had  the  government  since  Zerubbabel.  Then  lose  it  to  a  stranger ;  to  Herod,  who  was 
an  Idumean,  in  whose  reign  Christ  was  born.     See  Josephus  and  Prideaux. — Nbwton. 


406  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  xn. 

What  oft  my  steadiest  thoughts  have  search'd  in  vain ; 

Why  our  great  Expectation  should  be  call'd 

The  seed  of  woman  :  virgin  mother,  hail, 

High  in  the  love  of  Heaven ;  yet  from  my  loins 

Thou  shalt  proceed,  and  from  thy  womb  the  Son 

Pf  God  Most  High ;  so  God  with  man  unites. 

Needs  must  the  serpent  now  his  capital  bruise 
•xjlxpect  with  mortal  pain  :  say  where  and  when 

Their  fight,  what  stroke  shall  bruise  the  victor's  heel  ? 
To  whom  thus  Michael :  Dream  not  of  their  fight, 

As  of  a  duel,  or  the  local  wounds 
vOf  head  or  heel :  not  therefore  joins  the  Son 

Manhood  to  Godhead,  with  more  strength  to  foil 
vThy  enemy ;  nor  so  is  overcome 

Satan,  whose  fall  from  heaven  a  deadlier  bruise, 
V  Disabled  not  to  give  thee  thy  death's  wound : 

^hich  he,  who  comes,  thy  Saviour,  shall  recure, 
vJN'ot  by  destroying  Satan  but  his  works. 

In  thee,  and  in  thy  seed  :  nor  can  this  be, 
JBut  by  fulfilling  that  which  thou  didst  want, . 

Obedience  to  the  law  of  God,  imposed 

Pn  penalty  of  death ;  and  suflFering  death, 

The  penalty  to  thy  transgression  due. 

And  due  to  theirs  which  out  of  thine  will  grow  : 

So  only  can  high  justice  rest  appaid. 

The  law  of  God  exact  he  shall  fulfil 

Both  by  obedience,  and  by  love,  though  Iqve 
'    'Alone  fulfil  the  law ;  thy  punishment 

He^all  endure,  by  coming  in  the  flesh 

To  a  reproachful  life  and  cursed  death ; 

Proclaliniiig  life  to  all  w*ho  shall  believe 

In  his  redemption ;  and  that  his  obedience, 

Imputed,  becomes  theirs  by  faith ;  his  merits^ 

To  save  them,  not  their  own,  though  legal  works. 

For  this  he  shall  live  hated,  be  blasphemed. 

Seized  on  by  force,  judged,  and  to  death  condemned 

A  shameful  and  accursed,  nail'd  to  the  cross 

By  his  own  nation  j  slain  for  bringing  life : 

But  to  the  cross  he  nails  thy  enemies. 

The  law  that  is  against  thee,  and  the  sins 

Of  all  mankind  with  him  there  crucified, 

Never  to  hurt  them  more  who  rightly  trust 

In  this  his  satisfaction :  so  he  dies, 

But  soon  revives ;  death  over  him  no  power 

Shall  long  usurp ;  ere  the  third  dawning  .light 

Beturn,  the  stars  of  morn  shall  see  him  jjge 

Out  of  his  grave,  fresh  as  the  dawning  light, 

Thy  ransom  jpaid,  which  man  from  death  redeems, 

His  death  for  man,  as  many  as  ofier'd  life 

Neglect  not,  and  the  benefit  embrace 

By  faith  not  void  of  works :  this  godlike  act 


BOOK  XII.]  PARADISE  LOST.  401 

Annuls  thy  doom,  the  death  thou  shouldst  have  died, 

In  sin  for  ever  lost  from  life ;  this  act 

Shall  bruise  the  head  of  Satan,  crush  his  strength, 

Defeating  Sin  and  Death,  his  two  main  arms ; 

And  fix  far  deeper  in  his  head  their  stings 

Than  temporal  death  shall  bruise  the  victor's  heel, 

Or  theirs  whom  he  redeems ;  a  death,  like  sleep, 

A  gentle  wafting  to  immortal  life. 

Nor  after  resurrection  shall  he  stay 

Longer  on  earth,  than  certain  times  to  appear 

To  his  disciples,  men  who  in  his  life 

Siill  followed  him ;  to  them  shall  leave  in  charge 

To  teach  all  nations  what  of  him  they  learn'd 

And  his  salvation  :  them  who  shall  believe 

Baptizing  in  the  profluent  stream,  the  sign 

Of  washing  them  from  guilt  of  sin  to  life 

Pure,  and  in  mind  prepared,  if  so  befall. 

For  death,  like  that  which  the  Redeemer  died. 

All  nations  they  shall  teach ;  for,  from  that  day, 

Not  only  to  the  sons  of  Abraham's  loins 

Salvation  shall  be  preach'd,  but  to  the  sons 

Of  Abraham's  faith  wherever  through  the  world  ;^ 

So  in  his  seed  all  nations  shall  be  blest. 

Then  to  the  heaven  of  heavens  he  shall  ascend 

With  victory  triumphing  through  the  air 

Over  his  foes  and  thine ;  there  shall  surprise 

The  serpent,  prince  of  air,  and  drag  in  chains 

Through  all  his  realm,  and  there  confounded  leave; 

Then  enter  into  glory,  and  resume 

His  seat  at  God's  right  hand  exalted  high 

Above  all  names  in  heaven ;  and  thence  shall  come 

When  this  world's  dissolution  shall  be  ripe,  < 

With  glory  and  power  to  judge  both  quick  and  dead  j 

To  judge  the  unfaithful  dead,  but  to  reward 

His  faithful,  and  receive  them  into  bliss, 

Whether  in  heaven  or  earth ;  for  then  the  earth 

Shall  all  be  Paradise,  far  happier  place 

Than  this  of  Eden,  and  far  happier  days. 

So  spake  the  archangel  Michael ;  then  paused, 
As  at  the  world's  great  period ;  and  our  sire. 
Replete,  with  joy  and  wonder,  thus  replied  : 

0,  goodness  infinite,  goodness  immense  I 
That  all  this  good  of  evil  shall  produce. 
And  evil  turn  to  good ;  more  wonderful 
Than  that  which  by  creation  first  brought  forth 
Light  out  of  darkness  !  Full  of  doubt  I  stand. 
Whether  I  should  repent  me  now  of  sin 
By  me  done,  and  occasion'd;  or  rejoice 
Much  more,  that  much  more  good  thereof  shall  spring; 
To  God  more  glory,  more  goodwill  to  men 
From  God,  and  over  wrath  grace  shall  abound. 


408  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  xn, 

But  say,  if  our  Deliverer  up  to  heaven 
Must  reascend,  what  will  betide  the  few 
His  faithful  left  among  the  unfaithful  herd, 
The  enemies  of  truth  ?     Who  then  shall  guide 
His  people,  who  defend  ?     Will  they  not  deal 
Worse  with  his  followers  than  with  him  they  dealt  ? 

Be  sure  they  will,  said  the  angel ;  but  from  Heaven 
He  to  his  own  a  Comforter  will  send. 
The  promise  of  the  Father,  who  shall  dwell 
His  Spirit  within  them ;  and  the  law  of  faith. 
Working  through  love,  upon  their  hearts  shall  write, 
To  guide  them  in  all  truth ;  and  also  arm 
With  spiritual  armour,  able  to  resist 
Satan's  assaults,  and  quench  his  fiery  darts; 
What  man  can  do  against  them,  not  afraid, 
Though  to  the  death  :  against  such  cruelties 
With  inward  consolations  recompensed, 
And  oft  supported  so  as  shall  amaze 
Their  proudest  persecutors ;  for  the  Spirit, 
Pour'd  first  on  his  apostles,  whom  he  sends 
To  evangelize  the  nations,  then  on  all 
Baptized,  shall  them  with  wondrous  gifts  endue 
To  speak  all  tongues,  and  do  all  miracles, 
As  did  their  Lord  before  them.     Thus  they  win 
G-reat  numbers  of  each  nation  to  receive 
With  joy  the  tidings  brought  from  Heaven  :  at  length, 
Their  ministry  perform'd,  and  race  well  run, 
Their  doctrine  and  their  story  written  left. 
They  die ;  but  in  their  room,  as  they  forewarn. 
Wolves  shall  succeed  for  teachers,  grievous  wolves, 
Who  all  the  sacred  mysteries  of  Heaven 
To  their  own  vile  advantages  shall  turn 
Of  lucre  aud  ambition ;  and  the  truth 
With  superstitions  and  traditions  taint. 
Left  only  in  those  written  records  pure, 
Though  not  but  by  the  Spirit  understood.' 
Then  shall  they  seek  to  avail  themselves  of  names. 
Places,  and  titles,  and  with  these  to  join 
Secular  power  -^^  though  feigning  still  to  act 

r  Though  not  hut  hy  the  Spirit  understood. 
I  do  not  think  Milton,  in  all  his  writings,  ever  gave  a  stronger  proof  of  his  enthusi- 
astioal  spirit  than  in  this  line. — Warburton. 

'■  Secular  power. 
On  this  snbject  he  had  been  particularly  copious  in  the  tract  of  *  Reformation  in 
England,'  Prose  Works,  i.  p.  264,  ed.  1698  :— "  If  the  life  of  Christ  be  hid  to  this  world, 
much  more  is  his  sceptre  unoperative,  but  in  spiritual  things.  And  thus  lived  for  two 
or  three  ages  the  successors  of  the  apostles.  But  when,  through  Constantine's  lavish 
superstition,  they  forsook  their  first  love,  and  set  themselves  up  too  in  God's  stead,  Mam- 
mon and  their  belly ;  then,  taking  advantage  of  the  spiritual  power,  which  they  had  on 
men's  consciences,  they  began  to  cast  a  longing  eye  to  get  the  body  also,  and  bodily 
things,  into  their  command ;  upon  which,  their  carnal  desires,  the  Spirit  daily  quench- 
ing and  dying  in  them,  knew  no  way  to  keep  themselves  up  from  falling  to  nothing, 


BOOK  xn.]  PARADISE  LOST.  409 

By  spiritual,  to  themselves  appropriating 

The  Spirit  of  God,  promised  alike,  and  given 

To  all  believers ;  and,  from  that  pretence, 

Spiritual  laws  by  carnal  power  shall  force 

On  every  conscience;  laws  which  none  shall  find* 

Left  them  inroU'd,  or  what  the  Spirit  within 

Shall  on  the  heart  engrave.     What  will  they  then 

But  force  the  Spirit  of  grace  itself,  and  bind 

His  consort  Liberty  ?  ^  what  but  unbuild 

His  living  temples,"  built  by  faith  to  stand. 

Their  own  faith,  not  another's  ?  for  on  earth 

Who  against  faith  and  conscience  can  be  heard 

Infallible  ?  yet  many  will  presume  : 

Whence  heavy  persecution  shall  arise 

On  all  who  in  the  worship  persevere 

Of  spirit  and  truth ;  the  rest,  far  greater  part, 

Will  deem  in  outward  rites  and  specious  forms 

Religion  satisfied;  truth  shall  retire 

Bestuck  with  slanderous  darts,  and  works  of  faith 

Rarely  be  found  :  so  shall  the  world  go  on, 

To  good  malignant,  to  bad  men  benign ; 

Under  her  own  weight  groaning ;  till  the  day 

Appear  of  respiration  to  the  just. 

And  vengeance  to  the  wicked,  at  return 

Of  him  so  lately  promised  to  thy  aid. 

The  woman's  seed ;  obscurely  then  foretold. 

Now  amplier  known  thy  Saviour  and  thy  Lord : 

Last,  in  the  clouds,"  from  heaven  to  be  ♦eveal'd 

In  glory  of  the  Father,  to  dissolve 

Satan  with  his  perverted  world ;  then  raise 

From  the  conflagrant  mass  purged  and  refined, 

New  heavens,  new  earth,*  ag'es  of  endless  date, 

but  by  bolstering  and  supporting  their  inward  rottenness  hy  a  carnal  and  outwird 
strength," — Todd. 

»  Laws  which  none  shall  Jind, 
Laws,  as  Hume  and  Dr.  Newton  observe,  neither  agreeable  to  revealed  or  natural 
religion ;  neither  to  be  found  in  Holy  Scripture,  or  written  on  'heir  hearts  by  the  Spirit 
of  God ;  laws  contrary  to  his  promise,  who  has  said,  "  I  will  pui  my  law  in  tbeir  inward 
parts,  and  write  it  on  their  hearts,"  Jer.  xxxi.  33. — Todd. 

•>  Sit  consort  liherty. 
"  For  where  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  is,  there  is  liberty,"  2  Cor.  iii.  17. — ^Nbwtoit. 

e  His  living  templet. 
Christians  are  called  "  the  temples  of  God,"  1  Cor.  iii.  16,  17 ;  and  vi.  19. — Newton. 
See  also  Milton's  Prose  Works,  vol.  i.  p.  231,  ed.  1698 : — "As  if  the  touch  of  a  lay 
Christian,  who  is  nevertheless  God's  living  temple,  could  profane  dead  Jadaisms."— 
Todd. 

i  Last,  in  the  clouds. 
"  Coming  in  the  clouds  of  Heaven,"  Matt.  xxvi.  64. — "  The  Son  of  Man  shall  come  in 
the  glory  of  his  Father,"  Matt.  xvi.  27. — Gillies. 

e  JVeic  heavens,  new  earth. 
The  very  wordj  of  St.  Peter,  2  Pet.  iii.  13 : — "  Nevertheless,  we,  according  to  his 
promise,  look  for  new  heavens  and  a  new  earth,  wherein  dwelleth  righteousness."    This 
notion  of  the  heavens  and  earth  being  renewed  after  the  conflagration,  and  made  the 
62 


410  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  xu, 

Founded  in  righteousness,  and  peace,  and  love; 
To  bring  forth  fruits,  joy  and  eternal  bliss 

He  ended  j  and  thus  Adam  last  replied  : 
How  soon  hath  thy  prediction,  seer  blest, 
Measured  this  transient  world,  the  race  of  time, 
Till  time  stand  fix'd  !     Beyond  is  all  abyss, 
Eternity,  whose  end  no  eye  can  reach. 
Greatly  instructed  I  shall  hence  depart. 
Greatly  in  peace  of  thought,  and  have  my  fill 
Of  knowledge,  what  this  vessel  can  contain ; 
Beyond  which  was  my  folly  to  aspire. 
Henceforth  I  learn  that  to  obey  is  best. 
And  love  with  fear  the  only  God ;  to  walk 
As  in  his  presence,  ever  to  obseive 
His  providence,  and  on  him  sole  depend. 
Merciful  over  all  his  works,  with  good 
Still  overcoming  evil,  and  by  small 
Accomplishing  great  things,  by  things  deem'd  weak 
Subverting  worldly  strong/  and  worldly  wise 
By  simply  meek  :  that  suffering  for  truth's  sake 
Is  fortitude  to  highest  victory ; 
And,  to  the  faithful,  death  the  gate  of  life ; 
Taught  this  by  his  example,  whom  I  now 
Acknowledge  my  Redeemer  ever  blest. 

To  whom  thus  also  the  angel  last  replied : 
This  having  learn'd,  thou  hast  attain'd  the  sum 
Of  wisdom  :  hope  no  higher,  though  all  the  stars  * 
Thou  knew'st  by  name,  and  all  the  ethereal  powers. 
All  secrets  of  the  deep,  all  Nature's  works. 
Or  works  of  God  in  heaven,  air,  earth,  or  sea, 
And  all  the  riches  of  this  world  enjoy' dst, 

habitation  of  angels  and  just  men  made  perfect,  was  very  pleasing  to  Milton,  as  it  was 
to  Dr.  Burnet;  and  must  be  to  every  one  of  a  fine  and  exalted  imagination :  and  Milton 
has  enlarged  unon  it  in  several  parts  of  his  works,  and  particularly  in  this  poem,  b.  iii. 
333,  Ac. ;  b.  x.'fe38 ;  b.  xi.  65,  900  :  b.  xii.  462.— Neavton. 

Compare  with  this  poetic  passage  Milton's  animated  description  in  prose  of  Christ's 
"universal  and  mild  monarchy  through  heaven  and  earth;  where  they  undoubtedly, 
that,  by  their  labours,  counsels,  and  prayers,  have  been  earnest  for  the  common  good 
of  religion  and  their  country,  shall  receive,  above  the  inferior  orders  of  the  blessed,  the 
regal  addition  of  principalities,  legions,  and  thrones,  into  their  glorious  titles;  and  in 
snpereminence  of  beatific  vision  progressing  the  dateless  and  irrevoluble  circle  of 
eternity,  shall  clasp  inseparable  hands  with  joy  and  bliss  in  over-measure  for  ever." 
See  the  end  of  his  'Reformation  in  England.' — Todd. 

'  Subverting  worldly  strong. 

"  God  hath  chosen  the  foolish  things  of  the  world  to  confound  the  wise ;  and  God 
hath  chosen  the  weak  things  of  the  world  to  confound  the  things  which  are  mighty,"  1 
Cor.  i.  27.  And  so  in  the  rest  there  is  the  sense  of  Scripture  if  not  the  very  words :  as. 
to  obey  is  beet : — "  Behold,  to  obey  is  better  than  sacrifice,"  1  Sam.  xv.  22.  And,  on  him 
sole  depend : — "  Casting  your  care  upon  him,  for  he  careth  for  you,"  1  Pet  v.  7.  And 
merciful  over  all  hit  works : — "  His  mercies  are  over  all  his  works,"  Psalm  cxlv.  9. — 
Newton. 

B  Though  all  the  stars. 

The  turn  of  the  sentence  resembles,  as  Mr.  Stillingfleet  observes,  when  St.  Paul 
says,  1  Cor.  xiii.  2 : — "  And  though  I  have  the  gift  of  prophecy,  and  understand  all 
mysteries,  and  all  knowlege,  and  have  not  charity,  I  am  nothing  " — Todd. 


BOOK  XII.] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


411 


And  all  the  rule,  one  empire  :  only  add 

Deeds  to  thy  knowledge  answerable ;  add  faith. 

Add  virtue,  patience,  temperance ;  add  love, 

By  name  to  come  call'd  charity,  the  soul 

Of  all  the  rest :  then  wilt  thou  not  be  loth 

To  leave  this  Paradise,  but  shalt  posses.s 

A  paradise  within  thee,  happier  far. 

Let  us  descend  now  therefore  from  this  top 

Of  speculation;''  for  the  hour  precise 

Exacts  our  parting  hence ;  and,  see  !  the  guards, 

By  me  encamp'd  on  yonder  hill,  expect 

Their  motion ;  at  whose  front  a  flaming  sword, 

In  signal  of  remove,  waves  fiercely  round. 

We  may  no  longer  stay :  go,  waken  Eve ; 

Her  also  I  with  gentle  dreams  have  calm'd, 

Portending  good,  and  all  her  spirits  composed 

To  meek  submission  :  thou,  at  season  fit, 

Let  her  with  thee  partake  what  thou  hast  heard  j 

Chiefly,  what  may  concern  her  faith  to  know, 

The  great  deliverance  by  her  seed  to  come 

(For  by  the  woman's  seed)  on  all  mankind ; 

That  ye  may  live,  which  will  be  many  days. 

Both  in  one  faith  unanimous,  though  sad, 

With  caus.e,  for  evils  past ;  yet  much  more  cheer'd 

With  meditation  on  the  happy  end. 

He  ended,  and  they  both  descend  the  hill : 
Descended,  Adam  to  the  bovver,  where  Eve 
Lay  sleeping,  ran  before ;  but  found  her  waked  j 
And  thus  with  words  not  sad  she  him  received : 

Whence  thou  return'st,  and  whither  went'st,  I  know  J 
For  God  is  also  in  sleep;'  and  dreams  advise. 
Which  he  hath  sent  proi)itiou8,  some  great  good 
Presaging,  since  with  sorrow  and  heart's  distress 
Wearied  I  fell  asleep :  but  now  lead  on ; 
In  me  is  no  delay ;  with  thee  to  go, 
Is  to  stay  here ;  without  thee  here  to  stay. 
Is  to  go  hence  unwilling  :  thou  to  me 
Art  all  things  under  heaven,  all  places  thou, 
Who  for  my  wilful  crime  art  banish'd  hence. 
This  farther  consolation  yet  secure 

h  From  ihU  top 
Of  speculation. 
From  this  hill  of  prophecy  and  prediction.     Speculation,  a  watching  on  a  tower  or 
high  place ;  thence  a  discovery,  and  therefore  applied  to  the  prophets  in  the  sacred  page, 
who  are   called  "seers"  and  "watchmen,"  speculators,  of  specula,  Latin,  a  "watch, 
tower."     See  Ezekiel,  iii.  17  j  and  also  chap,  xxxiii.  3 — 7. — hume. 

i  For  God  is  also  in  sleep. 
See  Numh.  xii.  6 :-  -"  If  there  be  a  ]prophet  among  you,  I  the  Lord  will  make  myself 
known  unto  him  in  a  vision,  and  I  will  speak  unto  him  in  a  dream."  And  thus  Homer, 
II.  i.  63 :— Kai  yap  r'  Svap  Ik  Ai6i  iirriv.  And  the  application  is  very  elegant  in  this 
place,  as  Adam's  was  a  vision,  and  Eve's  a  dream  j  and  God  was  in  the  one  as  well  as 
in  the  other. — Newtow. 


412 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[book  XII. 


I  carry  hence ;  though  all  by  me  is  lost, 
Such  favour  I  unworthy  am  vouchsafed, 
By  me  the  promised  Seed  shall  all  restore. 

So  spake  our  mother  Eve,  and  Adam  heard 
Well  pleased,  but  answer'd  not :  for  now,  too  nigh 
The  archangel  stood ;  and  from  the  other  hill 
To  their  fix'd  station,  all  in  bright  array 
The  cherubim  descended ;  on  the  ground 
Gliding  meteorous,  as  evening  mist 
Risen  from  a  river  o'er  the  marish  glides, 
And  gathers  ground  fast  at  the  labourer's  heel 
Homeward  returning.     High  in  front  advanced, 
The  brandish'd  sword  of  God  before  them  blazed, 
Fierce  as  a  comet ;  which  with  torrid  heat, 
And  vapour  as  the  Libyan  air  adust. 
Began  to  parch  that  temperate  clime  :  whereat 
In  either  hand  the  hastening  angel  caught 
Our  lingering  parents,  and  to  the  eastern  gate 
Led  them  direct,  and  down  the  cliff  as  fast 
To  the  subjected  plain  ;  then  disappeared. 
They,  looking  back,  all  the  eastern  side  beheld 
Of  Paradise,  so  late  their  happy  seat. 
Waved  over  by  that  flaming  brand  jJ  the  gate 
With  dreadful  faces  throng'd,  and  fiery  arms.^ 
Some  natural  tears  they  dropt,  but  wiped  them  soon : 
The  world  was  all  before  them,  where  to  choose 
Their  place  of  rest,  and  Providence  their  guide. 
They,  hand  in  hand,  with  wandering  steps  and  slow, 
Through  Eden  took  their  solitary  way. 


J  Waved  over  by  that  flaming  brand. 
Of  brand  for  sword  take  the  following  explanation  from  Hickes : — "  In  the  second  part 
of  the  'Edda  Islandica,'  among  other  appellations,  a  'sword*  is  denominated  'brand;' 
and  'glad,'  or  'glod,'  that  is,  'titio,  torris,  pruna  ignita;'  and  the  hall  of  Odin  is  said  to 
be  illuminated  by  drawn  swords  only.  A  writer  of  no  less  learning  than  penetration, 
N.  Salanus  Westmannus,  in  his  dissertation,  entitled,  '  Gladius  Scythicus,'  p.  6,  7, 
observes,  that  the  ancients  formed  their  swords  in  imitation  of  a  flaming  fire ;  and  thus 
from  *  brand,'  a  '  sword,'  came  our  English  phrase,  to  '  brandish  a  sword,'  '  gladium 
Btrictum  vibrando  coruscare  facere.' " — T.  Warton. 

k  The  poetical  imagery  of  this  passage  is  splendid,  sublime,  and  at  the  same  time 
pathetic ;  and  of  a  majestic  conciseness. 

The  eleventh  and  twelfth  books  are  built  upon  the  single  circumstance  of  the  removal 
of  our  first  parents  from  Paradise ;  but  though  this  is  not  in  itself  so  great  a  subject  as 
that  in  moat  of  the  foregoing  books,  it  is  extended  and  diversified  with  so  many  sur- 
prising incidents  and  pleasing  episodes,  that  these  last  two  books  can  by  no  means  be 
looked  upon  as  unequal  parts  of  this  divine  poem. 

Milton,  after  having  represented  in  vision  the  history  of  mankind  to  the  first  great 
period  of  nature,  despatches  the  remaining  part  of  it  in  narration. 

In  some  places  the  author  has  been  so  attentive  to  his  divinity  that  he  has  neglected 
his  poetry:  the  narrative,  however,  rises  very  happily  on  several  occasions,  where  the  , 
subject  is  capable  of  poetical  ornaments ;  as  particularly  in  the  confusion  which  he 
describes  among  the  builders  of  Babel,  and  in  his  short  sketch  of  the  plagues  of  Egypt. 
— The  storm  of  hail  and  fire,  and  the  darkness  that  overspread  the  land  for  three  days, 
are  described  with  great  strength :  the  beautiful  passage  which  follows  is  raised  upon 
noble  hints  in  Scripture : 


J 


BOOK  XII.] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


413 


Thus  with  ten  wounds 
The  river-dragon  tamed,  at  length  submits 
To  let  his  sojourners  depart,  &c. 

The  river-dragon  is  an  allusion  to  the  crocodile,  which  inhabits  the  Nile,  from 
whence  Egypt  derives  her  plenty.  This  allusion  is  taken  from  that  sublime  passage 
in  Ezekiel: — "  Thus  saith  the  Lord  God.  Behold,  I  am  against  thee.  Pharaon,  king 
of  Egypt,  the  great  dragon  that  lyeth  in  the  midst  of  his  rivers,  which  hath  said,  My 
river  is  my  own,  and  I  have  made  it  for  myself."  Milton  has  given  us  another  very 
noble  and  poetical  image  in  the  same  description,  which  is  copied  almost  word  for 
word  out  of  the  history  of  Moses  : — 

All  night  he  will  pursue,  but  his  approach 
Darkness  defends  between,  till  morning  watch. 

As  the  principal  design  of  this  episode  was  to  give  Adam  an  idea  of  the  Holy  Person 
who  was  io  reinstate  human  nature  in  that  happiness  and  perfection  from  which  it 
had  fallen,  the  poet  confines  himself  to  the  line  of  Abraham,  from  whence  the  Mes- 
siah was  to  descend.  The  angel  is  described  as  seeing  the  patriarch  actually  travel- 
ling towards  the  Land  of  Promise,  which  gives  a  particular  liveliness  to  this  part  of 
the  description,  from  ver.  1'28  to  ver.  140. 

The  poet  has  very  finely  represented  the  joy  and  gladness  of  heart  which  rises  in 
Adam  upon  his  discovery  of  the  Messiah.  As  he  sees  his  day  at  a  distance  through 
types  and  shadows,  he  rejoices  in  it ;  but  when  he  finds  the  redemption  of  man  com- 
pleted and  Paradise  again  renewed,  he  breaks  forth  in  rapture  and  transport : — 

O  goodness  infinite,  goodness  immense  ! 
That  all  this  good  of  evil  shall  produce,  &c. 

Milton's  poem  ends  very  nobly.  The  last  speeches  of  Adam  and  the  Archangel 
are  full  of  moral  and  instructive  sentiments.  The  sleep  that  fell  upon  Eve,  and  tiie 
effects  it  had  in  quieting  the  disorders  of  her  miud,  produce  the  same  kind  of  conso- 
lation in  the  reader ;  who  cannot  peruse  the  last  beautiful  speech  which  is  ascribed 
to  the  mother  of  mankind,  without  a  secret  pleasure  and  satisfaction.  The  following 
lines,  which  conclude  the  poem,  rise  in  a  most  glorious  blaze  of  poetical  images  and 
expressions. — Addison. 

It  is  difficult  to  add  anything  to  Addison's  Essays  on  the  '  Paradise  Lost,'  but  still  I 
must  extract  a  few  additional  encomiums  from  other  critics,  and  first  from  Beattie : 

In  the  concluding  passage  of  the  poem  there  is  brought  together,  with  uncommon 
strength  of  fancy,  and  rapidity  of  narrative,  a  number  of  circumstances  wonderfully 
adapted  to  the  purpose  of  filling  the  mind  with  ideas  of  terrific  grandeur : — the  de- 
scent of  the  cherubim  ;  the  flaming  sword  ;  the  archangel  leading  in  haste  our  first 
parents  down  from  the  heights  of  Paradise,  and  then  disappearing;  and,  above  all, 
the  scene  that  presents  itself  on  their  looking  behind  them : — 

They,  loolcing  back,  all  the  eastern  side  beheld 
Of  Paradise,  so  late  their  happy  seat, 
Waved  over  by  that  flaming  brand  ;  the  gate 
With  dreadful  faces  throng'd,  and  fiery  arms: 

to  which  the  remaining  verses  form  the  most  striking  contrast  that  can  be  imagined. 
The  final  couplet  renews  our  sorrow;  by  exhibiting,  with  picturesque  accuracy,  the 
most  mournful  scene  in  nature  ;  which  yet  is  so  prepared,  as  to  raise  comfort,  and  dis^ 
pose  to  resignation.  And  thus,  while  we  are  at  once  melting  in  tenderness,  elevated 
with  pious  hope,  and  overwhelmed  with  the  grandeur  of  description,  the  divine  poem 
concludes. — Beattie. 

If  ever  any  poem  was  truly  poetical,  if  ever  any  abounded  with  poetry,  it  is  '  Para- 
dise Lost.'  What  an  expansion  of  facts  from  a  small  seed  of  history  !  What  worlds 
are  invented,  what  embellishments  of  nature  upon  what  our  senses  present  us  with ! 
Divine  things  are  more  nobly,  more  divinelv  represented  to  the  imagination,  than  by 
any  other  poem  ;  a  more  beautiful  idea  is  given  of  nature  than  any  poet  has  pretend- 
ed to : — nature,  as  just  come  out  of  the  liand  of  God,  in  all  its  virgin  loveliness, 
glory,  and  purity;  and  the  human  race  is  shown,  not,  as  Homer's,  more  gigantic, 
more  robust,  more  valiant :  but  without  comparison  more  truly  amiable,  more  so  than 
by  the  pictures  and  statues  of  the  greatest  masters ;  and  all  these  sublime  ideas  are 
conveyed  to  us  in  the  most  eflTectual  and  engaging  manner.  The  mind  of  the  reader 
is  tempered  and  prepared  -by  pleasure  ;  it  is  drawn  and  allured  ;  it  is  awakened 
and  invigorated,  to  receive  such  impressions  as  the  poet  intended  to  give  it. 
The  poem  opens  the  fountains  of  knowledge,  piety,  and  virtue ;  and  pours  along 
full  streams  of  peace,  comfort,  and  joy  to  such  as  can  penetrate  the  true  sense 
of  the  writer,  and  obediently  listen  to  his  song.  In  reading  the  Iliad  or 
.^neid  we  treasure  up  a  collection  of  fine  imaginative  pictures,  as  when  we  read 
'  Paradise  Lost ;'  only  that  from  thence  we  have  (to  speak  like  a  connois- 
seur) more  Eafaelles,  Correggios,  Guidos,  &c.    Milton's  pictures  are  more  sublime 


414  PARADISE  LOST.  [book  xii. 

and  great,  divine  and  lovely,  than  Homer's  or  Virgil's,  or  those  of  any  other  poest, 
ancient  or  modern. — Richaudson. 

Throughout  the  whole  of  '  Paradise  Lost'  the  author  appears  to  haviB  heen  a  most 
critical  reader  and  passionate  admirer  of  Holy  Scripture :  he  is  indebted  to  Scripture 
infinitely  more  than  to  Homer  and  Virgil,  and  all  other  books  whatever.  Not  only  the 
principal  fable,  but  all  his  episodes  are  founded  upon  Scripture :  the  Scripture  has  not 
only  furnished  him  with  the  noblest  hints,  raised  his  thoughts,  and  fired  his  imagina- 
tion ;  but  has  also  very  much  enriched  his  language,  given  a  C(!rtain  solemnity  and 
majesty  to  his  diction,  and  supplied  him  with  many  of  his  choicest,  happiest  expres- 
sions. Let  men,  therefore,  learn  from  this  instance  to  reverence  the  Sacred  Writings : 
if  any  man  can  pretend  to  deride  or  despise  them,  it  must  be  said  of  him,  at  least,  that 
he  has  a  taste  and  genius  the  most  different  from  Milton's  that  can  be  imagined.  Who- 
ever has  any  true  taste  and  genius,  we  are  confident,  will  esteem  this  poem  the  best  of 
modern  productions,  and  the  Scriptures  the  best  of  all  ancient  ones. — Newton. 


Johnson's  criticism,  inserted  in  his  '  Life  of  Milton,'  is  so  universally  known  that  I 
shall  not  repeat  it  here :  it  shows  the  critic  to  have  been  a  master  of  language,  and  of 
perspicuity  and  method  of  ideas  :  it  has  not,  however,  the  sensibility,  the  grace,  and  the 
nice  perceptions  of  Addison  :  it  is  analytical  and  dry.  As  it  does  not  illustrate  any  of 
the  abstract  positions  by  cited  instances,  it  requires  a  philosophical  mind  to  feel  its  fall 
force :  it  has  wrapped  up  the  praises,  which  were  popularly  expressed  by  Addison,  in 
language  adapted  to  the  learned.  The  truth  is,  that  Johnson's  head  was  more  the  parent 
of  that  panegyric  than  his  heart:  he  speaks  by  rule  ;  and  by  rule  he  is  forced  to  admire. 
Rules  are  vain,  to  which  the  heart  does  not  assent.  Many  of  the  attractions  of  Mil- 
ton's poem  are  not  at  all  indicated  by  the  general  words  of  Johnson.  From  Addison's 
critique,  we  can  learn  distinctly  its  character  and  colours;  we  can  be  taught  how  to 
appreciate;  and  can  judge  by  the  examples  produced,  how  far  our  own  sympathies  go 
with  the  commentator :  we  cannot  read  therefore  without  being  made  converts,  where 
the  comment  is  right.  It  is  not  only  in  the  grand  outline  that  Milton's  mighty  excel- 
lence lies  ;  it  is  in  filling  up  all  the  parts  even  to  the  least  minutice ;  the  images,  the  sen- 
timents, the  long  argumentative  passages,  are  all  admirable,  taken  separately ;  they 
form  a  double  force,  as  essential  parts  of  one  large  and  magnificent  whole.  The  images 
arc  of  two  sorts ;  inventive  and  reflective :  the  first  are,  of  course,  of  the  highest  order. 

If  our  conceptions  were  confined  to  what  reality  and  experience  have  impressed  upon 
us,  our  minds  would  be  narrow,  and  our  faculties  without  light.  The  power  of  inven- 
tive imagination  approaches  to  something  above  humanity  :  it  makes  us  participant  of 
other  worlds  and  other  states  of  being.  Still  mere  invention  is  nothing,  unless  its 
quality  be  high  and  beautiful.  Shakspeare's  invention  was  in  the  most  eminent  degree 
rich  ;  but  still  it  was  mere  human  invention.  The  invention  of  the  character  of  Satan, 
and  of  the  good  and  bad  angels,  and  of  the  seats  of  bliss,  and  of  Pandaemonium,  and 
of  Chaos  and  the  gates  of  hell,  and  of  Sin  and  Death,  and  other  supernatural  agencies, 
is  unquestionably  of  a  far  loftier  and  more  astonishing  order. 

Though  the  arts  of  composition,  carried  one  step  beyond  the  point  which  brings  out 
the  thought  most  clearly  and  forcibly,  do  harm  rather  than  good ;  yet  up  to  this  point 
they  are  of  course  great  aids :  and  all  these  Milton  possessed  in  the  utmost  perfection  : 
bU  the  strength  of  language,  all  its  turns,  breaks,  and  varieties,  all  its  flows  and  harmo- 
nies,  and  all  its  learned  allusions,  were  his.  In  Pope  there  is  a  monotony  and  technical 
mellifluence :  in  Milton  there  is  strength  with  harmony,  and  simplicity  with  elevation. 
He  is  never  stilted,  never  gilded  with  tinsel ;  never  more  cramped  than  if  he  were 
writing  in  prose ;  and,  while  he  has  all  the  elevation,  he  has  all  the  freedom  of  unshackled 
language.  To  render  metre  during  a  long  poem  unfatiguing,  there  must  be  an  infinite 
diversity  of  combinations  of  sound  and  position  of  words,  which  no  English  bard  but 
Milton  has  reached.  Johnson,  assuming  that  the  English  heroic  line  ought  to  consist 
of  iambics,  has  tried  it  by  false  tests :  it  admits  as  many  varied  feet  as  Horace's  OdesJ 
and  so  scanned,  all  Milton's  lines  are  accented  right. 

ff  we  consider  the  '  Paradise  Lost'  with  respect  to  instruction,  it  is  the  deepest  and 
the  wisest  of  all  the  uninspired  poems  which  ever  were  written  :  and  what  poem  can  be 
good,  which  does  not  satisfy  the  understanding? 

Of  almost  all  other  poems  it  may  be  said,  that  they  are  intended  more  for  delight 
than  instruction  ;  and  instruction  in  poetry  will  not  do  without  delight :  yet  when  to  the 
highest  delight  is  added  the  most  profound  instruction,  what  fame  can  equal  the  value 
of  the  composition  ?  Such  unquestionably  is  the  compound  merit  of  the  '  Paradise 
Lost.'  It  is  a  duty  imperious  on  him  who  has  an  intellect  capable  of  receiving  this 
instruction,  not  to  neglect  the  cultivation  of  it;  in  him  who  understands  the  English 
language,  the  neglect  to  study  this  poem  is  the  neglect  of  a  positive  duty :  here  is  to  be 
found  in  combination  what  can  be  learped  nowhere  else. 

There  is  a  modo  of  presenting  objects  to  the  imagination,  which  purifies,  sharpens) 


BOOK  xii.]  PARADISE  LOST.  415 

and  exalts  the  mind :  there  may  be  mere  sports  of  the  imagination,  which  may  be  inno< 
cent,  but  fruitless.  Such  is  never  Milton's  produce ;  be  never  indulges  in  mere  oma' 
ment  or  display :  his  light  is  fire,  and  nutriment,  and  guidance :  like  the  dawn  of 
returning  day  to  the  vegetation  of  the  earth,  which  dispels  the  noxious  vapours  of  night, 
and  pierces  the  incumbent  weight  of  the  air;  it  withdraws  the  mantle  of  dim  shadows 
from  common  minds,  and  irradiates  them  with  a  shining  lamp.  As  to  what  are  called 
the  figures  of  poetry,  in  which  Pope  deals  so  much,  they  are  never  admitted  by  the 
solid  and  stern  richness  of  Milton. 

The  generality  even  of  the  better  classes  of  poetry  is  not  the  food  of  the  mind,  but 
its  mere  luxury ;  Milton's  is  its  substance,  its  life,  its  essence :  he  introduces  the  gravest, 
the  most  abstruse,  the  most  learned  topics  into  his  poetry ;  and  by  a  spiritual  process, 
which  he  only  possesses,  converts  them  into  the  very  essence  of  poetical  inspiration.  I 
■  assert,  in  defiance  of  Dryden,  that  there  are  no  flats  in  Milton  :  inequalities  there  are ; 
but  they  are  not  flats,  in  Dryden's  sense  of  the  word.  Dryden  was  a  man  of  vigorous 
talent,  but  he  was  an  artist  in  poetry  :  if  active  and  powerful  talent  is  genius,  then  he 
had  genius ;  otherwise  not :  a  clear  perception  and  vigorous  expression  is  not  genius. 
Dryden  had  not  a  creative  mind;  Milton  was  all  creation  :  we  want  new  ideas,  not  old 
ones  better  di-essed.  Dryden  thought  that  what  was  not  worked  up  into  a  pointed  iam- 
bic couplet  was  flat :  he  valued  not  the  ore ;  he  deemed  that  the  whole  merit  lay  in  the 
use  of  the  tool,  and  the  skill  of  its  application.  Milton  said,  "  I  am  content  to  draw 
the  pure  golden  ore  from  the  mine,  and  I  will  not  weaken  it  by  over-polish." 

The  merit  of  Milton  was,  that  he  used  his  gigantic  imagination  to  bring  into  play  hia 
immense  knowledge.  Heaven,  Hell,  Chaos,  and  the  Earth,  are  stupendous  subjects  of 
contemplation:  three  of  them  we  can  conceive  only  by  the  strength  of  imagination; 
the  fourth  is  partly  exposed  to  our  senses,  but  can  be  only  dimly  and  partially  viewed 
except  through  the  same  power.  Who  then  shall  dare  to  say,  that  the  genius  most 
fitted  to  delineate  and  illustrate  these  shadowy  and  evanescent  wonders,  and  who  has 
executed  this  work  in  a  manner  exceeding  all  human  hope,  has  not  performed  the  mosj 
inetructive,  as  well  as  the  most  delightful  of  tasks  ?  and  who  shall  dare  to  deny  that 
such  a  production  ought  to  be  made  the  universal  stu  ly  of  the  nation  which  brought  it 
forth? 

Before  such  a  performance  all  technical  beauties  sink  to  nothing.  The  question  is, 
— are  the  ideas  mighty,  and  iust,  and  authorized  ;  and  are  they  adequately  expressed? 
If  tliis  is  iidmitted,  then  ougnt  not  every  one  to  read  this  poem  next  to  the  Bible  ?  So 
thought  Bishop  Newton.  But  Johnson  has  the  etfrontery  to  assert,  that  tiiough  it 
may  be  read  as  a  duty,  it  can  give  no  pleasure  :  for  this,  Newton  seems  to  have  pro- 
nounced by  anticipation  the  stigma  due  to  him.  Is  any  intellectual  delight  equal  to 
that  which  a  high  and  sensitive  mind  derives  from  the  perusal  of  innumerable  pas- 
sao^es  in  every  book  of  this  inimitable  work  of  poetical  fiction  i — The  very  story  never 
refaxes :  it  is  thick-wove  with  incident,  as  well  as  sentiment,  and  argumentative 
grandeur:  and  how  it  closes,  when  the  archangel  waves  the  "'flaming- brand"  over 
the  eastern  gate  of  Paradise ;  and,  on  looking  back,  Adam  and  Eve  saw  the  "  dread- 
ful faces"  and  "fiery  arms  "  that  "  throng'd''  round  it  1 — In  what  other  poem  is  any 
passage  so  heart-rending  and  so  terrible  as  this  ? 


PARADISE    REGAINED. 


The  '  Paradise  Regained'  bears  the  same  character,  compared  with  the  'Paradise 
Lest'  as  the  New  Testament  bears,  compared  with  the  Old :  it  is  more  subdued,  more 
didactic,  more  simple  and  unornamented,  more  practical,  and  less  imaginative.  The 
holy  poet  seems  to  have  been  awed  by  his  subject,  and  to  have  given  less  of  his  owii, 
either  of  thought,  matter,  or  language:  he  appears  rather  the  oracle  or  channel  througli 
which  the  voice  of  the  Divinity  speaks.  There  is  less  of  human  learning,  but  more 
than  human  wisdom ; — less  of  that  visionariness  of  dimly-embodied  half-spiritual  forms; 
and  none  of  that  gorgeous  display  of  sublime  creation,  which  the  pictures  everywhere 
abounding  in  'Paradise  Lost'  exhibit.  All  in  the  'Paradise  Regained'  wears  a  sober, 
serene  majesty,  like  the  mellow  light  of  the  moon  in  a  calm  autumnal  evening. 

It  is  true  that  the  essence  of  poetry  is  not  merely  imagination  or  invention,  but 
invention  of  a  particular  quality;  and  this  belongs  to  the  '  Paradise  Lost'  more  than  to 
the  '  Paradise  Regained:'  as,  for  instance,  to  Satan's  escape  from  hell,  and  his  first  sight 
of  the  newly-created  globe  of  earth,  and  Adam  and  Eve  placed  in  the  enjoyment  of  it, 
than  to  the  description  of  Christ's  entry  into  the  wilderness,  and  Satan  in  disguise  first 
accosting  him:  but  though  the  latter  description  is  less  grandly  imaginative,  it  is  still 
rich  with  invention,  and  invention  which  is  truly  poetical:  still  it  is  a  representation  of 
actual  existences,  though  not  a  copy  of  them. 

Milton  is  here  pre-eminent  in  designing  character  and  sentiment :  his  dialogue  is 
supported  with  miraculous  power  and  force ;  and  its  strength  and  sublimity  shine  out 
the  more  from  the  extreme  plainness  of  the  language :  the  task  was  perilous  to  find 
adequate  arguments  for  the  contest  between  the  Divine  Humanity  and  a  devil.  The 
reader  who  is  not  deeply  moved,  and  deeply  instructed  by  it,  must  be  one  of  brutish 
and  hopeless  stupidity.  I  have  said  before,  that  I  deemed  it  an  unquestionable  duty 
of  every  one  who  understands  the  English  language  to  study  Milton  next  to  the  Holy 
Writings :  this  remark  more  especially  applies  to  the  description  of  the  temptation  of 
Christ  in  the  wilderness.  The  '  Paradise  Lost'  is  moral  and  didactic,  but  less  so  than 
the  '  Paradise  Regained.' 

Satan  tempts  Christ  first  by  the  oflFer  of  sensual  pleasures ;  then  of  riches ;  then  of 
power;  then  of  glory;  and,  last,  of  intellectual  pleasures:  but  Warburton  objects  to 
these  temptations  conquered,  as  the  means  of  '  Paradise  Regained ;'  and  asserts,  that 
the  poet  ought  to  have  dwelt  on  Christ's  death  and  resurrection  as  the  price  paid  foj 
this  redemption.     He  says : — 

"  Whether  Milton  supposed  the  redemption  of  mankind,  as  he  here  represents  it,  was 
procured  by  Christ's  triumph  over  the  devil  in  the  wilderness ;  or  whether  he  thought 
tbat  the  &jene  of  the  desert,  opposed  to  that  of  Paradise ;  and  the  action  of  a  tempta- 
tion withstood,  to  a  temptation  fallen  under,  made  *  Paradise  Regained'  a  more  regular 
sequel  to  '  Paradise  Lost ;'  or,  if  neither  this  nor  that,  whether  it  was  his  being  tired 
ont  with  the  labour  of  composing  '  Paradise  Lost,'  which  made  him  averse  to  another 
work  of  length  (aivi  then  he  would  never  be  at  a  loss  for  fanciful  reasons  to  determine 
him  in  the  choice  of  his  plan),  is  very  uncertain.  All  that  we  can  be  sure  of  is, 
that  the  plan  is  a  very  unhappy  one,  and  defective  even  in  that  narrow  view  of  a 
sequel;  for  it  affords  the  po^t  no  opportunity  of  driving  the  devil  back  again  to  hell 
from  his  new  conquest  in  the  air.    In  the  mean  time,  nothing  was  easier  than  to  have 


PARADISE  REGAINED.  417 

(nvented  a  good  one,  wli  ich  should  end  with  the  resurrection ;  and  to  comprise  these 
four  books,  somewhat  contracted,  in  an  episode;  for  which  only  the  subject  of  them 
lafit" 

Warburton  was  a  man  of  great  subtlety,  force,  and  originality ;  but  totally  deficient 
in  poetical  taste.  To  have  contracted  the  matter  of  these  four  books,  would  indeed 
hare  been  a  loss  and  a  destruction.  If  the  poem  had  been  extended  to  the  length  of 
the  *  Paradise  Lost,'  it  might  indeed  have  contained  that  of  which  Warburton  charges 
the  omission  as  a  great  defect :  but  as  the  poem  now  stands,  it  is  a  perfect  whole  in 
itself;  and  it  is  not  improbable,  that  the  poet  found  age  and  sickness  too  fast  pressing 
upon  him  to  make  it  longer. 

It  seems  to  me,  that,  in  my  preliminary  remarks  upon  one  of  Milton's  chief  poems, 
I  cannot  do  better  than  impress  on  the  reader  the  peculiarity  of  the  bard's  genius,  and 
endeavour  to  imbue  him  with  a  Miltonic  taste ;  which  is  so  distinct  from  that  of  all 
other  poetry.  That  this  is  no  fancy  of  my  own,  I  can  establish  on  the  authority  of 
Milton  himself,  and  of  the  comments  of  two  distinguished  annotators. 

I  refer  to  the  passage  beginning  v.  285  of  b.  iv.  of  '  Paradise  Regained,'  which  con- 
tains Christ's  answer  to  Satan's  panegyric  of  human  learning,  beginning  v.  236,  describ- 
ing Athens  as  the  seat  of  all  intellectual  glory.     Our  Saviour  answers,  v.  309 : — 

Alas !  what  can  they  teach,  and  not  mislead, 
Ignorant  of  themselves,  of  God  much  more. 
And  how  the  world  began,  and  how  man  fell 
Degraded  by  himself,  on  grace  depending  ?  &c.,  tte. 

The  poet  goes  on  at  v.  343 : — 

Remove  their  swelling  epithets,  thick  laid 

As  varnish  on  an  harlot's  cheek ;  the  rest, 

Thin  sown  with  aught  of  profit  or  delight, 

Will  far  be  found  unworthy  to  compare 

With  Sinn's  songs,  to  all  true  tastes  excelling, 

Where  God  is  praised  aright,  and  godlike  men, 

The  holiest  of  holies,  and  his  saints ; 

Such  are  from  God  inspired,  not  such  from  thee; 

Unless  where  moral  virtue  is  express'd 

By  light  of  nature,  not  in  all  quite  lost. 

Their  orators  thou  then  extoll'st,  as  those 

The  top  of  eloquence ;  statists  indeed. 

And  lovers  of  their  country,  as  may  seem; 

But  herein  to  our  prophets  far  beneath. 

As  men  divinely  taught,  and  better  teaching 

The  solid  rules  of  civil  government, 

In  their  majestick  unaffected  style, 

Than  all  the  oratory  of  Greece  and  Rome. 

In  them  is  plainest  taught  and  easiest  learnt, 

What  makes  a  nation  happy,  keeps  it  so; 

What  ruins  kingdoms,  and  lays  cities  flat : 

These  only  with  our  law  best  form  a  king. 

Thyer  observes  here,  that  "  this  answer  of  our  Saviour  is  as  much  to  be  admired  foi 
solid  reasoning,  and  the  many  sublime  truths  contained  "in  it,  as  the  preceding  speech 
of  Satan  is  for  that  fine  vein  of  poetry  which  runs  through  it :  and  one  may  observe  in 
general,  that  Milton  has  quite,  throughout  this  work,  thrown  the  ornaments  of  poetry 
on  the  side  of  error :  whether  it  was  that  he  thought  great  truths  best  expressed  in  a 
grave,  unafi"ected  style;  or  intended  to  suggest  this  fine  moral  to  the  reader; — that 
simple  naked  truth  will  always  be  an  overmatch  for  falsehood,  though  recommended  by 
the  gayest  rhetoric  and  adorned  with  the  most  bewitching  colours. 

As  to  the  inferiority  of  Grecian  literature  to  the  songs  of  Sion,  Newton  observes,  that 
Milton  was  of  this  opinion,  not  only  in  the  decline  of  life,  but  likewise  in  his  earlier 
days,  as  appears  from  the  Preface  to  his  second  book  of  'The  Reason  of  Church 
Government:' — "Or  if  occasion  shall  lead  to  imitate  those  magnific  Odes  and  Hymna 
wherein  Pindarus  and  Callimachus  are  in  most  things  worthy,  some  others  in  their  frame 
judicious,  in  their  matter  most  and  end  faulty.  But  those  frequent  songs  throughout 
the  law  and  prophets  beyond  all  these,  not  in  their  divine  argument  alone,  but  in  the 
63 


418  PARADISE  REGAINED. 


Very  critical  art  of  composition,  may  be  easily  made  appear  over  all  the  kinds  of  lyric 
poesy  to  be  incomparable." 

On  this  note  Warton  makes  the  following  comment: — "But  Milton  now  appears  to 
have  imbibed  so  strong  a  tincture  of  fanaticism,  as  to  decry  all  human  compositions 
and  profane  subjects.  In  the  context  he  speaks  with  absolute  contempt,  even  in  a 
critical  view ;  and  a  general  disapprobation  of  the  Greek  odes  and  hymns.  (Read  ver. 
343  to  ver.  348.)  Undoubtedly  these  were  Milton's  own  sentiments,  though  delivered 
in  an  assumed  character.  Even  in  his  own  person  he  bad  long  before  given  the 
substance  of  the  context,  as  cited  by  Dr.  Newton :  it  must,  however,  be  observed  that 
Christ  is  here  answering  Satan's  speech,  and  counteracting  his  exquisite  panegyric  on 
the  philosophers,  poets,  and  orators  of  Athens :  yet  at  the  same  time,  I  can  conceive 
that  Satan's  speech,  which  here  he  means  to  confute,  and  which  no  man  was  more  able 
to  write  than  himself,  came  from  the  heart.*  The  writers  of  dialogue  in  feigned 
characters  have  great  advantage." 

The  chief  purpose  for  which  I  have  introduced  this  criticism  here  is  this, — thai  the 
reader  may  not  look  for  what  are  thought  the  common  ornaments  or  spells  of  poetry : 
he  must  look  for  stern  truths  ;  for  sublime  sentiments ;  for  naked  grandeur  of  imagery ; 
for  an  absence  of  all  the  rhetorical  flourishes  of  literary  composition ;  for  the  dictates 
of  a  lofty  and  divine  virtue ;  for  a  bold  and  gigantic  dispersion  of  the  veil  from  the 
delusions  of  human  vanity;  for  the  blaze  of  an  Evil  Spirit  eclipsed  by  the  splendour 
of  a  Good  and  Divine  Spirit,  illumined  by  the  lamp  of  Heaven. 

But  though  a  great  part  of  the  poem  is  intellectual  and  argumentative,  another  large 
portion  is  full  of  grand  or  beautiful  imagery :  the  description  of  the  wilderness  at  the 
opening  abounds  with  sublime  scenery :  the  picture  of  the  storm  at  the  close  of  the  last 
book,  with  the  bright  morning  which  succeeded,  may  vie  with  any  of  the  noblest 
passages  in  the  'Paradise  Lost;'  perhaps  in  expression,  while  it  loses  nothing  of 
grandeur,  it  is  more  polished  than  any  other  to  be  found. 

Milton  intended  this  poem  as  the  brief  or  didactic  epic,  rf  which  he  considered  the 
book  of  Job  to  be  a  model,  such  as  he  notices  in  the  second  book  of  his  '  Reason  of 
Church  Government'  "  Milton,"  says  Hayley,  "  had  already  executed  one  extensive 
divine  poem,  peculiarly  distinguished  by  richness  and  sublimity  of  description:  in 
framing  a  second  he  naturally  wished  to  vary  its  effect;  to  make  it  rich  in  moral  sentiment, 
and  sublime  in  its  mode  of  unfolding  the  highest  wisdom  that  man  can  learn :  for  this 
purpose  it  was  necessary  to  keep  all  the  ornamental  parts  of  the  poem  in  due  subordi- 
nation to  the  perceptive.  This  delicate  and  difficult  point  is  accomplished  with  such 
felicity;  they  are  blended  together  with  such  exquisite  harmony  and  mutual  aid;  that, 
instead  of  arraigning  the  plan,  we  might  rather  doubt  if  any  possible  change  could 
improre  it.  Assuredly,  there  is  no  poem  of  an  epic  form,  where  the  sublimest  moral  is 
BO  forcibly  and  abundantly  united  to  poetical  delight:  the  splendour  of  the  poem  does 
not  blaze  indeed  so  intensely  as  in  his  larger  production:  here  he  resembles  the  Apollo 
of  Ovid ;  softening  his  glory  in  speaking  to  his  Son  ;  and  avoiding  to  dazzle  the  fancy, 
that  he  may  descend  into  the  heart." 

In  another  place,  Hayley,  having  spoken  of  the  "  uncommon  energy  and  felicity  of 
composition  in  Milton's  two  poems,  however  different  in  design,  dimension,  and  effect," 
adds, — "to  censure  the  'Paradise  Regained,'  because  it  does  not  more  resemble  the 
'Paradise  Lost,'  is  hardly  less  absurd,  than  it  would  be  to  condemn  the  moon  for  not 
being  a  sun ;  instead  of  admiring  the  two  different  luminaries,  and  feeling  that  both 
the  greater  and  the  less  are  equally  the  work  of  the  same  divine  and  inimitable 
Power." 

"Yet  this  is  the  poem,"  says  Dunster,  "from  which  the  ardent  admirers  of  Milton's 
other  works  turn,  as  from  a  cold,  uninteresting  composition,  the  produce  of  his  dotage^ 
of  a  palsied  hand  no  longer  able  to  hold  the  pencil  of  poetry." 

The  origin  of  this  poem  is  attributed  to  the  suggestion  of  EUwood,  the  quaker, 
Milton  had  lent  this  friend,  in  1665,  his  '  Paradise  Lost,'  then  completed  in  manuscript, 
at  Cbalfont,  St.  Giles' ;  desiring  him  to  peruse  it  at  his  leisure,  and  give  his  judgment 
of  it; — "which  I  modestly  but  freely  told  him,"  says  Ellwood,  in  his  Life  of  Himself, 

*  Surely  there  is  here  BOmethiug  of  incouBistOQcy  in  'Warton. 


PARADISE  REGAINED. 


419 


"  and  after  8ome  farther  discourse  of  it,  I  pleasantly  said  to  him,  *  Thou  hast  said 
mach  of  Paradise  Lost,  but  what  hast  thou  to  say  of  Paradise  Found  ?'  He  made  me 
no  answer,  but  sat  some  time  in  a  muse ;  then  broke  off  that  discourse,  and  fell  upon 
another  subject."  When  Ellwood  afterwards  waited  on  him  in  London,  Milton  showed 
him  his  *  Paradise  Regained;'  and,  in  a  pleasant  tone,  said  to  him, — "This  is  owing  to 
you;  for  you  put  it  into  my  head  by  the  question  you  put  to  me  at  Chalfont;  which 
before  I  had  not  thought  of," 

Milton,  in  the  opening  of  this  poem,  speaking  of  his  Muse,  as  prompted 

to  tell  of  deeds 
Above  heroick, 

considers  the  subject  of  it,  as  well  as  of  'Paradise  Lost,'  to  be  of  much  greater  dignity 
and  diflBculty  than  the  argument  of  Homer  and  Virgil.  But  the  difference  here  is,  as 
Richardson  observes,  that  he  confines  himself  "  to  nature's  bounds ;"  not  as  in  the 
*  Paradise  Lost,'  where  he  soars  "  above  the  visible  diurnal  sphere :"  and  so  far  '  Para- 
dise Regained'  is  less  poetical  because  it  is  less  imaginative. 

" '  Paradise  Regained'  has  not  met  with  the  approbation  it  deserves,"  says  Jortin ; 
"it  has  not  the  harmony  of  numbers,  the  sublimity  of  thought,  and  the  beauties  of 
diction,  which  are  in  '  Paradise  Lost :'  it  is  composed  in  a  lower  and  less  striking 
style ; — a  style  suited  to  the  subject.  Artful  sophistry,  false  reasoning,  set  off  in  the 
most  specious  manner,  and  refuted  by  the  Son  of  God  with  strong  unaffected  eloquencoi 
is  the  peculiar  excellence  of  this  poem.  Satan  there  defends  a  bad  cause  with  great 
kill  and  subtlety,  as  one  thoroughly  versed  in  that  craft: 

— —qui  facere  assuerat 
Candida  de  nigris,  et  de  candentibus  atra. 
His  character  is  well  drawn." 


420  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  i. 


BOOK  I. 

INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 

The  Tery  outline  of  the  subject  of  this  book  of  sublime  wisdom,  argument,  and  elo- 
quence, is  of  the  highest  character  of  poetry.  Our  Saviour,  in  a  fit  of  meditative 
abstraction,  and  just  beginning  to  feel  his  divinity  from  the  signs  imparted  to  him  at 
the  baptism  of  St.  John,  wanders  into  a  desert  and  barren  wilderness,  where  he  loses 
himself,  and  fasts  for  forty  days.  There  Satan  encounters  him,  first  in  disguise ;  and, 
when  detected,  in  his  avowed  name,  to  tempt  him  to  his  fall;  as  ho  had  formerly  sue- 
cessfuUy  tempted  Eve,  and  thus  effected  the  ruin  of  the  human  race. 

The  descriptive  parts  are  here  only  occasional;  but  when  they  do  occur,  they  arc 
magnificent  and  picturesque.  The  argumentative  parts  form  the  main  matter.  Satan 
argues  with  the  wicked  power  of  a  rebellious  and  perverted  angel;  but  Christ,  feeling 
within  him  the  growing  illumination  of  his  mighty  mission,  always  overcomes  him  :  yet 
the  fiend  is  as  subtle,  crafty,  flattering,  and  persuasive,  as  he  is  ingenious  a/id  vigorous. 
Our  Saviour  had  yet  scarcely  plumed  his  wings ;  he  was  doubtful  of  his  own  strength; 
yet  a  secret  Spirit  from  Heaven  now  whispered  to  him,  that  he  was  born  for  the  trial. 
The  dialogue  is  supported  with  amazing  force  and  splendour  on  both  sides :  the  mind 
of  the  profound  reader  is  kept  in  anxious  and  tremoiing  suspense.  The  flash  of  the 
demon  comes  strong  and  dazzling;  then  follows  the  sublime  and  overwhelming  answer, 
which  eclipses  it  at  once ;  and  which  moves  the  soul  and  heart  by  its  acute  and  moral 
grandeur,  and  its  heroic  self-denial. 

But  let  it  be  remembered,  that  in  addition  to  Satan's  alarming  artifices,  our  Saviour 
had  to  sustain  hunger,  thirst,  want  of  shelter,  loneliness  in  a  desert  of  terrific  gloomi- 
ness, out  of  which  he  could  not  find  his  way :  this  gives  the  story  a  sort  of  breathless 
Interest,  in  which  the  human  imagination  can  find  the  strongest  sympathy.  As  a 
divinity,  we  should  not  feel  the  same  interest  in  the  fate  of  the  hero  of  this  poem; 
unless  he  had,  for  the  execution  of  his  great  mission,  clothed  himself  with  a  nature 
which  subjected  him  to  all  the  evils  of  humanity. 

The  art  with  which  the  poet  interests  us  in  Satan  himself,  is  miraculous :  the  demon's 
plausibilities  sometimes  almost  make  us  pity  him.  His  self-exculpations,  his  cunning 
arguments,  to  induce  a  belief  that  he  means  no  ill-will  to  man,  and  that  he  has  no 
interest  in  hating  him,  are  invented  with  astonishing  colour  and  wiliness:  our 
Saviour's  calm  detection  of  Satan's  sophistries  is  delightful  and  exalting.  The  reader, 
who  feels  in  this  no  human  sympathy ;  no  glow  at  intellectual  force ;  no  electrification 
at  the  spell  of  mighty  genius ;  no  expansion  of  the  brain ;  no  light  to  the  ideas ;  no 
elation  and  renovation  of  our  fallen  nature; — must  be  unspiritualized,  and  half-im- 
bruted.  If  any  man  finds  himself  cold  and  dull  at  first,  let  him  consider  it  a  duty  to 
endeavour  by  degrees  to  warm  himself.  The  hardest  ice  will  melt  at  last  by  the  con- 
tinual impulse  of  a  glowing  sun. 

If  the  intellectual  ingredients  of  this  book, — or  this  poem, — were  abstract,  I  could 
account  for  the  vulgar  distaste  of  it:  but  the  whole  has  reference  to  the  contest  of 
characters,  and  to  practical  results :  the  whole  is  not  only  involved  in  a  progressive 
story ;  but  is  partly,  by  its  prevalence  of  dialogue,  of  a  dramatic  interest:  the  reader  is 
kept  in  suspense  for  the  event  of  the  successive  trials. 

Is  the  mean  nature  of  many  individuals  fallen  so  low,  that  they  can  recognise 
nothing  of  sentiment  or  thought  which  is  noble  and  generous? — Will  they  call  it  im- 
probable, exaggerated,  and  forced? — There  may  be  poetry  holding  up  a  mirror  to 
common  life,  which  is  harmless ;  but  it  is  not  virtuous,  because  it  is  of  no  use.  The 
mob  perhaps  like  best  to  see  their  own  likenesses  ;  but  it  is  often  so  far  mischievous, 
that  it  is  apt  to  confirm  thorn  in  a  complacency  with  their  own  follies. 


BOOK  I.] 


PARADISE  REGAINED. 


421 


Onr  business  is  to  improve  our  understandings,  and  exalt  our  hearts ;  to  be  taught  to 
detect  the  delusions  of  sin  and  the  devil;  and  to  bear  the  sorrows  and  wrongs  of  life 
with  a  magnanimous  fortitude.  What  poem  does  this  like  "  Paradise  Regained  ?'" 
What  poem  therefore  ought  we  so  to  study,  and  become  familiar  with  ?  The  very 
authorities,  on  which  its  chief  doctrines  are  built,  are  in  themselves  treasures  of 
wisdom. 

But  I  am  at  a  loss  to  guess,  what,  even  on  the  mere  principles  of  poetry,  there  is  ci 
excellence  wanting  in  this  poem.  Invention,  character,  sentiment,  language, — all  in  a 
high  degree, — cannot  be  denied  it.  Here  is  unbounded  expanse  of  thought,  and  pro- 
fundity  of  wisdom :  here  is  all  the  moral  eloquence,  which  is  to  be  found  in  the  noblest 
authors  of  antiqu''.y :  here  is  much  of  the  essence  of  the  inspired  writings :  here  is  what 
perhaps  popular  readers  like  best  of  all, — the  most  condensed  and  solid  brevity :  here 
is  inexhaustible  richness  of  thought  combined  with  extreme  plainness,  and  a  scriptural 
simplicity  of  expression.  I  believe  that  no  one  ever  read  florid  language  for  any  num> 
ber  of  pages  without  satiety  and  disgust. 

Beautiful  as  the  first  book  of  the  "  Paradise  Regained"  is,  I  think  that  the  poem  con- 
tinues to  rise  to  the  last:  here  is  the  diflSculty;  but  it  would  be  a  fault  if  it  did  not 
This  book  is  principally  occupied  in  Satan's  exculpation  of  himself:  the  other  books 
set  forth  the  fiend's  temptations,  both  material  and  intellectual;  and  our  Saviour's  sub- 
lime arguments  in  answer  to  him. 

The  style  with  which  the  "  Paradise  Regained"  opens,  is  generally  considered  more 
Bober,  and  less  removed  from  its  authorities,  than  that  of  the  "Paradise  Lost;"  and 
this  is  supposed  to  have  partly  arisen  from  the  poet's  awe  of  his  subject,  and  partly 
from  the  weakness  of  rapidly  declining  age.  With  respect  to  the  style,  so  far  as  it  is 
more  subdued  (if  it  be  so),  I  believe  that  it  has  purely  been  caused  by  the  choice  of  his 
subject,  and  the  plainer  and  simpler  language  of  the  New  Testament,  which  disdains 
all  ornament,  and  in  which  the  story  gives  less  scope  to  imagination.  Where  we  are 
relating  recorded  facts,  from  which  we  dare  not  vary,  our  language  is  necessarily  more 
controlled  and  tame. 

I  am  only  surprised  at  the  boldness  of  the  poet  in  choosing  this  sublime  theme:  he 
lould  not  but  have  foreseen  all  its  difficulties;  but  knowing  his  own  perfect  familiarity 
with  the  scriptural  language,  his  gigantic  mind  hazarded  the  task.  This  alone  is  a 
proof  that  he  was  not  conscious  of  any  "  failure  of  strength ;"  and  there  is  not  a  single 
passage  in  the  execution,  which  indicates  any  such  failure :  with  whatever  else  com- 
pared of  his  immortal  writings,  the  imagery  is  as  distinct  and  picturesque ;  the  spiritual 
part,  the  thoughts  and  arguments,  are  at  l^ast  equally  vigorous,  original,  discrimina- 
tive, and  profound,  and  perhaps  more  abundant:  nor  has  the  language  less  of  that 
naked  strength,  which  supports  itself  by  its  own  intrinsic  power. 


ARGUMENT.* 

The  subject  proposed.  Invocation  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  The  poem  opens  with  John  baptizing 
at  the  river  Jordan :  Jesus  coming  there  is  baptized ;  and  is  attested,  by  the  descent  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,  and  by  a  voice  from  heaven,  to  be  the  Son  of  God.  Satan,  who  is  present, 
upon  this  immediately  flies  up  into  the  regions  of  the  air;  where  summoning  his  infernal 
council,  he  acquaints  them  with  his  apprehensions  that  Jesus  is  that  seed  of  the  woman, 
destined  to  destroy  all  their  power;  and  points  out  to  them  the  imrhediate  necessity  of 
bringing  the  matter  to  proof,  and  of  attempting,  by  snares  and  fraud,  to  counteract  and 
defeat  the  person,  from  whom  they  have  so  much  to  dread  :  this  office  he  offers  Inmseif  to 
undertake;  and,  his  offer  being  accepted,  sets  out  on  his  enterprise.  In  the  mean  time, 
God,  in  the  assembly  of  holy  angels,  declares  that  he  has  given  up  his  Son  to  be  tempted 
by  Satan;  but  foretells  that  the  tempter  shall  be  completely  defeated  by  him:  upon  which 
the  angels  sing  a  hymn  of  triumph.   Jesus  is  led  up  by  the  Spirit  into  the  wilderness,  while 


*  No  edition  of  "  Paradise  Regained"  had  ever  appeared  with  Arguments  to  the  books,  before 
that  which  was  published  in  1795  by  Mi  Dunster ;  from  which  they  are  adopted  in  this  edition, 
Peck,  indeed,  endeavoured  to  supply  the  i!eficiency,  in  his  "  Memoirs  of  Milton,"  1740,  p.  70, 
<fcc.,  but  the  Arguments,  which  he  has  there  given,  are  too  diffuse,  and  want  that  conciseness 
and  energy  which  distinguish  Mr.  Dunster's. — Todd. 


422  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  i. 

he  is  meditating  on  the  commencement  of  his  great  office  of  Saviour  of  mankind.  Pursu- 
ing  his  meditations,  he  narrates,  in  a  soliloquy,  what  divine  and  philanthropic  Impulses  he 
had  felt  from  his  early  youth,  and  how  his  mother  Mary,  on  perceiving  tliese  dispositiona 
in  him,  had  acquainted  him  with  the  circumstances  of  liis  birth,  and  informed  him  that  he 
was  no  less  a  person  than  the  Son  of  God ;  to  which  he  adds  what  his  own  inquiries  and 
reflections  had  supplied  in  confirmation  of  this  great  truth,  and  particularly  dwells  on  the 
recent  attestation  of  it  at  the  river  Jordan.  Our  Lord  passes  forty  days,  fasting,  in  the 
wilderness;  where  the  wild  beasts  become  mild  and  harmless  in  his  presence.  Satan  now 
appears  under  the  form  of  an  old  peasant;  and  enters  into  discourse  with  our  Lord,  won- 
dering what  could  have  brought  him  alone  into  so  dangerous  a  place,  and  at  the  same  time 
professing  to  recognise  him  for  the  person  lately  acknowledged  by  Jofm,  at  the  river  Jor- 
dan, to  be  the  Son  of  God.  Jesus  briefly  replies.  Satan  rejoins  with  a  description  of  the 
difficulty  of  supporting  life  in  the  wilderness ;  and  entreats  Jesus,  if  he  be  really  the  Son 
of  God,  to  manifest  his  divine  power,  by  changing  some  of  the  stones  into  bread.  Jesus 
reproves  him,  and  at  the  same  time  tells  him  that  he  knows  who  he  is.  Satan  instantly 
avows  himself,  and  offers  an  artful  apology  for  himself  and  his  conduct.  Our  blessed  Lord 
severely  reprimands  him,  and  refutes  every  part  of  his  justification.  Satan,  with  much 
eembliince  of  humility,  still  endeavours  to  justify  himself;  and  professing  his  admiration 
of  Jesus  and  his  regard  for  virtue,  requests  to  be  permitted  at  a  future  time  to  hear  more 
of  his  conversation;  but  is  answered,  that  this  must  be  as  he  shall  find  permission  from 
above.  Satan  then  disappears,  and  the  book  closes  with  a  short  description  of  night 
coming  on  in  the  desert. 

I,  WHO  erewhi.le*  the  bappy  garden  sung 
By  one  man's  disobedience  lost,""  now  sing 
Recover'd  Paradise"  to  all  mankind, 
By  one  man's  firm  obedience  fully  tried 
Through  all  temptation,  and  the  tempter  foil'd 
In  all  his  wiles,  defeated  and  repulsed, 
And  Eden  raised  in  the  waste  wilderness.'' 

»  I,  tcho  erewhile. 

The  proposition  of  the  subject  is  clear  and  dignified,  and  is  beautifully  wound  np  in 
the  concluding  line  : — 

And  Eden  raised  in  the  waste  wilderness. — ^Dunster. 

This  is  plainly  an  illusion  to  the  "  Ille  ego  qui  quondam,"  Ac,  attributed  to  VirgiL 
Thus  also  Spenser : — 

Lo,  I  the  man,  whose  muse  whilom.did  mask, 

As  time  her  taught,  in  lowly  shepherd's  weeds, 

And  now  enforced,  a  far  unfitter  task. 

For  trumpets  stern  to  change  mine  oaten  reeds,  &c. — ^Nkwton. 

b  By  one  man's  disobedience  lost. 

"For  as  by  one  man's  disobedience  many  were  made  sinners,  so  by  the  obedience  of 
one  shall  many  be  made  righteous."     Rom,  v.  19. — Newtov. 

e  Recover'd  Paradise.  ^ 

It  may  seem  a  little  odd,  that  Milton  should  impute  the  recovery  of  Paradise  to  this 
short  scene  of  our  Saviour's  life  upon  earth,  and  not  rather  extend  it  to  his  agony, 
crucifixion,  Ac;  but  the  reason  no  doubt  was,  that  Paradise,  regained  by  our  Saviour's 
resisting  the  temptations  of  Satan,  might  be  a  better  contrast  to  Paradise,  lost  by  our 
first  parents  too  easily  yielding  to  the  same  seducing  Spirit.  Besides,  he  might,  very 
probably,  and  indeed  very  reasonably,  be  apprehensive,  that  a  subject,  so  extensive  as 
well  as  sublime,  might  be  too  great  a  burden  for  his  declining  constitution,  and  a  task 
too  long  for  the  short  term  of  years  he  could  then  hope  for.  Even  in  his  "Paradise 
Lost,"  he  expresses  his  fears,  lest  he  had  begun  too  late,  and  lest  "  an  age  too  late,  or 
cold  climate,  or  years,  should  have  damped  his  intended  wing ;"  and  surely  he  had 
much  greater  cause  to  dread  the  same  now,  and  to  be  very  cautious  of  launching  out 
too  far. — Thtbb. 

i-  And  Eden  raised  in  the  waste  wilderness. 

There  is,  I  think,  a  particular  beauty  in  this  line,  when  one  considers  the  fine  allusion 
in  it  to  the  curse  brought  upon  the  paradisiacal  earth  by  the  fall  of  Adam :  "  Cursed  is 
the  ground  for  thy  sake :  thorns  also  and  thistles  shall  it  bring  forth  to  thee." — Thybb. 

See  Isaiah^  11.  3. 


BOOK  I.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  423 

Thou  Spirit,"  who  ledst  this  glorious  eremite 
Into  the  desert/  his  victorious  field, 
Against  the  spiritual  foe,  and  brought' st  him  thence 
By  proof  the  undoubted  Son  of  God,  inspire. 
As  thou  art  wont,s  my  prompted  song,  else  mute;* 
And  bear,  through  highth  or  depth  of  Nature's  bounds, 
With  prosperous  wing  full  summ'd,  to  tell  of  deeds 
Above  heroick,  though  in  secret  done. 
And  unrecorded  left  through  many  an  age ; 
Worthy  to  have  not  remain'd  so  long  unsung. 

Now  had  the  great  proclairaer,  with  a  voice 
More  awful  than  the  sound  of  trumpet,'  cried 

e  Thou  tpirit. 
This  invocation  is  so  supremely  beautiful,  that  it  is  hardly  possible  to  give  the  pre* 
ference  even  to  that  in  the  opening  of  the  "  Paradise  Lost."    This  h.as  the  merit  of 
more  conciseness.     Diflfuseness  may  be  considered  as  lessening  the  dignity  of  invoca- 
tions on  such  subjects. — Dunster. 

f  Into  the  desert. 
It  is  said,  Matt.  iv.  1, — "Then  was  Jesus  led  up  of  the  Spirit  into  the  winderness  to 
be  tempted  of  the  devil."  And  from  the  Greek  original  £p>)/ioj,  the  desert,  and  ipriiUrtit, 
an  inhabitant  of  the  desert,  is  rightly  formed  the  word  eremite;  which  was  used  before 
by  Milton  in  his  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  iii.  474 :  and  by  Fairfax,  in  his  translation  of 
Tasso,  c.  xi.  st.  4:  and  in  Italian,  as  well  as  Latin,  there  is  eremita,  which  the  French, 
and  we  after  them,  contract  into  hermite,  hermit. — Newton. 

g  Insjure, 
As  thou  art  wont. 
See  the  very  fine  opening  of  the  ninth  book  of  the  "  Paradise  Lost,"  and  also  his 
invocation  of  Urania,  at  the  beginning  of  the  seventh  book :  and  in  the  introduction  to 
the  second  book  of  the  "  Reason  of  Church  Government  urged  against  Prelacy,"  where 
he  promises  to  undertake  something,  he  yet  knows  not  what,  that  may  be  of  use  and 
Iionour  to  his  country,  he  adds :  "  This  is  not  to  be  obtained  but  by  devout  prayer  to 
that  Eternal  Spirit,  who  can  enrich  with  all  utterance  and  knowledge,  and  sends  out 
his  seraphim,  with  the  hallowed  fire  of  his  altar,  to  touch  and  purify  whom  he  pleases." 
Here  then  we  see  that  Milton's  invocations  of  the  Divine  Spirit  were  not  merely  exor- 
dia pro  formn.  Indeed  his  prose  works  are  not  without  their  invocations.  Compare 
also  Tasso,  "II  Mondo  Create,"  Giorn.  Px-im, 

e  langue 
Be  noR  m'  inspiri  tu,  la  voce,  e  'I  suono. — Dunster. 

•>  My  prompted  song,  else  mute. 
Milton's  third  wife,  who  survived  him  many  years,  related  of  him,  that  he  used  to 
compose  his  poetry  chiefly  in  winter;  and  on  his  waking  in  a  morning,  would  make 
her  write  down  sometimes  twenty  or  thirty  verses.  Being  asked,  whether  he  did  not 
often  read  Homer  and  Virgil,  she  understood  it  as  an  imputation  upon  him  for  stealing 
from  those  authors,  and  answered  with  eagerness,  "  He  stole  from  nobody  but  the  Muse 
who  inspired  him :"  and,  being  asked  by  a  lady  present  who  the  Muse  was,  replied  "  It 
was  God's  grace,  and  the  Holy  Spirit,  that  visited  him  nightly." — Newton's  Life  of 
Milton.  Mr.  Richardson  also  says,  that  "Milton  would  sometimes  lie  awake  whole 
nights,  but  not  a  verse  could  he  make ;  and  on  a  sudden  his  poetical  fancy  would  rush 
upon  him  with  an  impetus  or  oestrum." — Johnson's  Life  of  Milton.  "Else  mute"  might 
have  been  suggested  by  a  passage  of  Horace's  most  beautiful  ode  to  the  Muse,  iv.  iiL : — 
O  testudinis  aurese 

Dulcem  quee  strepitum,  Fieri,  temperas, 
O  mutis  quoque  piscibus 
Dooatura  cygni,  si  libcat,  sonum  ! 
or  from  Quinctilian: — "Ips*m   igitur   orandi  majestatem,  qua  nihil   Dii  immortales 
melius  homini  dederunt,  et  qua  remota  muta  sunt  omnia,  et  luce  prsesenti  et  memoris 
costeritatis  carent,  toto  animo  petamus,"  I.  xii,  11. — Dcnster. 

i  With  a  voice 
More  awful  than  the  sound  of  trumpet. 
"Lift  up  thy  voice  like  a  trumpet,  and  show  my  people  their  transgressions/'  Isaiah 
Iviii.  1 :  and  see  Heb.  xii.  18,  19. — Dunsteb. 


424  PARADISE  REGAINED,  [book  i. 

Repentance,  and  Ileaven's  kingdom  nigh  set  hand 
To  all  baptized  :  to  his  great  baptism  flock'd 
With  awe  the  regions  round,  and  with  them  came 
From  Nazareth  the  son  of  Joseph  deem'd 
To  the  flood  of  Jordan  ;  came,  as  then  obscure, 
Unmark'd,  unknown;  but  him  the  Baptist  soon 
Descried,  divinely  warn'd,J  and  witness  bore 
As  to  his  worthier,  and  would  have  resign'd 
To  him  his  heavenly  office ;  nor  was  long 
His  witness  uncoufirm'd  :  on  him  baptized 
Heaven  open'd,  and  in  likeness  of  a  dove 
The  Spirit  descended,  while  the  Father's  voice 
From  heaven  pronounced  him  his  beloved  Son. 
That  heard,  the  adversary,  who,  roving  still 
About  the  world,''  at  that  assembly  famed 
Would  not  be  last;  and,  with  the  voice  divine 
Nigh  thunder-struck,  the  exalted  man,  to  whom 
Such  high  attest  was  given,^  awhile  survey'd 
With  wonder ;  then,  with  envy  fraught  and  rage, 
Flies  to  his  place,  nor  rests,  but  in  mid  air 
To  council  summons  all  his  mighty  peers. 
Within  thick  clouds  and  dark  tenfold  involved," 
A  gloomy  consistory ; "  and  them  amidst, 
With  looks  aghast  and  sad,  he  thus  bespake  : 

i  But  him  the  Baptist  soon 
Descried,  divinely  warn'd. 

John  the  Baptist  had  notice  given  him  before,  that  he  might  certainly  know  the 
Messiah  by  the  Holy  Ghost  descending  and  abiding  upon  him  :  "And  I  knew  him  not; 
but  he  that  sent  me  to  baptize  with  water,  the  game  said  unto  me,  Upon  whom  thou 
shalt  see  the  Spirit  descending  and  remaining  on  him,  the  same  is  he  which  baptizeth 
with  the  Holy  Ghost,"  John  i.  33.  But  it  appears  from  St.  Matthew,  that  the  Baptist 
knew  him,  and  acknowledged  him  before  he  was  baptized,  and  before  the  Holy  Ghost 
descended  upon  him,  Matt.  iii.  14.  "  I  have  need  to  be  baptized  of  thee,  and  comest 
thou  to  me  ?"  To  account  for  which  we  must  admit  with  Milton,  that  another  divine 
revelation  was  made  to  him  at  this  very  time,  signifying  that  this  was  the  person  of 
whom  he  had  such  notice  before. — Nkwton. 

The  Baptist  John  carries  us  with  the  best  effect  in  medias  res, — Dunster, 

k  Who,  roving  still 
About  the  world. 
"And  the  Lord  said  unto  Satan,  Whence  comest  thou?     Then  Satan  answered  the 
Lord,  and  said,  From  going  to  and  fro  in  the  earth,  and  from  walking  up  and  down  iu 
it."    Job  i.  7.     See  also  1  Pet.  v.  8. — Dunster. 

1  JTie  exalted  man,  to  whom 
Such  high  attest  was  given,  &c. 
The  description  how  Satan  is  affected  by  this  divine  attestation  of  Jesus  is  admirable : 
his  involuntary  admiration  is  consistent  with  his  knowledge  of  what  is  good  and  amia- 
ble; (see  ver.  379;)  his  envy  and  rage  are  truly  Satanic,  and  becoming  his  character  of 
the  enemy  of  all  good. — Dunster. 

»n  Within  thick  clouds  and  dark  tenfold  involved. 
Milton,  in  making  Satan's  residence  to  be  "  in  mid  air,  within  thick  clouds  and  dark," 
seems  to  have  St.  Austin  in  his  eye ;  who,  speaking  of  the  region  of  clouds,  storms, 
thunder,  Ac,  says,  "ad  ista  caliginosa,  id  est,  ad  hunc  aerem,  tanquam  ad  carcerem, 
damnatua  est  diabolus,"  Ac.  "Enarr.  in  Ps."  148,  s.  9,  torn.  5,  p.  1677.  edit  Bened. — 
Thybr. 

°  A  gloomy  consistory. 
This  is  an  imitation  of  Vir.  ^n.  iii.  677  s  ^ 


BOOK  I.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  425 

0  ancient  powers  of  air,  and  this  wide  world ; " 
(For  much  more  willingly  I  mention  air, 
This  our  old  conquest,  than  remember  hell, 
Our  hated  habitation)  well  ye  know. 
How  many  ages,  as  the  years  of  men, 
This  universe  we  have  possess'd,  and  ruled, 
In  manner  at  our  will,  the  affairs  of  earth. 
Since  Adam  and  his  facile  consort  Eve 
Lost  Paradise,  deceived  by  me ;  though  since 
With  dread  attending  when  that  fatal  wound 
Shall  be  inflicted  by  the  seed  of  Eve 
Upon  my  head.     Long  the  decrees  of  Heaven 
Delay,  for  longest  time  to  him  is  short :  p 

Cernimus  nstantes  nequicquam  lumino  torvo 
^tnsBos  frittreg,  ccelo  capita  alta  fereutes, 
Concilium  hurrenUum. 

By  the  wcrd  "consistory,"  I  suppose  Milton  intends  to  glance  at  the  meeting  of  the 
pope  and  cardinals  so  named,  or  perhaps  at  the  episcopal  tribunal,  to  all  which  sorts  of 
courts  or  assemblies  he  was  an  avowed  enemy.  The  phrase  concilium  horrendum,  Vida 
makes  use  of  upon  a  like  occasion  of  assembling  the  infernal  powers,  "Christ"  lib.  1, 

Protinus  acciri  iliros  ad  regia  fratreg 
Limina,  concilium  horrendum. 

And  Tasso  also,  in  the  very  same  manner,  "  Gicr.  Lib."  c.  iv.  st.  2 : — 

Che  sia  commanda  il  popol  sue  raccolto 
(Concilio  horrendo)  entro  la  regia  soglia. — Thtss. 

o  0  ancient  powers  of  air,  and  this  wide  world. 
So  the  devil  is  called  in  Scripture  "  The  prince  of  the  power  of  the  air,"  Eph.  li.  2  j 
EUid  evil  spirits  are  termed  the  "  rulers  of  the  darkness  of  this  world,"  Eph.  vi.  12. 
5atan  here  summons  a  council,  and  opens  it  as  he  did  in  the  "  Paradise  Lost;"  but  here 
is  not  that  copiousness  and  variety  which  is  in  the  other ;  here  are  not  different  speeches 
and  sentiments  adapted  to  the  different  characters;  it  is  a  council  without  a  debate; 
Satan  is  the  only  speaker :  and  the  author,  as  if  conscious  of  this  defect,  has  artfully 
endeavoured  to  obviate  the  objection,  by  saying  that  their  danger 

Adnyt3  no  long  debate, 
But  must  with  soraetliing  sudden  be  opposed ^ 
and  afterwards. 

No  time  was  then 
For  long  indulgence  to  their  fears  or  grief. 

The  true  reason  is,  he  found  it  impossible  to  exceed  or  equal  the  speeches  in  his  former 
council,  and  therefore  has  assigned  the  best  reason  he  could  for  not  making  any  in  this. 
— Newton. 

They  who  have  been  taught  to  think,  by  the  cant  of  common  critics,  that  this  poem 
is  unworthy  of  the  great  genius  of  Milton,  may  read  the  first  two  speeches  in  it;  this 
of  Satan,  with  which  the  poem  judiciously  opens;  and  that  of  God,  at  ver.  130  of  this 
book. — Jos.  Wabton. 

p  Long  the  decrees  of  Heaven 
Delay,  for  longest  time  to  him  is  short. 
This  observation,  that  "  the  decrees  of  Heaven  are  long  delayed,"  must  be  understood 
as  being  limited  to  this  particular  instance ;  or  to  its  being  sometimes,  not  always  so. 
Why  any  interval  should  ever  occur  between  the  decrees  of  the  Almighty  ard  his  exe- 
cution of  them,  a  reason  is  immediately  subjoined,  which  forms  a  peculiarly  fine  transi- 
tion to  the  succeeding  sentence.  Time  is  as  nothing  to  the  Deity ;  long  and  short 
having,  in  fact,  no  existence  to  a  Being  with  whom  all  duration  is  present :  time  to 
human  beings  has  its  stated  measurement,  and  by  this  Satan  has  just  before  estimated 
it :  ~ 

How  many  ages,  as  the  years  of  men, 
This  universe  we  have  possess'd. 

Time  to  guilty  beings,  human  or  spiritual,  passes  so  quick,  that  the  hour  of  punishment, 
however  protracted,  always  comes  too  soon : — 


426  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  i. 

And  now,  too  soon  for  us,  the  circling  hours 

This  dreaded  time  have  compass'd,  wherein  we 

Must  bide  the  stroke  of  that  long-threaten'd  wound, 

At  least,  if  so  Vee  can ;  and,  by  the  head 

Broken,  be  not  intended  all  our  power 

To  be  infringed,  our  freedom  and  our  being, 

In  this  fair  empire  won  of  earth  and  air  : 

For  this  ill  news  I  bring; «  the  woman's  Seed, 

Destined  to  this,  is  late  of  woman  born  : 

His  birth  to  our  just  fear  gave  no  small  cause; 

But  his  growth  now  to  youth's  full  flower,  displaying 

All  virtue,  grace,  and  wisdom  to  achieve 

Things  highest,  greatest,  multiplies  my  fear. 

Before  him  a  great  prophet,  to  proclaim 

His  coming,  is  sent  harbinger,  who  all 

Invites,  and  in  the  consecrated  stream 

Pretends  to  wash  off  sin,  and  fit  them,  so 

Purified,  to  receive  him  pure ;  "■  or  rather 

To  do  him  honour  as  their  King :  all  come, 

And  he  himself  among  them  was  baptized  ; 

Not  thence  to  be  more  pure,  but  to  receive 

The  testimony  of  Heaven,  that  who  he  is 

Thenceforth  the  nations  may  not  doubt.     I  saw 

The  prophet  do  him  reverence ;  on  him,  rising 

Out  of  the  water.  Heaven  above  the  clouds 

Unfold  her  crystal  doors;'  thence  on  his  head 

A  perfect  dove  descend,*  (whate'er  it  meant) 

And  now,  too  soon  for  us  the  circling  hours 

This  dreaded  time  have  coinpuss'd.  wherein  we 

Must  bide  the  stroke  of  that  long-tnreaten'd  wound. — ^Dunster. 

q  For  this  ill  netos  I  bring,  &c. 
In  the  fourth  act  of  the  "Adamo,"   of  Andreini,  Lucifer  similarly  announces  the 
Incarnation  to  the  demons. — Dunster. 

r  Ptirified,  to  receive  him  pure. 
1  John,  iii.  .3.     "And  every  man  that  hath  this  hope  in  him,  purifieth  himself  even 
as  he  is  pure." — Newton. 

*  Heaven  above  the  clouda 
Unfold  her  crystal  doors. 
It  is  the  same  idea  in  the  "Ode  on  the  Nativity,"  st.  13: — "Ring  out,  ye  crystal 
spheres  :"  and  in  the  Latin  ode,  "  Praesul.  Elien."  ver.  63 : — 

Donee  nitentes  ad  fores 

Ventum  est  Olympi,  et  regiam  crystallinam,  it.c. 

Compare  also  "  Paradise  Lost,"  vi.  771 : — 


Again,  b.  i.  741 : — 


He  on  the  wings  of  seraphs  rode  sublime 
On  the  crystalline  sky. 

Thrown  by  angrr  Jove 
Sheer  o'er  the  crystal  battlements. 


See  also  b.  vi.  756,  860.  Milton's  "  crystal  battlements"  are  in  the  imagery  of  romance : 
the  "crystalline  sphere"  is  from  the  Ptolemaic  or  Gothic  system  of  astronomy,  "Paradise 
Lost,"  iii.  482  :  and  so  perhaps  Spenser,  "  Tears  of  the  Muses :" — 

For  hence  we  mount  aloft  into  the  skie. 

And  look  into  the  crystall  firmament. — T.  Warton. 

'  A  perfect  dove  descend. 
He  had   expressed  it  before,  ver.  30,  "in  likeness  of  a  dove,"  agreeably  to  St. 


Aud  out  of  Heaven  the  sovran  voice  I  heard,— 

This  is  ray  Son  beloved, — in  him  am  pleased. 

His  mother  then  is  mortal,  but  his  Sire 

He  who  obtains  the  monarchy  of  Heaven : 

And  what  will  he  not  do  to  advance  his  Son  ? 

His  first-begot  we  know,  and  sore  have  felt, 

When  his  fierce  thunder  drove  us  to  the  deep," 

Who  this  is  we  must  learn ;  ^  for  man  he  seems 

In  all  his  lineaments ;  though  in  his  face 

The  glimpses  of  his  Father's  glory  shine. 

Ye  see  our  danger  on  the  utmost  edge 

Of  hazard,  which  admits  no  long  debate, 

But  must  with  something  sudden  be  opposed, 

(Not  force,  but  well-couch'd  fraud,  well-woven  snares^) 

Ere  in  the  head  of  nations  he  appear. 

Their  king,  their  leader,  and  supreme  on  earth. 

I,  when  no  other  durst,  sole  undertook 

The  dismal  expedition,"  to  find  out 

And  ruin  Adam ;  and  the  exploit  perform'd 

Successfully  :  a  calmer  voyage  now 

Will  waft  me ;  y  and  the  way,  found  prosperous  once. 

Induces  best  to  hope  of  like  success. 

He  ended,  and  his  words  impression  left 
Of  much  amazement  to  the  infernal  crew, 
Distracted  and  surprised  with  deep  dismay 

Matthew,  "the  Spirit  of  God  descending  like  a  dove,"  iii.  16,  and  to  St  Mark,  "the 
Spirit  like  a  dove  descending  upon  him,"  i.  10.  But  as  Luke  says,  that  "the  Holy 
Ghost  descended  in  a  bodily  shape,"  iii.  22,  the  poet  supposes,  with  Tertullian,  Austin, 
and  others  of  the  fathers,  that  it  was  a  real  dove,  as  the  painters  always  represent  it — 
Nkwtoh. 

a  And  gore  have  felt, 
Wlien  his  fierce  thunder  drove  u«  to  the  deep. 
In  reference  to  the  sublime   description,  in  the  "  Paradise  Lost,"  of  the  Messiah 
driving  the  rebel  angels  out  of  heaven,  b.  vi.  834,  4c. — Dunster. 

^  Who  this  i»  we  must  learn. 

Our  author  favours  the  opinion  of  those  writers,  Ignatius  and  others  among  the 
ancients,  and  Beza  and  others  among  the  moderns,  who  believed  that  the  devil,  though 
he  might  know  Jesus  to  be  some  extraordinary  person,  yet  knew  him  not  to  be  the 
Messiah,  the  Son  of  God. — Newton. 

It  was  requisite  for  the  poet  to  assume  this  opinion,  as  it  is  a  necessary  hinge  on 
which  part  of  tha  poem  turns. — Dunster. 

^  Well-woven  snares. 
Thus  Spenser,  '  Astrophel,'  st  17 : — 

There  his  well-woven  toils,  and  anbtle  trainea 
He  laid,&e. — Dunstkr. 

'  I,  when  no  other  durst,  sole  undertook 
The  dismal  expedition,  Ac. 
The  fear  and  unwillingness  of  the  other  fallen  angels  to  undertake  this  dismal 
expedition,  is  particularly  described  in  the  'Paradise  Lost,'  b.  ii.  420,  Ac. — Dtinstbe. 

7  A  calmer  voyage  now 
Will  waft  me. 
Thus,  in  'Paradise  Lost'  b.  ii.  1041,  where  Satan  begins  to  emerge  out  of  chaos,  it 
is  Bald  the  remainder  of  the  journey  became  so  much  easier, 

That  Satan  with  less  toil,  and  now  with  ease 
WaftB  on  the  calmer  wave. — Dunster. 


42  S  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  i. 

At  these  sad  tidings ;  but  no  time  was  then 
For  long  indulgence  to  their  fears  or  grief: 
Unanimous  they  all  commit  the  care 
And  management  of  this  main  enterprise 
To  him,  their  great  dictator,^  whose  attempt 
At  first  against  mankind  so  well  had  thrived 
In  Adam's  overthrow,  and  led  their  march 
From  hell's  deep-vaulted  den  to  dwell  in  light, 
Regents,  and  potentates,  and  kings,  yea,  gods, 
Of  many  a  pleasant  realm  ana  province  wide. 
So  to  the  coast  of  Jordan  *  he  directs 
His  easy  steps,*  girded  with  snaky  wiles," 
Where  he  might  likeliest  find  this  new-declared, 
This  man  of  men,  attested  Son  of  God, 
Temptation  and  all  guile  on  him  to  try , 
So  to  subvert  whom  he  suspected  raised 
To  end  his  reign  on  earth,  so  long  enjoy'd : 
But,  contrary,  unweeting  he  fulfiU'd 
The  purposed  counsel,  preordain'd  and  fix'd, 
Of  the  Most  High;  who,  in  full  frequence  bright 
Of  angels,  thus  to  Gabriel  smiling  spake  :  * 

»  To  Mm,  their  great  dictator. 
Milton  applies  this  title  very  properly  to  Satan  in  his  present  situation;  as  the 
authority  he  is  now  vested  with  is  quite  dictatorial,  and  the  expedition  on  which  he  is 
going  of  the  utmost  consequence  to  the  fallen  angels. — Thtek. 

»  To  the  coast  of  Jordan. 
The  wilderness,  where  our  Saviour  underwent  his  forty  days'  temptation,  was  on  the 
same  bank  of  Jordan  where  the  baptism  of  John  was ;  St.  Luke  witnessing  it,  that 
Jesus  being  now  baptized,  "returned  from  Jordan." — Newton. 

b  His  easy  steps. 
In  reference,  as  Dr.  Newton  has  observed,  to  the  calmness  or  easiness  of  his  present 
expedition,  compared  with  the  danger  and  diificulty  of  his  former  one  to  ruin  mankind. 
Accordingly  Satan  in  the  conclusion  of  his  speech  had  said, 

A  cnlmcr  voyage  now 
Shall  waft  me. — ^Dunster. 

e  Girded  with  snaky  wiles. 

"Girded  with  snaky  wiles"  alludes  to  the  habits  of  sorcerers  and  necromancers,  who 
are  represented  in  some  prints  as  girded  about  the  middle  with  the  skins  of  snakes  and 
serpents. — Newton. 

This  being  "  girt  about  with  a  girdle  of  snakes,"  puts  us  in  mind,  says  Warburton, 
of  the  instrument  of  the  Fall.  Surely  this  interpretation  is  a  far-sought  and  groundless 
refinement;  as  is  also  the  remark  on  ver.  .310,  of  the  wild  beasts  growing  mild  at  our 
Saviour's  appearance  as  a  mark  of  the  returning  paradisiacal  state. — Jos.  Warton. 

"Girded"  here  seems  used  only  in  a  metaphorical  sense;  as  in  Scripture,  the  Chria- 

tian,  properly  armed,  is  described  having  his  "loins  girt  about  with  truth,"  Ephes.  vi, 

14.     "  Girded  with  snaky  wiles"  is  equivalent  to  the  "  dolis  instructus"  of  Virgil,  Mn. 

iL  152.    Thus,  also,  at  the  beginning  of  the  third  book  of  this  poem,  Satan  is  described. 

At  length  collecting  all  his  serpent  wiles. — Dttnstee. 

"1  Thus  to  Gabriel  smiling  spake. 

This  speech  is  properly  addressed  to  Gabriel,  among  the  angels;  as  he  seems  to  have 
been  the  angel  particularly  employed  in  the  embassies  and  transactions  relating  to  the 
Gospel.  Gabriel  was  sent  to  inform  Daniel  of  the  famous  prophecy  of  the  seventy 
weeks;  Gabriel  notified  the  conception  of  John  the  Baptist  to  his  father  Zachanas, 
and  of  our  blessed  Saviour  to  his  Virgin  Mother.  The  Jewish  Rabbis  say  that 
Michael  was  the  minister  of  severity,  but  Gabriel  of  mercy:  accordingly,  our  poet 
makes  Gabriel  the  guardian  angel  of  Paradise,  and  employs  Michael  to  expel  our  first 


BOOK  I.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  429 

Gabriel,  this  day  by  proof  thou  shalt  behold, 
Thou  and  all  angels  conversant  on  earth 
With  man  or  men's  affairs,  how  I  begin 
To  verify  that  solemn  message,  late 
On  which  I  sent  thee  to  the  Virgin  pure 
In  Galilee,  that  she  should  bear  a  son. 
Great  in  renown,  and  call'd  the  Son  of  God; 
Then  told'st  her,*  doubting  how  these  things  could  be 
To  her  a  virgin,  that  on  her  should  come 
The  Holy  Ghost,  and  the  power  of  the  Highest 
O'ershadow  her.     This  man,  born  and  now  upgrown, 
To  show  him  worthy  of  his  birth  divine 
And  high  prediction,  henceforth  I  expose 
To  Satan  :  let  him  tempt  and  now  assay 
His  utmost  subtlety  j  because  he  boasts 
And  vaunts  of  his  great  cunning  to  the  throng 
Of  his  apostacy  :  *■  he  might  have  learnt 

parents  out  of  Paradise  :  and  for  the  same  reason  this  speech  is  directed  to  Gabriel  in 
particular. — N  e  wton. 

Ta^so,  speaking  of  Gabriel,  who  is  the  messenger  of  the  Deity  to  Godfrey,  in  the 
opening  of  the  '  Gierusalemme  Liberata,'  says  : — 

E  tra  Din  questi  e  I'anime  miglion 
Interprele  fedel,  nuncio  giocondo  : 
Gill  i  decreti  del  ciel  porta,  ed  al  cielo 
Riporta  de  mortali  i  preghi,  e  'I  zelo. — ^Dunbtbr 

Smiling  is  here  no  casual  expletive  :  it  is  a  word  of  infinitely  fine  effect,  and  is  par- 
ticularly meant  to  contrast  the  description  of  Satan,  in  the  preceding  part  of  the  book, 
where,  in  his  "gloomy  consistory"  of  infernal  peers  it  is  said, 
With  looks  aghast  and  sad  he  thus  bespake. 

The  benevolent  smile  of  the  Deity  is  finely  described  by  Virgil,  '^n.'  i.  254: — 

Olli  subridftns  hominum  sator  atque  Deorum, 

Vultu,  quo  coelum  tempestatesque  seienat. — Dvrstkr. 

Satan's  infernal  council  is  briefly  but  finely  assembled ;  his  speech  is  admirable,  and 
the  effect  of  it  is  strongly  depicted.  This  is  strikingly  contrasted  by  the  succeeding 
beautiful  speech  of  the  Deity  surrounded  by  his  angels ;  his  speech  to  them,  and  the 
triumphant  hymn  of  the  celestial  choir.  Indeed  the  whole  opening  of  this  poem  is 
executed  in  so  masterly  a  manner,  that,  making  allowance  for  a  certain  wish  to  com- 
press, which  is  palpably  visible,  very  few  parts  of '  Paradise  Lost'  can  in  any  respect 
claim  a  pre-eminence. — Dunster. 

e  Then  told'st  her. 
Milton  sometimes,  from  a  wish  to  compress,  latinises,  so  as  to  obscure  and  confuse 
his  language  considerably.  The  sense  which  he  intends  here,  is  plainly  "thou  told'st 
her,"  Ac. ;  so  that  "told'st"  is  used  here  as  equivalent  to  the  Latin  dixiati,  with  its 
pronominal  nominative  understood ;  but  which  our  language  positively  requires  to  be 
expressed,  unless  where  the  verb  is  connected  by  a  conjunction  with  some  other  verb 
dependent  on  the  same  pronoun.  He  has  adopted  the  same  mode  of  writing  in  other 
places ;  particularly  ver.  221  of  this  book. 

Yet  held  it  more  humane,  &c. 
where  the  passage  is  perfectly  confused  for  want  of  the  pronoun  /.     See  also  ver.  85  of 
this  book.    We  may  in  this  respect  apply  to  our  author  what  Cicero  has  said  of  the 
ancient  orators : — "  Grandes  erant  verbis,  crebri  sententiis,  compressione  rerum  breves, 
et  ob  earn  ipsam  causam  interdum  subobscuri,"  Brutus,  29,  ed.  Proust — Dunstsb. 

f  Because  he  boasts 
And  vaunts  of  his  great  cunning  to  the  throng 
Of  his  apostacy. 
This  alludes  to  what  Satan  had  just  before  said  to  his  companions,  ver.  100  :— 
I.  when  no  other  durst,  sole  undertook,  &c. — Thter 


430  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  I. 


Less  overweening,  since  he  fail'd  in  Job,' 

Whose  constant  perseverance  overcame 

Whate'er  his  cruel  malice  could  invent. 

He  now  sha]i  know  I  can  produce  a  man, 

Of  female  seed,  far  abler  to  resist 

All  his  solicitations,  and  at  length 

All  his  vast  force,  and  drive  him  back  to  hell; 

Winning,  by  conquest,  what  the  first  man  lost, 

By  fallacy  surprised.     But  first  I  mean 

To  exercise  him  in  the  wilderness  : 

There  he  shall  first  lay  down  the  rudiments 

Of  his  great  warfare,"*  ere  I  send  him  forth 

To  conquer  Sin  and  Death,  the  two  grand  foes, 

By  humiliation  and  strong  suiferance  : 

His  weakness  shall  o'ercome  Satanic  strength,* 

And  all  the  world,-*  and  mass  of  sinful  flesh ; 

That  all  the  angels  and  ethereal  powers. 

They  now,  and  men  hereafter,  may  discern. 

From  what  consummate  virtue  I  have  chose 

This  perfect  man,  by  merit  call'd  my  Son, 

To  earn  salvation  for  the  sons  of  men." 

R  Fail'd  in  Job. 
See  the  opening  of  Job,  whom  God  permitted  Satan  to  try  :  a  noble  snbject  for  an 
epic,  which  Milton  seems  once  to  have  thought  of.    Young's  attempt  is  a  miserable 
failure. 

h  The  rudiments 
Of  hi»  great  warfare. 
Virg.  '^n.'xi.  166. 

Primitive  juvenis  miserse,  bcUique  propinqui 
Dura  rudimenta. 
And  Statius,  '  Sylv.'  v.  ii.  3. 

Quod  8i  militise  jam  to,  puer  mclyte,  primse 
Clara  rudimenta,  et  castrorum  dulce  vocaret 
Auspicium. — Dckstbr. 

'  Hit  weakness  shall  o'ercome  Satanic  strength. 

Thus  in  the  first  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians,  c.  i.  ver.  27 : — "  And  Ood  hath  chosen 
the  weak  things  of  the  world  to  confound  the  things  which  are  mighty." 

But  the  proper  reference  is  here  more  probably  to  the  second  verse  of  the  eighth 
Psalm : — "  Out  of  the  mouth  of  babes  and  sucltlings  hast  thou  ordained  strength,  be- 
cause of  thine  enemies :  and  that  thou  mightest  still  the  enemy  and  the  avenger."  This 
Psalm  is  considered  by  commentators  as  a  xf/aXitdt  intvUios :  bishop  Patrick  supposes  it 
to  have  been  composed  by  David  after  his  victory  over  Goliath;  "  which,*'  he  adds,  "was 
a  lively  emblem  of  Christ's  conquest  over  our  great  enemy." — Dunsteb. 
J  And  all  the  world. 

**I  hare  overcome  the  world,"  John  xvi.  33. — Dcnster. 

k  That  all  the  angels  and  ethereal  powers, 
They  note,  and  men  hereafter,  may  discern, 
From  what  consummate  virtue  T  have  chose 
This  perfect  man,  by  merit  call'd  my  Son, 
To  earn  salvation  for  the  sons  of  men. 
Not  a  word  is  here  said  of  the  Son  of  God  but  what  a  Socinian  would  allow.    His 
divine  nature  is  artfully  concealed  under  a  partial  and  ambiguous  representation :  and 
the  angels  are  first  to  learn  the  mystery  of  the  incarnation  from  that  important  conflict, 
which  is  the  subject  of  this  poem  :  they  are  seemingly  invited  to  behold  the  triumphs  of 
the  man  Christ  Jesus  over  the  enemy  of  mankind;  and  these  surprise  them  with  the 
glorious  discovery  of  the  God, 

enshrined 
In  fleshly  tabernacle  and  human  form. 


BOOK  I.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  431 

So  spake  the  Eternal  Father,  and  all  heaven 
Admiring  stood  a  space ; '  then  into  hymns 
Burst  forth,  and  in  celestial  measures  moved, 
Circling  the  throne  and  singing,"'  while  the  hand 
Sung  with  the  voice,"  and  this  the  argument : 

Victory  and  triumph  to  the  Son  of  God, 
Now  entering  his  great  duel,"  not  of  arm?. 

The  Father,  speaking  to  his  Eternal  Word,  *  Paradise  Lost,'  b.  iii.  308,  on  his  generous 
undertakings  for  mankind,  saith, 

and  hast  been  found 
By  merit,  more  than  birthright,  Son  of  God.^CALTON. 

On  a  frequent  perusal  and  thorough  consideration  of  this  passage,  I  cannot  forbear 
being  of  Mr.  Calton's  opinion ;  that  there  is  not  a  word  here  said  of  the  Son  of  God, 
but  what  a  Socinian,  or  at  least  an  Arian,  would  allow.  The  same  observation  may  be 
made  on  some  other  remarkable  passages  of  this  poem. — Jos.  Wauton. 

'  So  spake  the  Eternal  Father,  and  all  heaven 
Admiring  stood  a  space. 
We  cannot  but  notice  the  great  art  of  the  poet,  in  setting  forth  the  dignity  and 
importance  of  his  subject.  He  represents  all  beings  as  interested  one  way  or  other  in 
the  event.  A  council  of  devils  is  summoned ;  an  assembly  of  angels  is  held  :  Satan  is 
the  speaker  in  the  one ;  the  Almighty  in  the  other.  Satan  expresses  his  diffidence,  but 
atill  resolves  to  make  trial  of  this  Son  of  God;  the  Father  declares  his  purpose  of 
proving  and  illustrating  his  Son.  The  infernal  crew  are  distracted  and  surprised  with 
deep  dismay ;  all  heaven  stands  awhile  in  admiration.  The  fiends  are  silent  through 
fear  and  grief;  the  angels  burst  forth  into  singing  with  joy  and  the  assured  hope  of 
success;  and  their  attention  is  thus  engaged,  the  better  to  engage  the  attention  of  the 
reader. — Newton. 

oi  Then  into  hymns 
Burst  forth,  and  in  celestial  measures  waved. 
Circling  the  throne  and  singing. 
Milton,  we  may  suppose,  had  here  in  his  mind  the  ancient  chorus.     In  his  original 
plan  of  the  'Paradise  Lost,'  under  a  dramatic  form,  he  proposed  to  introduce  a  chorus 
of  angels.     The  drama  seems  to  have  been  his  favourite  species  of  poetry,  and  that 
which  particularly  caught  and  occupied  his  imagination  :  so  at  least  we  may  judge  from 
the  numerous  plans  of  tragedies  which  he  left  behind  him.     Indeed  he  has  frequent 
allusions  to  dramatic  compositions  in  all  his  works. — Dunster. 

Milton,  perhaps,  at  this  time,  had  in  Blind  Dante's  representation  of  the  angels 
formed  into  choirs,  and  singing  praises  to  the  Eternal  Father,  in  his  '  Paradiso,'  c. 
xxviii. — Todd. 

n  While  the  hand 
Sung  with  the  voice. 
We  have  nearly  the  same  phrase  in  Tibullus,  iii.  iv.  41 : — 

Sed  postquam  fuerant  digiti  cum  voce  locuti, 
Edidit  haec  dulci  tristia  verba  modo. 

TUe  word  hand  is  used  again  in  this  poem,  b.  iv.  254,  to  distinguish  instrumental 
harmony  from  vocal : — 

There  thou  shall  hear  and  learn  the  secret  power 
Of  harmony,  in  tunes  and  numbers  hit 
By  voice  or  hand. 

Also  in  the  '  Arcades,'  v.  77 : — 

If  my  inferiour  hand  or  voice  could  hit 
Inimitable  sounds. — Calton. 

So  in  Lucretius,  iv,  588 : — 

Chordgrumque  sonos  fieri,  dulcesque  querelas, 
Tibia  quas  fundit  digitis  pulsata  canentum. 

Cano  signifies  not  only  "to  sing,"  but  also  to  "perform  on  any  instrument."  Thus, 
Ovid, '  Ex.  Pont'  l.  i.  39  :— 

Ante  deum  Martem  cornu  tibicen  adunco 
Cum  canit. — Dunster. 

o  Now  entering  his  great  duel. 
If  it  be  not  a  contradiction,  it  is  at  least  inaccurate  in  Milton,  to  make  an  angel  say 


432  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  i. 

But  to  vanquish  p  by  wisdom  hellish  wiles  1 
The  Father  knows  the  Son ;  therefore  secure 
Ventures  his  filial  virtue,  though  untried, 
Against  whate'er  may  tempt,  whate'er  seduce, 
Allure,  or  terrify,  or  undermine. 
Be  frustrate,  all  ye  stratagems  of  hell; 
And,  devilish  machinations,  come  to  naught ! 

So  they  in  heaven  their  odes  and  vigils  tuned : 
Meanwhile  the  Son  of  God,«  who  yet  some  days 
Lodged  in  Bethabara,  where  John  baptized,' 

in  '  Paradise  Lost,'  b.  xii.  386  : — "  Dream  not  of  their  fight  as  of  a  duel ;"  and  afterwards 
to  make  the  angels  express  it  here  in  the  metaphor  of  a  duel. — Newton. 

There  is,  I  think,  a  meanness  in  the  customary  sense  of  the  word  "  duel,"  that  makes 
it  unworthy  of  these  speakers,  and  of  this  occasion.  The  Italian  duello,  if  I  am  not 
mistaken,  bears  a  stronger  sense,  and  this  I  suppose  Milton  had  in  view. — Thyer. 

Milton  might  rather  be  supposed  to  look  to  the  Latin  ;  where  duellum  is  equivalent 
to  helium.  See  Hor.  Ep.  I.  ii.  6,  and  Ode  iv.  xiv.  18.  But  "duel"  here  is  used  by  our 
author  in  its  most  common  acceptation  of  single  combat;  and  "now  entering  his  great 
duel"  means,  "  now  entering  the  lists  to  prove,  in  personal  combat  with  his  avowed 
antagonist  and  appellant,  the  reality  of  his  own  divinity."  See  verse  130  of  this  book. 
In  the  opening  of  this  poem  we  may  notice  allusions  to  the  duel,  or  trial  by  combat. 
See  verse  5,  Ac;  and  verse  8 — 11.  Indeed,  the  'Paradise  Regained'  absolutely  exhi- 
bits the  temptation  of  our  blessed  Saviour  in  the  light  of  a  duel,  or  personal  contest, 
between  him  and  the  arch-enemy  of  mankind;  in  which  our  Lord,  by  his  divine 
patience,  fortitude,  and  resignation  to  the  will  of  his  heavenly  Father,  vanquishes  the 
wiles  of  the  devil.  He  thereby  attests  his  own  superiority  over  his  antagonist,  and  his 
ability  to  restore  the  lost  happiness  of  mankind,  by  regaining  Paradise  for  them,  and 
by  rescuing  and  redeeming  them  from  that  power  which   had  led  them  captive. — 

DUNSTER. 

p  But  to  vanquish. 

Milton  lays  the  accent  on  the  last  syllable  in  "vanquish,"  as  elsewhere  in  "triumph; 
and  in  many  places  he  imitates  the  Latin  and  Greek  prosody,  and  makes  a  rowel  long 
before  two  consonants. — Jortin. 

I  scan  this  line  differently,  so  as  not  to  lay  the  accent  on  the  last  syllable : — 

BOt  to  I  vanquish  by  |  wTsdOm  |  hellish  |  wiles. 

q  So  they  in  heaven  their  odea  and  vigils  tuned  : 
Meanwhile  the  Son  of  God. 
How  nearly  does  the  poet  here  adhere  to  the  same  way  of  speaking  which  he  had 
used  in  '  Paradise  Lost,'  on  the  same  occasion,  b.  iii.  416  ! — 

Thus  they  in  heaven,  above  the  starry  sphere, 
Their  liappy  hours  in  joy  and  hymning  spent. 
Meanwhile  upon  the  firm  opacoiis  globe 
Of  this  round  world,  Sec. — Thtkr. 

Vigils  tuned. — This  is  a  very  uncommon  expression,  and  not  easy  to  be  understood  ; 
unless  we  suppose,  that  by  vigils,  the  poet  means  those  songs  which  they  sung  while 
they  kept  their  watches.  Singing  of  hymns  is  their  manner  of  keeping  their  wakes 
in  heaven;  and  I  see  no  reason  why  their  evening  service  may  not  be  called  vigiis,  as 
their  morning  e?rvice  is  called  matins. — Newton. 

The  evening  service  in  the  Roman  catholic  churches  is  called  vespers.  There  was 
formerly  a  nocturnal  service,  called  vigils,  or  nocturns,  which  was  chanted  and  accom- 
panied with  music.  Ducange  explains  vigilae,  "ipsum  oflBcium  nocturnum  quod  in 
vigiliis  nocturnis  olim  decantabatur."- — The  old  writers  often  speak  of  the  vigiliarum 
cantica. — Dunster. 

«■  Who  yet  some  days 
Lodged  in  Bethabara,  where  John  baptized. 

The  poet,  I  presume,  said  this  upon  the  authority  of  the  first  chapter  of  St.  John's 
Gospel,  where  certain  particulars,  which  happened  several  days  together,  are  related 
concerning  the  Son  of  God;  and  it  is  said,  ver.  28 — "These  things  were  done  in  Betha- 
poxa  beyond  Jordan,  where  John  was  baptizing." — ^Newton. 


BOOK  I.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  433 

Musing,  and  much  revolving  in  his  breast/ 

How  best  the  mighty  work  he  might  begin 

Of  Saviour  to  mankind,  and  which  way  first 

Publish  his  godlike  office  now  mature, 

On,e  day  forth  walk'd  alone,  the  Spirit  leading  j 

And  his  deep  thoughts,*  the  better  to  converse 

With  solitude,"  till,  far  from  track  of  men,'^ 

Thought  following  thought,  and  step  by  step  led  on, 

He  enter'd  now  the  bordering  desert  wild ; 

And,  with  dark  shades  and  rocks  environ'd  round,'* 

»  Much  revolving  in  his  breast. 
Virg.  *^n.'  X.  890: — "Multa  movens  animo." — Dunstek. 

'  One  day  forth  walk'd  alone,  the  Spirit  leading } 
And  his  deep  thoughts. 
In  what  fine  light  does  Milton  here  place  that  text  of  Scripture,  whore  it  is  said  that 
"Jesus   was  led  up  of  the  Spirit  into  the  wilderness!"     He  adheres  strictly  to  the 
inspired  historian,  and  at  the  same  time  gives  it  a  turn  which  is  extremely  poetical  — 
Thyer. 

■^  The  better  to  converse 
With  solitude. 
So,  in  '  Comus,'  v.  376  : — 

Wisdom's  self 
Oft  geeks  to  sweet  retired  solitude. — Dvnster. 

But  the  poet  here  perhaps  alludes  to  the  sacred  text,  where  it  is  said  of  our  Saviotir, 
that,  "  in  the  morning,  rising  up  a  great  while  before  day,  he  went  out,  and  departed 
into  a  solitary  place,  and  there  prayed,"  Mark  i.  35. — Todd. 

T  Far  from,  track  of  men. 

Sophocl.  '  Philoct.'  ver.  493  : — Xupij  avdp<oiro>v  arifiuv. — Dtjnster, 
w  He  enter'd  now  the  bordering  desert  wild  ; 

And,  tcith  dark  shades  and  rocks  environ'd  round. 

The  wilderness  in  which  John  "preached  the  gospel,"  and  where  "Jerusalem  and  all 
Judea,  and  all  the  region  round  about  Jordan,  went  out  to  him,  and  were  baptized  in 
Jordan,"  we  are  expressly  told  by  St.  Matthew,  iii.  1,  was  "the  wilderness  of  Judea; 
which  extended  from  the  river  Jordan  all  along  the  western  side  of  the  Asphaltic  Lake, 
or  Dead  Sea.  The  different  parts  of  this, wilderness  had  different  names,  from  the 
neighbouring  cities  or  mountains :  thus,  1  Sam  xxiii.  14,  it  is  called  the  "wilderness  of 
Ziph,"  and  xxiv.  1,  the  wilderness  of  Engaddi."  The  word  in  Scripture  which  in  our  ver- 
sion is  rendered  "  wilderness"  or  "  desert,"  does  not  mean  a  country  absolutely  barren 
or  uninhabited,  but  only  uncultivated.  Indeed,  in  the  fifteenth  chapter  of  Joshua, 
where  the  cities  of  Judah  are  enumerated,  we  read  of  six  cities  "in  the  wilderness;" 
of  these,  Engaddi  stood  nearest  to  the  river  Jordan,  and  the  northern  end  of  the  Eead 
Sea.  The  Desert,  where  Milton,  following  what  could  be  collected  from  Scripture,  now 
places  our  Lord,  we  may  suppose  then  to  be  that  part  of  the  wilderness  of  Judea  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Engaddi.  The  wilderness,  or  uncultivated  parts  of  Judea,  appear 
chiefly  to  have  been  forests  and  woods,  loca  saltuosa  et  sylvosn.  (See  Reland's  '  Pales- 
tina,'  1.  i.  c.  56,  "  de  locis  incultis  et  sylvis  Palaestinae.")  About  Engaddi  also  there 
were  many  mountains  and  rocks.  David  is  described,  1  Sam.  xxiii.  29,  dwelling  "in 
strong  holds  at  Engaddi ;"  and  of  Saul,  when  in  pursuit  of  him,  xxiv.  2,  it  is  said  that 
"  he  went  to  see  David  and  his  men  upon  the  rocks  of  the  wild  goats."  The  "  border- 
ing desert"  then  is  the  rocky  uncultivated  forest-country  nearest  to  that  part  of  Jordan 
where  John  had  been  baptizing;  and  our  Lord  is  accordingly,  with  the  greatest  accu- 
racy of  description,  there  represented,  as  entering 

DOW  the  bordering  desert  wild, 
And  with  dark  shades  and  rocks  environ'd  round. 

It  should  be  observed,  that  D'Anville,  in  the  map  of  Palestine,  in  his  'Geographie 
Ancisnne,'  has  laid  down  Bethabara  wrong.  He  places  it  towards  the  northern  end  of 
that  part  of  Jordan  which  flows  from  the  lake  of  Geneza.ret  into  the  Dead  Sea:  and  on 
the  eastern  bank  of  the  river;  almost  opposite  Enon.  But  it  is  nearly  certain,  that  it 
really  stood,  as  bishop  Pearce  supposes,  (see  his  note  on  John  i.  28,)  at  the  southern 
end  of  the  river  Jordan,  on  the  western  bank;  and  within  a  little  distance  of  the  wil- 
derness, being  only  a  very  few  miles  from  the  Dead  Sea. — Dunsteb. 


434  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  i. 

His  holy  meditations  thus  pursued  : 

0,  what  a  multitude  of  thoughts  at  once 
Awaken' d  in  me  swarm,  while  I  consider 
What  from  within  I  feel  myself,  and  hear 
What  from  without  comes  often  to  my  ears, 
111  sorting  with  my  present  state  compared ! 
When  I  was  yet  a  child,  no  childish  play 
To  me  was  pleasing ;  *  all  my  mind  was  set 
Serious  to  learn  and  know,  and  thence  to  do, 
What  might  be  public  good ;  myself  I  thought 
Born  to  that  end,  born  to  promote  all  truth,y 
All  righteous  things  :  therefore,  above  my  years, 
The  law  of  God  I  read,  and  found  it  sweet. 
Made  it  my  whole  delight,*  and  in  it  grew 
To  such  perfection,  that,  ere  yet  my  age  '^ 

Had  measured  twice  six  years,"  at  our  great  feast 
I  went  into  the  temple,  there  to  hear 

The  teachers  of  our  law,  and  to  .propose  *■ 

What  might  improve  my  knowledge  or  their  own ; 
And  was  admired  by  all :  ^  yet  this  not  all 
To  which  my  spirit  aspired ;  victorious  deeds 
Flamed  in  my  heart,  heroic  acts;  one  while 
To  rescue  Israel  from  the  Roman  yoke  j 
Then  to  subdue  and  quell,  o'er  all  the  earth, 

»  When  I  was  yet  a  child,  no  childish  play 
To  me  was  pleasing. 
How  finely  and  consistently,  as  Mr.  Thyer  observes,  does  Milton  here  imagine  the 
youthful  meditations  of  our  Saviour !  Dr.  Jortin  was  of  opinion,  that  Milton  might 
here  allude  to  Callimaehus's  account  of  Jupiter's  infantine  disposition,  '  Hymn  in  Jov.* 
66.  Dr.  Newton  produced  a  similar  description  of  Demophilus  by  Pindar,  '  Pyth.'  Od. 
V.  ir.  501;  and  Mr.  Dunster  refers  to  an  apposite  passage  in  Plutarch's  'Life  of  Cato.' 
But  the  conclusion,  made  by  Dr.  Newton,  still  applies  : — "  Our  author  mighl  allude  to 
those  passages,  but  he  certainly  did  allude  to  the  words  of  the  apostle,  1  Cor.  xiii.  11, 
only  inverting  the  thought '  When  I  was  a  child,  I  spake  as  a  child,' "  &c. — Todd. 

If  we  may  be  allowed  to  apply  these  words  of  our  Saviour  to  a  mere  uninspired  being, 
I  may  call  to  recollection,  that  this  was  said  of  our  poet  Gray,  as  well  as  of  Milton 
himself. 

y  Myself  I  thought 
Bom  to  that  end,  horn  to  promote  all  truth. 
Alluding  to  our  Saviour's  words,  John  xviii.  37  : — "  To  this  end  was  I  bom,  and  for 
this  cause  came  I  into  the  world,  that  I  should  bear  witness  unto  the  truth." — Newtoic. 

«  The  law  of  Ood  I  read,  and  found  it  sweet, 
Made  it  my  whole  delight, 
"  How  sweet  are  thy  words  unto  my  taste  !  yea,  sweeter  than  honey  to  my  month !" 
Psalm  cxix.  103  : — "  And  his  delight  is  in  the  law  of  the  Lord :  and  in  his  law  doth  he 
meditate  day  and  night,"  Psalm  i.  2. — Dunster. 

a  Ere  yet  my  age 
Had  measured  twice  six  years. 
The  following  verses  of  Statins  bear  a  resemblance,  not  only  to  the  immediate  pa». 
sage,  but  also  to  some  of  the  preceding  lines,  '  Syl.'  v.  ii.  12  : — 

Octonos  bis  jam  tibi  circuit  annos 
Vita  :  sed  angustis  animus  robustior  annis, 
Succumbitque  oneri,  et  mentem  sua  non  capit  eetas. — Dvnstkk. 

•>  And  was  admired  by  all, 
"  And  all  that  heard  him  were  astonished  at  his  understanding  and  answers,"  Ltike 
ii.  47. — Newton 


BOOK  I.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  435 

Brute  violence  and  proud  tyrannic  power," 
Till  truth  were  freed,  and  equity  restored  : 
Yet  held  it  more  humane,  more  heavenly,  first* 
By  winning  words  to  conquer  willing  hearts," 
And  make  persuasion  do  the  work  of  fear ; 
At  least  to  try,  and  teach  the  erring  soul, 
Not  wilfully  misdoing,  but  unaware 
Misled  ;  the  stubborn  only  to  subdue. 
These  growing  thoughts  my  mother  soon  perceiving, 
By  words  at  times  cast  forth,  inly  rejoiced,' 
And  said  to  me  apart : — High  are  thy  thoughts, 
0  Son,  but  nourish  them,  and  let  them  soar  " 

To  what  highth  sacred  virtue  and  true  worth 
Can  raise  them,  though  above  example  high  : 
By  matchless  deeds  express  thy  matchless  Sire. 
For  know,  thou  art  no  son  of  mortal  man, 
-  Though  men  esteem  thee  low  of  parentage  j 
Thy  Father  is  the  Eternal  King  who  rules 
All  heaven  and  earth,  angels  abd  sons  of  men  : 
A  messenger  from  God  foretold  thy  birth 
Conceived  in  me  a  virgin ;  he  foretold 
Thou  shouldst  be  great,  and  sit  on  David's  throne. 
And  of  thy  kingdom  there  should  be  no  end.* 
At  thy  nativity,  a  glorious  quire 
Of  angels,  in  the  fields  of  Bethlehem,  sung 

c  Then  to  subdue  and  quell,  o'er  all  the  earth, 
Brute  violence  and  proud  tyrannic  power. 
Milton  here  carries  his  republican  principles  to  the  greatest  height,  in  supposing  the 
overthrow  of  all  monarchy  to  have  been  one  of  the  objects  of  our  Lord's  early  contem- 
plations.    We  may  compare  his  '  Samson  Agonistes/  v.  1268,  Ac. — DnNSTER. 

d  Yet  held  it  more  humane,  more  heavenly,  firat. 
The  true  spirit  of  toleration  breathes  in  these  lines ;  and  the  sentiment  is  very  fitly 
put  into  the  mouth  of  him,  who  "  came  not  to  destroy  men's  lives,  but  to  save  them." — 
Newton. 

e  By  winning  words  to  conquer  willing  hearts, 

Virgil,  '  Georg.'  iv.  561 : — 

Victorque  volentes 
Per  populoB  dat  jura. — Jortin. 

Dr.  Newton  has  commended  the  alliteration  of  w's  in  this  line.  Alliteration,  not  too 
frequently  repeated,  undoubtedly  gives  sometimes  force  and  energy  to  a  line ;  but  surely 
several  of  our  late  writers  carry  it  to  a  nauseous  and  unwarrantable  length.  Of  aU 
Wi iters,  Dryden  seems  to  be  most  happy  in  the  temperate  and  proper  use  of  allitera- 
0  n  ;  but  he  has  scarcely  ever  more  than  three  words  in  a  line  that  begin  with  the 
bame  letter. — Jos.  Warton. 

f  Inly  rejoiced. 
Virgil,  '^n.'i.  602:— 

Latonae  taciturn  pertentant  gaudia  pectus. — Jortir. 
The  reader  should  recollect,  that  the  occasion  of  the  above  verse,  which  is  finely 
descriptive  of  maternal  delight,  was  the  distinguishing  personal  grace  and  divine  appera- 
ance  of  Diana  on  the  banksof  Eurotas,  surrounded  by  her  nymphs ;  among  whom 

Ilia  pharctram 
Pert  humero,  g^adiensque  Deas  supereminet  omnes. — Dunster. 

s  He  foretold, 
Thou  shouldst  he  great,  and  sit  on  David's  throne. 
And  of  thy  kingdom  there  should  be  no  end. 
See  Luke  i.  32;  33. — Dunster. 


436  PARADISE  REGAINED,  [book  i. 

To  shepherds,  watching  at  their  folds  by  night, •* 

And  told  them  the  Messiah  now  was  born, 

Where  they  might  see  him,  and  to  thee  they  c&me, 

Directed  to  the  manger  where  thou  lay'st. 

For  in  the  inn  was  left  no  better  room  : 

A  star,  not  seen  before,  in  heaven  appearing, 

Guided  the  wise  men  thither  from  the  east. 

To  honour  thee  with  incense,  myrrh,  and  gold;' 

By  whose  bright  course  led  on  they  found  the  place, 

Affirming  it  thy  star,  new-graven  in  heaven, 

By  which  they  knew  thee  King  of  Israel  born. 

Just  Simeon  and  prophetick  Anna,-*  warn'd 

By  vision,  found  thee  in  the  temple,  and  spake, 

Before  the  altar  and  the  vested  priest,^ 

Like  things  of  thee  to  all  that  present  stood. — 

This  having  heard,'  straight  I  again  revolved 

V 

h  At  thy  nativity,  a  glorioiia  quire 
Of  angels,  in  the  fields  of  Bethlehem,  sung 
To  shepherds,  watching  at  their  folds  by  night,  &0. 
See  '  Paradise  Lost,'  b.  xii.  364 : 

His  place  of  birth  a  solemn  angel  tells 

To  simple  shepherds,  keeping  watch  by  night; 

They  gladly  thither  haste,  and  by  a  quire 

Of  squadron'd  angels  hear  his  carol  sung. — ^DvNtTXR. 

'  A  star,  not  seen  before,  in  heaven  appearing, 
Guided  the  wise  men  thither  from  the  east, 
To  honour  thee  with  incense,  myrrh,  and  gold. 
So  in  '  Paradise  Lost/  b.  xii.  360  : — 

Yet  at  his  birth  a  star, 
Unseen  before  in  heaven,  proclaims  him  come, 
And  guides  the  eastern  sages,  who  inquire 
His  place,  to  offer  incense,  myrrh,  and  gold. — ^Dvnbter. 

J  Just  Simeon  and  prophetick  Anna. 

It  may  not  be  improper  to  remark  how  strictly  our  author  adheres  to  the  Scripture 
history,  not  only  in  the  particulars  which  he  relates,  but  also  in  the  very  epithets  which 
he  aflBxes  to  the  persons ;  as  here  "just  Simeon,"  because  it  is  said,  Luke  ii.  25,  "  and 
the  same  man  was  just:"  and  "prophetick  Anna,"  because  it  is  said,  Luke  ii.  36,  "and 
there  was  one  Anna,  a  prophetess."  The  like  accuracy  may  be  observed  in  all  the  rest 
of  this  speech. — Newton. 

k  Tlie  vested  priest. 

The  epithet  "vested"  is  singularly  proper,  because  the  vestments  of  the  Jewish  priest 
were  enjoined,  and  particularly  described,  by  God  himself;  and,  unless  habited  in  them, 
the  ministration  of  the  priest  at  the  altar  was  illegal,  and  expressly  forbidden  under  the 
penalty  of  "bearing  his  iniquity,"  Exod.  xxviii.  43. — Hurd. 

1  This  having  heard. 
The  brief  description  of  our  Lord's  entering  "  now  the  bordering  desert  wild,  and 
with  dark  shades  and  rocks  environ'd  round;"  and  again,  where,  looking  round  on 
every  side,  he  beholds  "a  pathless  desert  dusk  with  horrid  shades,"  are  scenes  worthy 
of  the  pencil  of  Salvator.  Our  Lord's  soliloquy  is  a  material  part  of  the  poem,  and 
briefly  relates  the  early  part  of  his  life.  In  the  "  Paradise  Lost,"  where  the  divine  per- 
sons are  speakers,  Milton  has  so  chastened  his  pen,  that  we  meet  with  few  poetical 
imag>",s,  and  chiefly  scriptural  sentiments,  delivered,  as  near  as  maybe,  in  scriptural  and 
almost  always  in  unornaraented  language.  But  the  poet  seems  to  consider  this  circum- 
stance of  the  temptation  (if  I  may  venture  so  to  express  myself)  as  the  last  perfect  com- 
pletion of  the  initiation  of  the  man  Jesus  in  the  mystery  of  his  own  divine  nature  and 
office :  at  least,  himself  entitled  to  make  our  Saviour,  while  on  earth,  and  "  enshrined 
In  earthly  tabernacle,"  speak  in  a  certain  degree  dudponrivuf,  or,  after  the  manner  of  men. 
Accordingly,  all  the  speeches  of  our  blessed  Lord  in  this  poem,  are  far  more  elevated 
than  any  language  that  is  put  into  the  mouth  of  the  divine  speakers  in  any  part  of  the 


BOOK  I.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  437 

The  law  and  prophets,  searching  what  was  writ 

Concerning  the  5lessiah,  to  our  scribes 

Known  partly,  and  soon  found,  of  whom  they  spake, 

1  am ; "  tliis  chiefly,  that  my  way  must  lie 

Through  many  a  hard  essay,  ev'n  to  the  death, 

Ere  I  the  promised  kingdom  can  attain, 

Or  work  redemption  for  mankind,  whose  sins' 

Full  weight  must  be  transferr'd  upon  my  head.' 

Yet,  neither  thus  dishearten'd  or  dismay'd, 

The  time  prefix'd  I  waited ;  when  behold 

The  Baptist,  (of  whose  birth  I  oft  had  heard, 

Not  knew  by  sight),"  now  come,  who  was  to  come 

Before  Messiah,  and  his  way  prepare  ! 

I,  as  all  others,  to  his  baptism  came, 

Which  I  believe  was  from  above ;  but  he 

Straight  knew  me,  and  with  loudest  voice  proclaim'd 

Me  him,  (for  it  was  shown  him  so  from  Heaven) 

Me  him,  whose  harbinger  he  was ;  and  first 

Refused  on  me  his  baptism  to  confer. 

As  much  his  greater,  and  was  hardly  won  : 

But,  as  I  rose  out  of  the  laving  stream,' 

Heaven  open'd  her  eternal  doors,i  from  whence 

The  Spirit  descended  on  me  like  a  dove ; 

And  last,  the  sum  of  all,  my  Father's  voice. 

Audibly  heard  from  heaven,  pronounced  me  his. 

Me  his  beloved  Son,  in  whom  alone 

He  was  well  pleased ;  by  which  I  knew  the  time 

"  Paradise  Lost."  The  ingrafting  Mary's  speech  into  that  of  her  son,  it  must  be  allowed, 
Is  not  a  happy  circumstance.  It  has  an  awkward  effect,  loads  the  rest  of  the  speech, 
and  might  have  been  avoided  and  better  managed. — Ddnster. 

m  And  soon  found  qf  whom  they  spake, 
I  am. 
The  Jews  thought  that  the  Messiah,  when  he  came,  would  be  without  all  power  and 
distinction,  and  unknown  even  to  himself,  till  Ellas  had  anointed  and  declared  hiin. 
See  Just.  Mart.  '  Dial,  cum  Tryph.'  p.  266,  ed.  Col.— Calton. 

n  Whose  sins' 
Full  weight  must  he  transferr'd  upon  my  head. 
Tsaiah  liii.  6 — "  The  Lord  hath  laid  on  him  the  iniquity  of  us  all." — Newtok. 

0  Not  knew  by  sight. 
Though  Jesus  and  John  the  Baptist  were  related,  yet  they  were  brought  up  in  diflFerent 
countries,  and  had  no  manner  of  intimacy  or  acquaintance  with  each  other.  John  the 
baptist  says  expressly,  John  i.  31,  33  : — "  And  I  knew  him  not."  He  did  not  so  muci 
as  know  him  by  sight,  till  our  Saviour  came  to  his  baptism;  and  afterwards  it  doth  not 
appear  that  they  ever  conversed  together. — Newton. 

P  Out  of  the  laving  stream. 
Alluding  to  the  phrase  "  laver  of  regeneration,"  so  frequently  applied  to  baptism.  It 
may  be  observed  in  general  of  this  soliloquy  of  our  Saviour,  that  it  is  not  only  excel- 
lently well  adapted  to  the  present  condition  of  the  divine  speaker,  but  also  very  artfully 
introduced  by  the  poet,  to  give  us  a  history  of  his  hero  from  his  birth  t«  the  very  scene 
with  which  the  poom  is  opened. — Thyer. 

q  Eternal  doors. 
So  in  Psal.  xxiv.  7,  9  : — "  everlasting  doors."    And  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  vii.  205 : — 
Heaven  open'd  wide 
Her  ever-daring  doors. — Dtjnster. 


438  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  i. 

Now  full,""  that  I  no  more  should  live  obscure ; 
But  openly  begin,  as  best  becomes, 
The  authority  which  I  derived  from  Heaven. 
And  now  by  some  strong  motion  I  am  led 
Into  this  wiWerness,  to  what  intent 
I  learn  not  yet ;  perhaps  I  need  not  know ; 
For  what  concerns  my  knowledge  God  reveals.^ 
So  spake  our  Morning  Star,*  then  in  his  risej 
And,  looking  round,  on  every  side  beheld 
A  pathless  desert,"  dusk  wit'h  horrid  shades :'' 
The  way  he  carae  not  having  mark'd,  return 
Was  difficult,  by  human  steps  untrod  ; 
And  he  still  on  was  led,  but  with  such  thoughts 
Accompanied  of  things  past  and  to  come 
Lodged  in  his  breast,  as  well  might  recommend 

T  The  time 
Noio  full. 
Alluding  to  the  Scripture  phrase,  "the  fullness  of  time,"  Gal.  iv.  4. — Newtok. 

•  For  what  concernt  my  knowledge  God  reveals. 
This  whole  soliloquy  is  formed  upon  an  opinion,  which  hath  authorities  enough  to  give 
it  credit,  that  Christ  was  not,  by  virtue  of  the  personal  union  of  the  two  natures  and 
from  tho  first  moment  of  that  union,  possessed  of  all  the  knowledge  of  the  Logos,  as  far 
as  the  capacity  of  a  human  mind  would  admit.  [See  Le  Blanc's  "  Elueidatio  Status 
Controversiarum,"  Ac.  cap.  3.]  In  his  early  years  he  "  increased  in  wisdom,  and  in  sta- 
ture." St.  Luke,  ii.  52.  And  Beza  observes  upon  this  place,  that — "  ipsa  etrfrijroj  pleni- 
tude sese,  prout  et  quatenus  ipsa  libuit,  humanitati  assumtaa  insinuavit :  quicquid  gar- 
riant  mataeologi,  et  novo  ubiquitarii  Eutychiani."  Grotius  employs  the  same  principle 
to  explain  St.  Mark,  xiii.  32: — "  Videtur  mihi,  ni  meliora  docear,  hie  locus  non  impie 
posse  exponi  hunc  in  modum;  ut  dicamus  divinam  sapientiara  menti  humanse  Christi 
eflfectus  SU03  impressisse  pro  temporum  ratione :  nam  quid  aliud  est,  si  verba  non  torque- 
mus,  itjtaiKoiTTt  ao^ia,  Luc.  ii.  52  ?"  And  our  Tillotson  approved  the  opinion  : — "  It  la 
not  unreasonable  to  suppose,  that  the  Divine  Wisdom,  which  dwelt  in  our  Saviour,  did 
communicate  itself  to  his  human  soul  according  to  his  pleasure,  and  so  his  human  nature 
might  at  some  times  not  know  some  things :  and  if  this  be  not  admitted,  how  can  we 
understand  that  passage  concerning  our  Saviour,  Luke  ii.  52,  that  'Jesus  grew  in  wis- 
dom and  stature  ?'  " — Calton. 

'  So  spake  our  Morning  Star. 
So  our  Saviour  is  called,  in  the  Revelation,  xxii.  16,  "  the  bright  and  morning  star." 
— Newton. 
And  thus  Spenser,  in  his  "  Hymn  of  Heavenly  Love :" — 

O  blessed  well  of  love  !  O  flowre  of  grace  ! 
O  glorious  Morning-Btar,  &c. 

Compare  also  Luke  i.  78,  2  Pet.  i.  19. — Dunsteb. 

>■  A  pathless  desert, 

^schyL  "  Prom.Vinct."  ver.  2.    And  see  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  "Nice  Valoor:*— • 

Fountain  heads,  and  pathless  groves; 
Places  wrliich  pale  Passion  loves.— -Dunstkr. 

y  Dusk  with  horrid  shades. 

Thus  Virgil  describes  the  wood  in  which  Euryalus  is  taken,  in  his  ninth  ^neid,  381  :-■ 

Sylva  fnit,  late  dumis  atque  ilioe  nisra 
Horrida,  quam  densi  complerant  unnique  sentes  : 
Rara  per  oeeultos  lucebat  sernitu  calles. 

But  "  dusk  with  horrid  shades"  is  more  immediately  from  .^n.  i.  165 : — 

Horrentique  atrum  nemus  imminet  umbra. — ^Dvrstkr. 
Probably  not  without  a  reference  also  to  Tasso;     See  my  note  on  "  Comus,"  ver.  428. 
—Todd. 


BOOK  I.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  439 

Such  6olituile  before  choicest  society.  *■ 
Full  forty  days  he  pass'd,  whether  on  hill 
Sometimes,*  anon  on  shady  vale,  each  night 
Under  the  covert  of  some  ancient  oak 
Or  cedar  y  to  defend  him  from  the  dew,» 
Or  harbour'd  in  one  cave,  is  not  reveal'd ; 
Nor  tasted  human  food,  nor  hunger  felt. 
Till  those  days  ended ;  hunger'd  then  at  last 
Among  wild  beasts  :  they  at  his  sight  grew  mild,* 
Nor  sleeping  him  nor  waking  harm  d  ;  his  walk 
The  fiery  serpent  fled  and  noxious  worm, 
The  lion  and  fierce  tiger  glared  aloof.* 

^And  he  still  on  was  led,  but  with  such  thoughts 
Accompanied  of  things  past  and  to  come 
Lodged  in  his  breast,  as  well  might  recommend 
Such  solitude  before  choicest  society. 
Tho  poet  here  resumes  and  continues  the  description  he  had  given  of  our  blessed 
Lord,  proTious  to  his  soliloquy,  on  his  first  entering  the  desert,  v.  189. — Ldnster. 

»  Full  forty  days  he  passed,  whether  on  htll 
Sometimes,  Ac. 
Here  the  poet  of  "  Paradise  Lost"  breaks  out  in  his  meridian  splendour.     There  is 
something  particularly  picturesque  in  this  description. — Dunsteb. 

y  Or  cedar. 
There  is  great  propriety  in  mentioning  this  tree,  as  being  peculiar  to  the  country 
where  the  scene  is  laid. — Jos.  Warton. 

»  To  defend  him  from  the  dew. 
That  the  dews  of  that  country  are  very  considerable,  may  be  collected  from  several 
parts  o£  Scripture.  The  dews  of  Mount  Hermon  are  particularly  noticed  in  the  133d 
Psalm,  as  producing  the  most  irriguous  eflFects.  Maundrell,  in  his  "  Travels,"  when 
within  little  more  than  half  a  day's  journey  of  this  mountain,  says,  "we  were  suffi- 
ciently instructed  by  experience  what  the  Holy  Psalmist  means  by  the  'dew  of  Her- 
mon ;'  our  tents  being  as  wet  with  it,  as  if  it  had  rained  all  night." — Donster. 

»  Among  wild  beasts  :  they  at  his  sight  grew  mild. 
St  Mark's  short  account  of  the  temptation  is,  that  our  blessed  Lord  "was  in  the 
wilderness  forty  days  tempted  of  Satan,  and  was  with  the  wild  beasts,  and  the  angels 
ministered  unto  him,"  ch.  i.  13.  Archbishop  Seeker,  in  his  "  Sermon  on  the  Tempta- 
tion," says,  "  During  these  forty  days,  it  is  observed  by  St.  Mark,  that  our  blessed 
Redeemer  was  with  the  wild  beasts ;  which  words  must  imply,  else  they  are  of  no  sig- 
nificance, that  the  fiercest  animals  were  awed  by  his  presence,  and  so  far  laid  aside 
their  savage  nature  for  a  time;  thus  verifying  literally,  what  Eliphaz  in  Job  saith 
figuratively,  concerning  a  good  man;  'At  destruction  and  famine  shalt  thou  laugh; 
neither  shalt  thou  be  afraid  of  the  beasts  of  the  earth  :  for  they  shall  be  at  peace  with 
thee.' "  Before  the  Fall,  Milton  supposes  those  beasts  which  are  now  wild,  to  have 
been  harmless,  void  of  ferocity  to  each  other,  and  even  afi"ectionate  towards  man.  See 
"  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  iv.  340,  Ac.  Immediately  after  the  Fall,  among  other  changes  of 
nature,  the  animals  begin  to  grow  savage.  See  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  x.  707.  Here, 
upon  the  appearance  of  perfect  innocence  in  a  human  form  amongst  them,  they  begie 
to  resume  a  certain  proportion  of  the  paradisiacal  disposition.  In  Homer's  "  Hymn  to 
Venus,"  where  that  goddess  descends  on  Mount  Ida,  to  visit  Anchises  at  his  folds,  her 
appearance  is  described  as  having  the  same  efTect,  in  its  fullest  extent,  ver.  68,  Sza 
Giles  Fletcher,  in  his  "Christ's  Triumph  on  Earth,"  1610,  has  given  a  similar  but  more 
diSuse  description  of  the  effect  of  our  Lord's  presence  on  the  wild  beasts  in  thewilder- 

teSS. — DUNSTER. 

i>  The  lion  and  fierce  tiger  glared  aloof. 
So  in  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  iv.  401 : — 

About  them  round 
A  Hon  now  he  stalks  with  fiery  glare; 
Then  as  a  tiger 

Again,  b.  x.  712,  it  is  said  that,  after  the  Fall,  the  wUd  beasts,  ceasing  to  graze, 


440  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  l 

But  now  an  aged  man »  in  rural  weeds 
Following,  as  seem'd,  the  quest  of  some  stray  ewe, 
Or  wither'd  sticks  to  gather,  which  might  serve 
Against  a  winter's  day,  when  winds  blow  keen,*" 
To  warm  him  wet  return'd  from  field  at  eve. 
He  saw  approach,  who  first  with  curious  eye 
Perused  him,  then  with  words  thus  utter'd  spake : 

Sir,  what  ill  chance  hath  brought  thee  to  this  place 
So  far  from  path  or  road  of  men,  who  pass 
In  troop  or  caravan  ?  *  for  single  none 
Durst  ever,  who  returu'd,*^  and  dropt  not  here 
His  carcass,  pined  with  hunger*  and  with  drouth. 
I  ask  the  rather,  and  the  more  admire. 
For  that  to  me  thou  seem'st  the  man,  whom  late 
Our  new  baptizing  prophet  at  the  ford 
Of  Jordan  honour'd  so,  and  call'd  thee  Son 
Of  God :  I  saw  and  heard,  for  we  sometimes 
"Who  dwell  this  wild,  constrain'd  by  want,  come  forth 

Devour'd  each  other,  nor  stood  much  in  awe 
Of  Man ;  but  fled  him,  or  with  countenance  grim 
Glared  on  him  passing : — 

The  latter  part  of  this  description  is  palpably  taken  from  Shakspeare,  "  JuL  Cses." 
a.  i.  8.  4 : — 

I  met  a  lion 

Who  glared  upon  me,  and  went  surly  by 

Without  annoying  me. — Dvnstbr. 

c  But  now  an  aged  man. 

As  the  Scripture  is  entirely  silent  about  what  personage  the  tempter  assumed,  the 
poet  was  at  liberty  to  indulge  his  own  fancy;  and  nothing,  I  think,  could  be  better 
conceived  for  his  present  purpose,  or  more  likely  to  prevent  suspicion  of  fraud.  The 
poet  might  perhaps  take  the  hint  from  a  design  of  David  Vinkboon,  where  the  devil  ia 
represented  addressing  himself  to  our  Saviour,  under  the  appearance  of  an  old  man. 
It  is  to  be  met  with  among  Vischer's  cuts  to  the  Bible,  and  is  engraved  by  Landeraelt 
— Thyer. 

d  When  loinds  blow  keen. 

This  is  a  descent  to  human  imagery,  but  in  that  regard  it  is  beautifully  poetical. 

e  In  troop  or  caravan  f 

A  caravan,  as  Tavernier  says,  is  a  great  convoy  of  merchants,  who  meet  at  certain 
times  and  places,  to  put  themselves  into  a  condition  of  defence  from  thieves  who  ride  in 
troops  in  several  desert  places  upon  the  road.  Hence  the  safest  way  of  travelling  in 
Turkey  and  Persia  is  with  the  caravan.  See  "  Travels  into  Persia,"  in  Harris,  voL  ii. 
ch.  2. — Newton. 

f  for  single  none 
Durst  ever,  who  return'd. 

Milton  seems  here  to  have  had  in  his  mind  the  vast  sandy  deserts  of  Africa;  which 
IKodorus  Siculus  describes  as  a  "desert  full  of  wild  beasts,  of  vast  extent;  and  from  its 
being  devoid  of  water,  and  bare  of  all  kinds  of  food,  not  only  difiBcult,  but  absolutely 
dangerous  to  pass  over."  In  Jeremiah,  the  desert  is  described  "  a  land  that  no  man 
passed  through."  Compare  the  opening  of  D5,nte's  "Inferno,"  where  having  passed 
through  the  more  dreadful  part  of  the  piaggia  deserta,  the  poet  turns  himself  to  regard 
the  dangerous  region : — 

Cosi  I'animo  mio,  ch'  ancor  fuggiva, 
Si  volse  'ndietro  a  rimirar  lo  passo, 
Che  non  lascid  giammai  persona  viva. — Duzistbr. 

s  Pined  with  hunger. 

Death,  in  the  tenth  book  of  the  "  Paradise  Lost,"  thus  desciibes  himself  j — 

Me,  who  with  eternal  famine  pine. — Dunster. 


BOOK  I.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  441 

To  town  or  village  nigh,'*  (nighest  is  far) 
Where  aught  we  hear,  and  curious  are  to  hear 
What  happens  new ;  fame  also  finds  us  out. 

To  whom  the  Son  of  Grod  : — Who  brought  me  hither, 
Will  bring  me  hence ;  no  other  guide  I  seek. 

By  miracle  he  may,  replied  the  swain ; 
What  other  way  I  see  not;  for  we  here 
Live  on  tough  roots  and  stubs,'  to  thirst  inured 
More  than  the  camel,  J  and  to  drink  go  far, 
Men  to  much  misery  and  hardship  born : 
But,  if  thou  be  the  Son  of  God,  command 
That  out  of  these  hard  stones  be  made  thee  bread; 
So  shalt  thou  save  thyself,  and  us  relieve 
With  food,  whereof  we  wretched  seldom  taste. 

He  ended,  and  the  Son  of  God  replied : 
Think'st  thou  such  force  in  bread  ?     Is  it  not  written, 
(For  I  discern  thee  other  than  thou  seem'st") 
Man  lives  not  by  bread  only,  but  each  word 
Proceeding  from  the  mouth  of  God ;  who  fed 
Our  fathers  here  with  manna ; '  in  the  mount 
Moses  was  forty  days,  nor  eat,  nor  drank } 
And  forty  days  Elijah,  without  food, 
Wander'd  this  barren  waste ;  the  same  I  now : 
Why  dost  thou  then  suggest  to  me  distrust, 

h  /  saio  and  heard,  for  tc«  aometimei 
Who  dioell  this  wild,  conatrain'd  by  loant,  come/brih 
To  town  or  village  nigh. 
All  this  is  finely  in  character  with  the  assumed  person  of  the  tempter,  and  tends  at 
the  same  time  to  give  more  effect  to  the  preceding  descriptions.    It  should  be  considered 
also  that  it  was  not  necessary  to  confine  those  descriptions  merely  to  that  part  cf  the 
wilderness  of  Judea,  into  which  our  Lord  was  just  now  entering,  v.  193,  or  where  at 
most  he  had  not  advanced  any  great  way,  v.  299. — That  wilderness  was  of  a  great  length, 
the  most  habitable  part  being  northward 'towards  the  river  Jordan;   southward  it 
extended  into  vast  and  uninhabited  deserts,  which,  in  the  map  in  Reland's  "  Palsestina," 
are  termed  "vastissimaj  solitudines."     To  describe  these,  in  such  a  manner  as  might 
impress  a  deep  sense  of  danger  in  the  mind  of  him  to  whom  he  addressed  himself,  was 
perfectly  consistent  with  the  tempter's  purpose. — Dunster. 

i  Stubs. 
Stubs,  not  shrubs,  is  undoubtedly  the  right  word,  as  connected  with  roots.    Thus 
Milton's  own  edition  of  1671. 

J  To  thirst  inured 
More  than  the  camel. 
It  is  commonly  said  that  camels  will  go  without  water  three  or  four  dtys  ; — "  Sitim 
et  quatfiduo  tolerant,"  Plln.  "  Nat.  Hist."  lib.  viii.  sect.  26.     But  Tavernier  eays,  that 
they  will  ordinarily  live  without  drink  eight  or  nine  days. — Newton. 

^  For  I  discern  thee  other  than  thou  seem'st. 

In  the  concluding  book  of  this  poem,  our  Lord  says  to  the  tempter, 

Desist ;  thou  art  discern'd 
And  toil'Bt  m  vain  — Dunstbb. 

1  Man  lives  not  hy  bread  only,  but  each  word 
Proceeding  from  the  mouth  of  God;  who  fed 
Our  fathers  here  with  manna. 
The  words  of  St.  Mathew,  iv.  14,  which  refer  to  the  eighth  chapter  of  Deuteronomy, 
ver.  3,  where  the  humiliation  of  the  Israelites  in  the  wilderness,  and  their  being  there 
miraculously  fed  with  manna,  are  recited  as  arguments  for  their  obedience ;  "  And  he 
humbled  thee  and  suffered  thee  td  hunger,  and  fed  thee  with  manna,  which  thou  knew- 
56 


442  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  i. 

Knowing  who  I  am,"  as  I  know  who  thou  art  ? 

Whom  thus  answer'd  the  arch-fiend,  now  undisguised  :— 
'Tis  true,  I  am  that  spirit  unfortunate," 
Who,  leagued  with  millions  more  in  rash  revolt, 
Kept  not  my  happy  station,  but  was  driven 
With  them  from  bliss  to  the  bottomless  deep ; 
Yet  to  that  hideous  place  not  so  confined 
By  rigour  unconniving,  but  that  oft, 
Leaving  my  dolorous  prison,"  I  enjoy 
Large  liberty  to  round  this  globe  of  earth,' 
Or  range  in  the  air ;  i  nor  from  the  heaven  of  heavens 
Hath  he  excluded  my  resort  sometimes. 
I  came  among  the  Sons  of  God,  when  he 
Gave  up  into  my  hands  Uzzean  Job,' 
To  prove  him  and  illustrate  his  high  worth  j 
And,  when  to  all  his  angels  he  proposed 
To  draw  the  proud  king  Ahab  into  fraud,' 

est  not,  neither  did  thy  fathers  know;  that  he  might  make  thee  know  that  man  doth 
not  live  by  bread  only,  but  by  every  word  that  proceedeth  out  of  the  mouth  of  the 
Lord  doth  man  live."  The  poet,  who  was,  beyond  a  doubt,  "mighty  in  the  Scripture," 
has  with  much  art  availed  himself  of  the  original  passage  in  the  Old  Testament,  as  it 
affords  him  such  an  immediate  and  apposite  transition  to  the  miraculous  feeding 
the  children  of  Israel,  their  great  lawgiver,  and  afterwards  Elijah,  in  the  wilderness.- 

DCNSTER. 

">  Knowing  who  I  am. 
This  is  not  to  be  understood  of  Christ's  divine  nature.     The  tempter  knew  him  to  be 
the  person  "  declared  the  Son  of  'Jod"  by  a  voice  from  heaven,  v.  385,  and  that  was  all 
that  he  knew  of  him. — Calton. 

o  '  Tis  true,  I  am  that  spirit  unfortunate. 
Satan's  instantaneous  avowal  of  himself  here  has  a  great  and  fine  effect:  it  is  con- 
sistent-with  a  certain  dignity  of  character  which  is  given  him  in  general,  through  the 
whole   of  the   "  Paradise  Lost."     The   rest  of  his  speech  is  artfully  submissive.— 

Dn2(ST£R. 

0  Ml/  dolorous  prison. 
Par.  Lost,  b.  ii.  618. 

Through  many  a  dark  and  dreary  vale 
Tliey  pass'd,  and  many  a  region  dolorous;  ;' 

O'er  many  a  frozen,  many  a  fiery  Alp. — Dunstkb 

Again,  in  his  "Hymn  on  the  Nativity,"  st.  xiv. : — 

And  hell  itself  will  pass  away, 

And  leave  her  dolorous  mansions  to  the  peering  day 

Although  the  adjective  "  dolorous"  be  common  in  our  old  poetry,  Milton,  I  am  inclined 
to  think,  did  not  forget  Dante's  usage  of  it  in  the  "  Inferno,"  where  Satan  is  called, 
Q.  xxziv., 

Lo  'mperador  del  doloroso  regno. — Todd. 

P  To  round  this  globe  of  earth. 
Milton  uses  the  same  phrase  in  his  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  x.  684,  speaking  of  the  sun  :-— 

Had  rounded  still  the  horizon. — Thybr. 
In  Quarle's  "  Job  Militant,"  the  devil  thus  concludes  his  reply  to  God's  question, 
Whence  comest  thou  ? — 

The  earth  is  my  dominion,  hell's  my  home; 

I  round  the  world,  and  so  from  thence  I  come. — Dvhstkb. 

1  Range  in  the  air. 
The  whole  of  this  passage  is  very  poetical  and  grand. 

»  Uzzean  Job. 
See  the  first  chapter  of  Job. 

•  To  draio  the  proud  king  Ahab  into  fraud. 
This  story  of  Ahab  is  related,  1  Kiags,  xxii,  19,  Ac. : — "  I  saw  the  Lord  sitting  oil  his 


BOOK  I.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  443 

That  he  might  fall  iu  Ramoth ;  they  demurring, 

I  undertook  that  office,  and  the  tongues 

Of  all  his  flattering  prophets  glibb'd  with  lies 

To  his  destruction,  as  I  had  in  charge. 

For  what  he  bids  I  do  :  though  I  have  lost 

Much  lustre  of  my  native  brightness,'  lost 

To  be  belovsd  of  God ;  I  have  not  lost 

To  love,  at  least  contemplate  and  admire, 

What  I  see  excellent  in  good,  or  fair, 

Or  virtuous ; "  I  should  so  have  lost  all  sense  : 

What  can  be  then  less  in  me  than  desire 

To  see  thee  and  approach  thee,  whom  I  know 

Declared  the  Son  of  God,  to  hear  attent 

Thy  wisdom,  and  behold  thy  godlike  deeds  ? 

Men  generally  think  me  much  a  foe 

To  all  mankind  :  why  should  I?  they  to  me 

Never  did  wrong  or  violence  ;  by  them 

throne,  and  all  the  host  of  Heaven  standing  by  him,  on  his  right  han(\,  and  on  his  left. 
And  th?  Lord  said,  Who  shall  persuade  Ahab,  that  he  may  go  up  and  fall  at  Ramoth- 
gilead?  And  one  said  on  this  manner,  and  another  on  that  manner.  And  there  came 
forth  a  spirit  and  stood  before  the  Lord,  and  said,  I  will  persuade  him.  Ard  the  Lord 
Baid  unto  him.  Wherewith  ?  And  he  said,  I  will  go  forth,  and  I  will  be  a  lying  spirit  in 
the  mouth  of  all  his  prophets.  And  he  said.  Thou  shalt  persuade  him,  and  prevail  also : 
go  forth,  and  do  so."  This  symbolical  vision  of  Micaiai),in  which  heavenly  things  are 
Bpoken  of  after  the  manner  of  men,  in  condescension  to  the  weakness  of  their  capacities, 
our  author  was  too  good  a  critic  to  understand  literally,  though  as  a  post  he  represents 
it  so. — Newton. 

The  expression  here  is  copied  from  the  "  Paradise  Lost,"  vii.  143 : — 

He into  fraud 

Drew  many,  whom  their  place  knows  here  no  more. — Todd 

'  Thouf/h  I  hai-e  lost 
Much  lustre  of  my  native  hrightnesa. 
It  is  said  of  Satan,  in  the  first  book  of  the  "  Paradise  Lost,"  ver.  691 : — 

His  form  hainot  yet  lost 
All  her  original  brightness: 

and  when  Ithuriel  and  Zephon,  in  the  end  of  the  fourth  book,  find  him  in  Paradise,  and 
charge  him  with  being  one  of  the  rebel  spirits  adjudged  to  hell,  Satan  asks,  if  they  do 
not  know  him:  to  which  Zephon  replies  : — 

Think  not,  revolted  spirit,  thy  shape  the  same, 
Or  iindiminishVl  brightness  to  be  known, 
As  when  thou  stood'st  in  heaven  upright  and  pure: 
That  ghiry  then,  when  thou  no  more  wast  good, 
Departed  from  thee  ; 

and  in  "Paradise  Lost,"  b.  i.  97,  Satan  describes  himself  "changed  in  outward  lustre." 
— Ddnster. 

u  /  have  not  lost 
To  love,  at  least  contemplate  and  admire, 
I  What  J  see  excellent  in  good,  or  fair, 

Or  virtuous. 
In  the  second  book  of  the  "Paradise  Lost,"  where  the  fallen  angels  are  described 
doing  homage  tc  the  public  spirit  of  their  chief,  it  is  said, — 
for  neither  do  the  spirits  damn'd 
Lose  all  their  virtue: 

and  where  Satan  first  sees  Adam  and  Eve  in  Paradise,  he  contemplates  them  with  admi- 
ration. The  turn  of  the  words  here  very  much  resembles  the  following  passage  in  Beau- 
mont and  Fletcher  s  "  Fair  Maid  of  the  Inn,"  a.  v.  s.  1 : — 

Though  I  have  lost  my  fortune,  and  lost  yoa 

For  n  worthy  father;  yet  I  will  not  lose 

Mv  former  virtue;  my  integrity 

Shall  not  forsake  me.— Dtjnstkk 


444  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  i. 

I  lost  not  what  I  lost,  rather  by  them 

I  gain'd  what  I  have  gain'd,  and  with  them  dwell, 

Copartner  in  these  regions  of  the  world, 

If  not  disposer ;  lend  them  oft  my  aid. 

Oft  my  advice  by  presages  and  signs, 

And  answers,  oracles,  portents,  and  dreams. 

Whereby  they  may  direct  their  future  life.'^ 

Envy  they  say  excites  me,  thus  to  gain 

Companions  of  my  misery  and  woe. 

At  first  it  may  be ;  but,  long  since  with  woe 

Nearer  acquainted,  now  I  feel  by  proof, 

That  fellowship  in  pain  divides  not  smart, "^ 

Nor  lightens  aught  each, man's  peculiar  load. 

Small  consolation  then,  were  man  adjoin' d : 

This  wounds  me  most ;  (what  can  it  less  ?)  that  man, 

Man  fallen  shall  be  restored,  I  never  more.* 

To  whom  our  Saviour  sternly  thus  replied : — 
Deservedly  thou  grievest,  composed  of  lies 
From  the  beginning,  and  in  lies  wilt  end ; 
Who  boast'st  release  from  hell,  and  leave  to  come 
Into  the  heaven  of  heavens  :  thou  comest  indeed, 
As  a  poor  miserable  captive  thrall 
Comes  to  the  place  where  he  before  had  sat 
Among  the  prime  in  splendour,  now  deposed, 
Ejected,  emptied,  gazed,  unpitied,  shunn'd, 
A  spectacle  of  ruin,  or  of  scorn, 
To  all  the  host  of  heaven  :  the  happy  place 
Imparts  to  thee  no  happiness,  no  joy ; 

V  Lend  them  oft  my  aid, 
Oft  my  advice  by  presages  and  signs, 
And  answers,  oracles,  portents,  and  dreams, 
Whereby  they  may  direct  their  future  life. 
The  following  passage  of  Cicero  reflects  so  much  light  on  these  lines,  as  would  incline 
one  to  think  that  Milton  had  it  in  his  mind : — "  Multa  cernunt  haruspices ;  multaaugurea 
provident;   multa  oraculis  declarantur,  multa  vaticinationibus,  multa  somniis,  multa 
portentis :  quibus  cognitis,  multae  saspe  res  hominum  sententia  atque  utilitate  partae," 
(or,  as  Lambinus  reads,  ex  animi  sententia  atque  utilitate  partae,)  "multa  etiam  pericula 
depulsa  sunt." — "De  Nat.  Deor."  ii.  65. — Newton. 

w  Noxo  I  feel,  by  proof, 
That  fellowship  in  pain  divides  not  smart. 
Our  author  had  in  his  eye  this  line  of  the  poet: — 

Solamen  miscris  Bocios  habuisse  doloria.^THTKB. 
Or  these  of  Ovid,  "  Met"  xv.  547  : — 

Non  tamen  Egerix  Iu';tu-.  al>«na  levare 
Diimna  valout. — Dunster. 

»  This  icounds  me  moat ;  (what  can  it  less  f)  that  man, 
Man  fallen  shall  be  restored,  I  never  more. 

Very  artful :  as  he  could  not  acquit  himself  of  envy  and  mischief,  he  endeavours  U, 
soften  his  crimes,  by  assigning  this  cause  of  them. — Warburton. 

The  poet  very  judiciously  makes  the  tempter  conclude  with  these  lines  concerning 
the  restoration  of  fallen  man,  in  order  to  lead  our  Saviour  to  say  something  about  tlie 
manner  of  it,  to  know  which  was  one  great  part  of  his  design  ,•  that  he  might  be  able, 
If  possible,  to  counterplot  and  prevent  it^  With  no  less  judgment  is  our  Saviour  repre- 
sented, in  the  following  answer,  taking  no  other  notice  of  it  than  by  replying, 
'  Deservedly  thou  grievest,"  Ac. — Thyer. 


BOOK  I.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  445 

Rather  inflames  thy  torment;  representing 
Lost  bliss,  to  thee  no  morn  communicable/ 
So  never  more  in  hell  than  when  in  heaven. 
But  thou  art  serviceable  to  Heaven's  King. 
Wilt  thou  impute  to  obedience  what  thy  fear 
Extorts,  or  pleasure  to  do  ill  excites  ?  '^ 
What  but  thy  malice  moved  thee  to  misdeem 
Of  righteous  Job,  then  cruelly  to  afflict  him 
With  all  inflictions  ?  but  his  patience  won. 
The  other  service  was  thy  chosen  task, 
To  be  a  liar  in  four  hundred  mouths )  * 
For  lying  is  thy  sustenance,  thy  food. 
Yet  thou  pretend'st  to  truth ;  all  oracles 
By  thee  are  given,  and  what  confess'd  more  true 
Among  the  nations  ?  that  hath  been  thy  craft, 
By  mixing  somewhat  true  to  vent  more  lies.* 
But  what  have  been  thy  answers,  what  but  dark, 
Ambiguous,  and  with  double  sense  deluding," 

y  The  happy  place 
Imparts  to  thee  no  happineiia,nojoyj 
Rather  iujiamea  thy  torment ;  representing 
Lost  bliss,  to  thee  no  more  commimicahle. 
We  find  the  same  sentiment  also  in  "Paradise  Lost,"  b.  ix.  467:— 

But  the  hot  liell  that  always  in  him  burns, 
Though  In  mid  heaven,  soon  ended  his  delight, 
And  tortures  him  now  more,  the  more  he  sees 
Of  pleasure  not  for  him  ordain'd. — Thyer 

This  passage  is  at  once  sublime  and  pathetic. 

2  Or  pleasure  to  do  ill  exciter.  « 

Satan,  in  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  i.  159,  in  his  first  conference  with  his  infernal  compeer, 
says, 

To  do  aught  good  never  will  be  our  task  ; 
But  ever  to  do  lii  our  sole  delight. — Du:«ster. 

'^  In  four  hundred  months.  • 

"  Then  the  king  of  Israel  gathered  the  prOphets  together,  about  four  hundred  men," 
I  Kings,  xxii.  6. — Dunster. 

b  That  hath  been  thy  craft, 
By  mixing  somewhat  true  to  vent  more  lies. 
The  following  passage  from  St.   Austin  may  serve  to  illustrate  what  Milton  here 
says: — "Miscent  tamen  isti  [daemones]  fallacias;  et  verum  quod  nosse  potuerint,  nou 
docendi  magis  quam  decipiendi  fine,  praenuntiant" — De  Div.  Daemon,  sect.  12. — Thyer. 

c  But  what  have  been  thy  answers,  what  but  dark, 
Ambiyiiotts,  and  with  double  sense  deluding. 
The  oracles  were  often  so  obscure  and  dubious,  that  there  was  need  of  other  oracles 
to  explain  them  : — 

Sed  jam  ad  te  venio, 
Sancte  Apollo,  qui  umbilicum  certum  terrarum  obsides, 
Unde  superstitiosa  primum  sseva  evasit  vox  fera. 

Tuis  enim  oraculis  Chrysippus  totum  volumen  implevit,  partim  falsis,  ut  ego  opinor, 
partiin  easu  veris,  ut  fit  in  omni  oratione  saspissime;  partim  fiexiloquis  et  obscuris,  ut 
interprcs  egeat  interprete,  et  sors  ipsa  ad  sortes  referenda  sit ;  partim  ambiguis,  et  quae 
ad  dialeclicum  deferenda  sint."     Cicero,  "  De  Div."  ii.  56. — Calton. 

Milton  in  these  lines  about  the  heathen  oracles,  seems  to  have  had  in  view  what  Euse- 
bius  says  more  copiously  upon  this  subject  in  the  fifth  book  of  his  "  Preparatio  Evan- 
gelica."  That  learned  father  reasons  in  the  very  same  way  about  them,  and  gives  rriany 
instances  from  history  of  their  delusive  and  double  meanings. — Thyer. 

Probably  Milton  had  here  in  mind  the  exclamation  also  of  Macbeth,  when  he  finds 
that  the  weird  sisters  had  shuffled  him  with  ambiguous  expressions,  Macbeth,  a.  and  s.  ult 
And  be  these  juggling  fiends  no  more  believed, 
That  palter  with  us  m  a  double  sense. 


446  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  i. 

Which  they  who  ask'd  have  seldom  understood, 

And  not  well  understood  as  good  not  known  ? 

Who  ever  by  consulting  at  thy  shrine 

Return' d  the  wiser,  or  the  more  instruct, •• 

To  fly  or  follow  what  concern' d  him  most, 

And  run  not  sooner  to  his  fatal  snare  ? 

For  God  hath  justly  given  the  nations  up 

To  thy  delusions;  justly,  since  they  fell 

Idolatrous :  but,  when  his  purpose  is 

Among  them  to  declare  his  providence 

To  thee  not  known,  whence  hast  thou  then  thy  truth, 

But  from  him,  or  his  angels  president 

In  every  province,*  who  themselves  disdaining 

To  approach  thy  temples,  give  thee  in  command 

What,  to  the  smallest  tittle,  thou  shalt  say 

To  thy  adorers  ?     Thou  with  trembling  fear, 

Or  like  a  fawning  parasite,  obey'st : 

Then  to  thyself  ascribest  the  truth  foretold.' 

But  this  thy  glory  shall  be  soon  retrench'd ; 

No  more  shalt  thou  by  oracling  abuse 

But  see  also  Heywood's  "Hierarchie  of  Angels,"  fol.  1635,  p.  442,  where  the  "  doubtful 
answers  of  oracles"  are  noticed,  and  rightly  described : — 

Ho  intricate  that  none  could  vnderstand, 

Or  meerely  toyes  and  lies  j  for  their  words  were, 

By  interpointing,  so  disposed,  to  beare 

A  double  sense. — Todd. 

d  Instruct. 
Thus,  b.  ii.  ver.  399,  he  writes  suspect  for  suspected.     In  the  "Paradise  Lost"  he 
always  writes  the  participles  at  length ;  but  in  this  poem  he  has  in  every  respect  con- 
densed his  style,  which  may  be  one  reason  why  it  does  not  please  the  million. — Dunsteb. 

e  But  from  him,  or  his  angels  president 
In  every  province. 

"  Utitur  etiam  eis  Deus  (daemonibus)  ad  veritatis  manifestationem  per  ipsos  fiendam, 
dum  divina  mysteria  eis  per  angelos  revelantur."  The  words  are  quoted  from  Aquinas. 
(2da  Qusest.  172,  Art.  6.)— Calton. 

This  notion  Milton  very  probably  had  from  Tertullian  and  St.  Austin.  Tertullian, 
speaking  of  the  gods  of  the  heathens  and  their  oracles,  says, — "  Dispositiones  etiam 
Dei  et  tunc  prophetis  concionantibus  exceperunt,  et  nunc  lectionibus  resonantibus 
carpunt:  ita  et  hinc  sumentes  quasdam  temporum  sortes  seraulantur  divinitatem,  dum 
furantur  divinationem:  in  oraculis  autem,  quo  ingenio  ambiguitates  temperent  in 
eventus,  sciunt  Crcesi,  sciunt  Pyrrhi."  Apol.  c.  22.  St.  Austin,  more  appositely  to  our 
present  purpose,  answering  the  heathen  boasts  of  their  oracles,  says, — "  tamen  nee  ista 
ip.sa,  quae  ab  eis  vix  raro  et  clanculo  proferuntur,  movere  nos  debent,  si  cuiqam  daemo- 
num  extortum  est  id  prodere  cultoribus  suis  quod  didicerat  ex  eloquiis  prophetarum,  vel 
ex  oraculis  angelorum."  Aug.  "  De  Div.  Daemonum,"  sect.  12,  torn.  6,  ed.  Bened.  And 
again : — "  Cum  enim  vult  Deus  etiam  per  infimos  infernosque  spiritus  aliquem  vera 
cognoscere,  temporalia  dumtaxat  atque  ad  istam  mortalitatem  pertinentia;  facile  est,  et 
non  incongruum,  ut  Omnipotens  et  Justus,  ad  eorum  poenam,  quibus  ista  praedicuntur, 
ut  malum  quod  eis  impendetante  quam  venial  praenoscendo  patientur;  occulto  apparatu 
ministeriorum  suorum  etiam  spiritibus  talibus  aliquid  divinationis  impertiat,  ut  quod 
audiunt  ab  angelis  praenuntient  hominibus."  De  Div.  Quaest.  ad  Simp.  1.  ii.  s.  iii.  torn. 
6.— Thyer. 

J  7%en  to  thyself  ascribest  the  truth  foretold. 

The  demons,  Lactantius  says',  could  certainly  foresee,  and  truly  foretell,  many  future 
events,  from  the  knowledge  they  had  of  the  dispositions  of  Providence  before  their  fall; 
and  then  they  assumed  all  the  honour  to  themselves ;  pretending  to  be  the  authors  and 
doers  of  what  they  piedicted.  "Nam  cum  dispositiones  Dei  praesentiant,  quippe  qui 
ministri  ejus  fuerunt,  interponunt  se  in  his  rebus ;  ut  quaecunque  a  Deo  vel  facta  sunt 
vel  fiunt,  ipsi  potissimum  facere  aut  fecisse  videantur."    Div.  Inst.  ii.  16. — Calton. 


BOOK  I.]  PAEADISE  REGAINED.  447 

The  Gentiles ;  henceforth  oracles  are  ceased,« 

And  thou  no  more  with  pomp  or  sacrifice 

Shalt  be  inquired  at  Delphos,  or  elsewhere; 

At  least  in  vain,  for  they  shall  find  thee  mute. 

God  hath  now  sent  his  living  oracle  ^ 

Into  the  world  to  teach  his  final  will ; 

And  sends  his  Spirit  of  truth  henceforth  to  dwell 

In  pious  hearts,  an  inward  oracle 

To  all  truth  requisite  for  men  to  know. 

So  spake  our  Saviour ;  but  the  subtle  fiend, 
Though  inly  stung  with  anger  and  disdain, 
Dissembled,  and  this  answer  smooth  return'd  : — 
Sharply  thou  hast  insisted '  on  rebuke, 
And  urged  me  hard  with  doings,  which  not  will, 
But  misery  hath  wrested  from  me.     Where 
Easily  canst  thou  find  one  miserable, 
And  not  enforced  oft-times  to  part  from  truth, 
If  it  may  stand  him  more  in  stead  to  lie. 
Say  and  unsay,  feign,  flatter,  or  abjure  ?J 
But  thou  art  placed  above  me,  thou  art  Lord ; 
From  thee  I  can,  and  must,  submiss,  endure 
Check  or  reproof,  and  glad  to  'scape  so  quit. 

s  Henceforth  oracles  are  ceased,  &c. 
As  Milton  had  before  adopted  the  ancient  opinion  of  oracles  being  the  operations 
of  the  fallen  angela ;  so  here  again  he  follows  the  same  authority,  in  making  them 
cease  at  tlie  coming  of  our  Saviour.     See  the  matter  fully  discussed  in  Fontenelle's 
"  History  of  Oracles,"  and  Father  Baltus's  answer  to  him. — Thyeb. 
Thus  Juvenal,  Sat.  vi.  554  : — 

Delphis  oracula  cessant. 

And  in  the  fifth  book  of  Lucan's  "  Pharsalia,"  where  Appius  is  desifous  to  consult 
the  Delphic  oracle,  but  finds  it  dumb,  the  priestess  tells  him : — 

Mufo  Parnassus  hiatu 
Conticuit,  pressitque  Deum  ;  seu  spiritus  istas 
Desfituit  fauces,  mundique  in  devia  versum 
Duxit  iter  :— 

sue  spontc  Deorum 
Cyrrha  silet. 

Thus  also  Maton,  in  his  "  Hymn  on  the  Nativity :"  — 

The  oracles  are  dumb,  &c. 
And  before  him,  Giles  Fletcher,  in  his  "  Christ's  Victory  in  Heaven,"  st.  82  :— 

The  angels  carroU'd  loud  their  song  of  peace  ; 

The  cursed  oracles  were  strucken  dumb. — Dunster. 

•>  His  living  oracle. 

Christ  is  style-  by  the  Greek  fathers  "  essential  life,"  the  "living  counsel  "  and 
"  the  living  word  of  God :"  and  St.  John  says,  that  "  in  him  was  life,  and  the  life 
was  the  lignt  of  men,"  i.  4. — Calton. 

And  in  Acts,  vii.  38,  where  it  is  said, — "  Who  received  the  lively  (or  living)  oracles 
to  give  unto  us." — Dunstkr. 

•  Sharply  thm  Tiast  insisted,  <&c. 
The  smoothness  and  hypocrisy  of  this  speech  of  Satan  are  artful  in  the  extreme, 
and  cannot  be  passed  over  unobserved. — Jos.  Warton. 

J  Say  and  unsay,  feign,  flatter,  or  abjure. 
Might  not  Milton  possibly  intend  here,  and  particularly  by  the  word  "abjure,"  to 
lash  some  of  his  complying  friends,  who  renounced  their  republican  principles  at  the 
Restoration  ? — Thybk. 


Hard  are  the  ways  of  truth,  and  rough  to  walk," 
Smooth  on  the  tongue  discoursed,  pleasing  to  the  ear, 
And  tunable  as  sylvan  pipe  or  song : ' 
What  wonder  then  if  I  delight  to  hear 
Her  dictates  from  thy  mouth  ?     Most  men  admire 
Virtue,  who  follow  not  her  lore :  ■"  permit  me 
To  hear  thee  when  I  come,  (since  no  man  comes) 
And  talk  at  least,  though  I  despair  to  attain. 
Thy  Father,  who  is  holy,  wise,  and  pure, 
Suffers  the  hypocrite  or  atheous"  priest 
To  tread  his  sacred  courts,  and  minister 
About  his  altar,  handling  holy  things. 
Praying  or  vowing;"  and  vouchsafed  his  voice 
To  Balaam  reprobate,p  a  prophet  yet 
Inspired :  disdain  not  such  access  to  me. 
To  whom  our  Saviour,  with  unalter'd  hrow : 

k  Hard  are  the  ways  of  truth,  and  rough  to  vialk. 

Thns  Silius  Italicus,  b.  xv.,  where  Virtue  is  the  speaker : — 

Casta  mihi  domus,  et  celso  stant  colle  penates; 

Ardua  saxoso  peiclucit  semita  clivo; 

Asper  principio  (iiec  enim  mihi  fallero  mos  est) 

Prosequitur  labor.    Adnitendum  intrare  volenti. — Dunstbh. 

"We  must  not  here  overpass  Milton's  "Preface  to  his  Reason  of  Church  Government," 

&c.,  b.  ii. : — "  Those who  will  not  so  much  as  look  upon  Truth  herself,  unless  they 

see  her  elegantly  dressed;  that  whereas  the  paths  of  honesty  and  good  life  appear  now 
rugged  and  difl5cult,  though  they  be  indeed  easy  and  pleasant;  they  will  then  appear  to 
all  men  both  easy  and  pleasant,  though  they  were  rugged  and  difficult  indeed,"  Com- 
pare also  "  Comus,"  ver.  476  et  seq. — Todd. 

I  Tunable  as  sylvan  pipe  or  song. 

So,  in  "  Paradise  Lost,"  v.  149 : 

Such  prompt  eloquence 
Flow'd  from  their  lips  in  prose  or  numerous  verse. 
More  tuniible  than  needed  lute  or  harp  • 

To  add  more  sweetness. 

And  Shakspeare,  "Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  a.  i.  s.  14: — 

More  tunable  than  lark  to  shepherd's  ear. — Bunstxb 

m  Moat  men  admire 
Virtue,  ^cho  follow  not  her  lore. 
Imitated  from  the  well-known  saying  of  Medea,  Ovid,  "  Met."  viii.  20 
Video  meliora  proboque ; 
Deteriora  sequor. — Newton. 

n  Atheous. 
Cicero,  speaking  of  Diagoras,  says,  "Atheos  qui  dictus  est,"  De  Nat.  Deor.  i.  23.^ 

DuNSTEB. 

"Atheous"  may  have  hence  been  coined  by  the  poet.     "Atheal,"  which  has  the 
same  signification,  is  not  uncommon  in  Old  English. — Todd. 

0  Praying  or  voicing. 
Besides  sacrifices  of  prayer  and  thanksgiving,  the  Jews  had  vow-sacrifices  (Lev.  viL 
16),  oblations  for  vows  (xxii.  18),  and  sacrifices  in  performing  their  vows.    (Numb.  xv. 

i,  8.) — DONSTEB. 

p  And  vouchsafed  his  voice 
To  Balaam  reprobate. 
An  argument  more  plausible  and  more  fallacious  could  not  have  been  put  into  the 
mouth  of  the  tempter.  Perfectly  to  enter  into  all  the  circumstances  of  this  remarkable 
piece  of  scripture  history,  and  clearly  to  apprehend  this  judicious  application  of  it  by 
the  poet  in  this  place,  we  may  refer  to  bishop  Butler's  excellent  "  Sermon  on  the  Cha- 
•acter  of  Balaam,"  or  to  Shuckford's  account  of  it  in  the  twelfth  book  of  his  "  Connection 
of  Sacred  and  Profane  History." — Dunster. 


BOOK  I.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  449 

Thy  coming  hither,  though  I  know  thy  scope, 
I  bid  not,  or  forbid ;  do  as  thou  find'st 
Permission  from  above ;  thou  canst  not  more.' 

He  added  not ;  and  Satan,  bowing  low 
His  gray  dissimulation,  disappear'd. 
Into  t4iin  air  diffused  :  ■■  for  now  began 
Night  with  her  sullen  wing'  to  double-shade* 
The  desert ;  fowls  in  their  clay  nests  were  couch'd ; 
And  now  wild  beasts  came  forth  the  woods  to  roam." 

q  Thou  caiut  not  more. 

So  Gabriel  replies  to  Satan,  "Paradise  Lost,''  book  iv.  1006; — 

tjatan,  I  know  thy  strength,  and  thou  know'st  mine; 
Neither  our  own,  but  given ;  what  folly  then 
To  boast  what  arms  can  do  !  siuce  thine  no  more 
Than  heaven  permits. — Todd. 

r  Lito  thin  air  diffused. 

So  Virgil,  "Mn."  iv.  278  :— 

Et  procul  in  tecuem  ex  oculia  evanuit  auram. — Newton. 

And  Shakspeare,  "  Tempest,"  a.  iv.  g.  2 : — 

These  our  actors, 
As  I  foretold  you,  were  ail  BQiritB,  and 
Are  melted  into  air,  into  thin  air ^Ockstbb. 

■  Her  sullen  wing. 
Virgil,  "  Mn."  viiL  369  :— 

Nox  ruit,  et  fuscis  tellurem  ampleetitur  alio. 

And  Tasso  describes  Nigbt  covering  the  sky  "  with  her  wings,"  Gier.  Lib.  e.  vili,  8t. 
67:— 

Snrgea  la  Notte  in  tanto,  e  sotto  1'  ali 
Recopriva  del  cielo  i  campi  immenai 

Compare  Spenser  also,  "Faery  Queen,"  vi.  viii.  54: — 

And  now  the  even-tiJe 
His  broad  black  wings  had  through  the  heavens  wide 
By  this  dispread. 

And  see  "Allegro,"  Ter.  6. — Dunstkb. 

t  To  douhlf-shade. 
1.  e.  to  double  the  natural  shade  and  darkness  of  the  place.    This  is  more  fully 
expressed  in  Hogaeus's  translation  of  this  passage : — 

Nam  nunc  obscuras  Nox  atra  expandere  pencas 
Cccperat,  ntque  nigias  nemorum  geminare  tenebras. 

Thus  in  "  Comus,"  ver.  335 : — 

In  double  night  of  dancness  and  of  shades. 
In  a  note  on  which  last  verse,  in  Mr.  Warton's  edition  of  the  "Juvenile  Poems,''  the 
following  line  of  Pacuvius,  cited  by  Cicero  ("De  Divinat."  i.  14),  is  exhibited:— 
Tenebrae  conduplicantur,  noctisque  et  nimborum  occeecat  nigror. 
We  may  also  compare  Ovid,  "  Met."  xi.  548 : — 

Tanta  vertigine  pontus 
Fervet,  et  inductu  pfeis  a  nubibus  umbra 
Omne  latet  ccelum,  duplicataque  noctis  imago  est. 
And  see  ibid.  521. — Ddnsteb, 

u  And  now  wild  beasts  came  forth  the  woods  to  roam. 
This  brief  description  of  night  coming  on  in  the  desert  is  singularly  fine :  it  is  a  small 
bnt  exquisite  sketch,  which  so  immediately  shows  the  hand  of  the  master,  that  his 
larger  and  more  finished  pieces  can  hardly  be  rated  higher.  The  commencement  of 
this  description,  both  in  respect  of  its  beginning  with  an  hemistich,  and  also  in  the 
sort  of  instantaneous  coming  on  of  night  which  it  represents,  resembles  much  a  passage 
in  Tasso,  "Gier.  Lib."  c.  iii.  st.  71 : — 

Cosi  diss'  egli : — e  gia  la  Notte  oscura 
Havea  tutli  del  giorno  i  raggi  spenti— Dunstbr. 
67 


450  PARADISE  REGATISTID.  [book  i. 

The  description  of  the  probable  manner  of  our  Lord's  passing  the  forty  days  in  the 
wilderness  is  very  picturesque  ;  and  the  return  of  the  wild  beasts  to  their  paradisiacal 
mildness  is  finelj^  touched.  The  appearance  of  the  tempter  in  his  assumed  character ; 
the  deep  art  of  his  first  two  speecnes,  covered,  but  not  totally  concealed,  by  a  sem- 
blance of  simplicity  ;  his  bold  avowal  and  plausible  vindication  of  himself;  the  sub- 
sequent detection  of  his  fallacies,  and  the  pointed  reproofs  of  his  impudence  and 
hypocrisy  on  the  part  of  our  blessed  Lord,  cannot  be  too  much  admired.  Indeed,  the 
whole  conclusion  of  this  book  abounds  so  much  in  closeness  of  reasoning,  grandeur 
of  sentiment,  elevation  of  style,  and  harmonv  of  numbers,  that  it  may  well  be  ques- 
tioned, whether  poetry  on  such  a  subject,  and  especially  in  the  form  of  dialogue,  ever 
produced  anything  superior  to  it. 

Tlie  singular  beauty  of  the  brief  description  of  night  coming  on  in  the  desert,  closes 
the  book  with  such  a'dmirable  effect,  that  it  leaves  us  con  laoocca  dolc«. — Dunsteb. 


BOOK  II.] 


PARADISE  REGAINED. 


451 


BOOK  11. 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 

It  is  sometimes  useful  to  warn  the  reader  what  he  is  to  expect  in  each  pcrtion  of  a 
long  puem,  as  it  is  olfercd  to  him.  The  second  book  of  the  "Paradise  Regained" 
begiLs  soberly, — perhaps  in  a  tone  almost  prosaic.  To  begin  low,  and  rise  by  a  gradual 
climax,  is  admitted  to  be  one  of  the  great  S'l'ts  of  beautiful  composition. 

The  anxiety  and  alarm  felt  by  the  disciples  of  Jesus,  at  missing  him  so  soon,  while 
detained  in  the  wilderness,  coming  suddenly  on  their  joy  at  the  discovery  of  his  advent; 
and  the  pathetic  yet  patient  reflections  of  Mary  at  the  loss  of  her  son,  though  related 
with  extreme  plainness,  are  full  of  deep  interest,  and  the  most  affecting  natural  touches : 
they  abound  in  passages  which  excite  human  sympathy. 

Satan,  hitherto  defeated  in  his  temptations  of  our  Saviour,  now  resorts  again  to  his 
council  of  peers :  at  which  occurs  that  magnificent  dialogue  between  the  sensual  Belial 
and  him,  which  is  at  any  rate  as  rich  and  poetical  as  the  finest  in  "  Paradise  Lost;"  and 
shows  a  vein  of  warmth,  and  imagery,  and  invention,  and  language,  that  is  evidence 
how  strongly  the  poet's  genius  was  yet  in  its  full  bloom  and  verdure.  Satan's  answer 
to  Belial  is  the  more  powerful,  as  coming  from  the  prince  of  darkness  himself:  how 
then  does  the  lustful  fiend  stand  rebuked! 

Now  Jesus  had  fasted  forty  days,  and  began  to  suffer  by  hunger:  Satan  seizes  the 
occasion,  and  resolves  to  take  advantage  of  it  Our  Saviour,  weary  and  exhausted, 
slept  under  the  cover  of  trees,  and  dreamed  of  food  supplied  by  an  angel,  who  invited 
him  to  eat.  Ue  waked  with  the  morning,  and  found  that  all  was  but  a  dream : — 
Fasting  he  went  to  sleep,  and  fasting  waked. 
Uo  walked  to  the  top  of  a  hill,  to  see  if  there  was  any  human  habitation  within 
reach ;  and  there  a  rich  but  solitary  landscape  displayed  itself  before  him,  raised  magi> 
oally  by  Satan  and  his  imps,  for  the  purposes  of  the  delusion  which  was  to  follow. 

While  gating  upon  this  magnificent  prospect,  Satan  again  accosts  him,  and  endea- 
vours to  alarm  his  faith  at  being  left  thus  Restitute : — 

As  his  words  had  end, 
Our  Saviour,  lifting  up  his  eyes,  beheld, 
In  ample  space,  under  the  broadest  shade, 
A  dinner  spread,  &c. 
Here  is  an  invented  array,  than  which  nothing  in  "Paradise  Lost"  can  be  richer 
either  in  imagery  or  poetical  language. 

Our  Saviour  rejects  with  scorn  the  temptation:  he  says: 

I  can  at  will,  doubt  not,  ua  soon  as  thou, 
Command  a  table  in  this  wilderness. 
And  call  swift  tliglits  of  ungels  ministraat, 
Array 'd  in  glory,  on  my  cup  to  attend: 
Why  shouldst  thou  then  obtrude  this  diligence 
(n  vam,  where  no  ncceptauoe  jt  can  hnd  ? 
And  with  my  hunger  what  hast  thou  to  do? 
Thy  pompous  aelicucies  I  contemn, 
And  count  thy  specious  gifts,  no  gifts,  but  guiles. 
Satan  grows  angry  at  the  refusal,  and 

With  that 
Both  table  and  provision  vanish 'd  quite, 
With  sound  of  harpies'  wings  and  talons  heanl. 
The  tempter  was  not  yet  to  be  foiled :  he  now  makes  an  offer  of  riches,  and  descants 
upon  their  advantages  for  the  purposes  of  that  dominion  which  he  assumes  that  our 
Saviour  was  sent  to  obtain. 
Jesus  answers,  that  wealth  without  virtue,  valour,  and  wisdom,  is  impotent ;  and  that 


452  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  ti. 

the  highest  deeds  have  been  performed  in  the  lowest  poverty :  he  then  expounds  what 
are  the  duties  and  what  are  the  cares  of  a  king ;  and  how  much  more  desirable  it  is  to 
surrender  a  sceptre,  than  to  gain  one. 

Were  there  in  this  book  nothing  but  the  spiritual  and  intellectual  part,  the  thoughts 
Rnd  the  sentiments,  I,  for  one,  should  not  think  the  less  of  it;  but  it  is  not  so:  there 
are  duly  intermixed  that  material,  those  picturesque  descriptions,  those  striking  inci- 
dents of  fact,  which  the  common  critics  and  the  generality  of  readers  more  especially 
deem  to  be  poetry. 

The  whole  story  (and  it  is  a  beautiful  story)  is  in  part  practical,  though  operated  on 
by  immaterial  beings,  whose  delusive  powers  over  our  earthly  conduct  and  fate  are  con- 
sistent with  our  belief.  The  temptations  are  such  as  a  mere  human  being  could  not 
have  resisted;  and  to  have  resisted  them  is  a  true  test  of  Christ's  divinity. 

But  the  arguments  by  which  they  were  resisted,  contain  the  most  profound  doctrines 
of  religion  and  morals,  such  as  for  ever  apply  to  human  life,  extend  and  purify  the 
understanding,  and  elevate  the  heart.  We  should  have  been  glad  to  have  learned  the 
grand  results  at  which  the  mighty  mind  of  Milton  had  arrived,  even  if  they  had  been 
expressed  in  prose ;  but  how  much  more  when  arranged  in  all  the  glowing  eloquence 
of  poetry !  when  interwoven  in  a  sublime  story,  and  deriving  practical  application  from 
their  embodiments  and  their  progressive  influences ! 

The  reply  to  the  allurements  of  female  beauty,  and  still  more  to  the  impotent  splen- 
dour of  wealth,  unaccompanied  by  virtue  and  talent,  is  an  outburst  of  imaginative 
strength  and  sublimity:  it  is  wisdom  irradiated  by  glory.  Whoever  does  not  find 
himself  better  and  happier  by  reading  and  reflecting  upon  those  grand  and  sentimental 
arguments,  has  neither  head  nor  heart,  but  is  a  stagnant  congeries  of  clayey  coldness 
and  inanimate  insusceptibility. 

We  may  be  forgiven  for  dispensing  with  all  poetry,  of  which  the  mere  result  is  inno- 
cent pleasure  ;  that  is,  they  may  lay  it  aside  to  whom  it  is  no  pleasure.  But  this  is  not 
the  case  with  Milton's  poetry  :  his  is  the  voice  of  instruction  and  wisdom,  to  which 
he  who  refuses  to  listen,  is  guUty  of  a  crime.  If  wc  are  so  dull  that  we  cannot  under- 
stand him  without  labour  and  pain,  still  we  are  bound  to  undergo  that  labour  and  pain. 
They  who  are  not  ashamed  of  their  own  ignorance  and  inapprehensiveness  are  lost. 

For  the  purpose  of  fixing  attention,  I  suspect  that  Milton's  latinized  style  is  best 
calculated.  He  who  has  more  acquired  knowledge  than  native  and  quick  taste,  ought 
to  study  him  as  he  studies  Virgil  and  Homer :  in  him  he  will  find  all  that  is  profound 
and  eloquent  in  the  ancient  classics,  amalgamated,  and  exalted  at  the  same  time  by 
the  aid  of  the  sacred  writings  ;  all  working  together  iu  the  plastic  mind  of  the  most 
powerful  and  sublime  of  human  poets. 

Strength,  not  grace,  was  Milton's  characteristic  :  his  grasp  was  that  of  an  unspar- 
ing giant ;  he  showed  the  sinews  and  muscles  of  his  naked  form :  he  put  on  no  soft 
garments  of  a  dove-like  tenderness  :  he  neither  adorned  himself  with  jewels  nor  gold 
leaf;  all  was  plain  as  nature  made  him. 

Thus  his  descriptions  of  scenery,  of  the  seasons,  of  morning  and  evening,  were 
rich,  but  not  embellished  or  sophisticated.  In  this  book,  the  break  of  the  dawn,  the 
gathering  of  the  night  shades,  the  dark  covering  of  the  umbrageous  forests,  the  open 
and  sunny  glades,  arc  all  painted  in  the  sober  hues  of  visible  reality. 

There  is  nothing  enfeebling  in  any  of  Milton's  visionariness.  His  bold  and  vigor- 
ous mind  braces  us  for  action ;  his  strains  beget  a  patient  loftiness,  prepared  for 
temptation,  difficulties,  and  dangers. 

It  is  in  vain  for  authors  to  attempt  to  effectuate  this  tone  by  practising  the  artifices 
of  composition :  it  is  produced  solely  by  the  poet's  belief  in  what  he  writes  ;  by  his 
being  under  the  impulse  of  the  ideal  presence  of  what  he  represents.  He  does  not 
conjure  up  factitious  images,  factitious  feelings,  and  factitious  language.  Where  the 
soul  is  wanting,  the  dress  or  form  will  be  of  no  avail. 

Milton's  purpose  was  to  represent  the  embodiment  and  refraction  of  what  he  be- 
lieved to  be  truth.  What  was  visible  to  himself,  but  not  palpable  to  common  eyes, 
except  by  the  Muse's  aid,  he  wanted  to  make  palpable  and  distinct  to  others.  The 
immaterial  world  is  covered  with  a  mist,  or  a  veil,  to  all  but  the  gifted  ;  unless  they 
become  a  mirror  for  duller  eights. 


HOOK  II]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  453 


ARGUMENT. 

The  disciples  of  Jesus,  uneasy  at  liis  long  absence,  reason  amongst  themselves  concerning  it, 
Mary  also  gives  vent  to  her  maternal  anxiety;  in  the  expression  of  which  she  recapitu- 
lates many  ciroumstances  respecting  the  birth  and  early  life  of  her  Son. — Satan  again  meets 
his  infernal  council,  reports  the  bail  success  of  his  first  temptation  of  our  blessed  Lord,  calls 
upon  them  for  counsel  and  assistance.  Belial  proposes  the  tempting  of  Jesus  with  women, 
Satan  rebukes  Belial  for  his  dissoluteness,  chaiging  on  him  all  the  profligacy  of  that  kind 
ascribed  by  the  poets  to  the  heathen  gods,  and  rejects  his  proposal  as  in  no  respect  likely 
to  succeed.  Satan  then  suggests  other  modes  of  temptation,  ptirticularly  proposing  to  avail 
himself  of  our  Lord's  hungering;  and,  taking  a  band  of  chosen  spirits  with  him,  returns  to 
resume  his  enterprise. — Jesus  hungers  in  the  desert. — Night  comes  on  ;  tlie  manner  in  which 
our  Saviour  passes  the  night  is  described. — Morning  advances. — Satan  again  appears  to  Je- 
sus; and,  after  expressing  wonder  that  he  should  be  so  entirely  neglected  in  the  wilderness, 
where  otliers  had  been  miraculously  fed,  tempts  him  with  a  sumptuous  banquet  of  the  most 
luxurious  kind.  This  he  rejects,  and  the  banquet  vanishes. — Satan,  finding  our  Lord  not  to 
be  assailed  on  the  ground  of  appetite,  tempts  him  again  by  offering  him  riches,  as  the  means 
of  acquiring  power :  this  Jesus  also  rejects,  producing  many  instances  of  great  actions 
performed  by  persons  ander  virtuous  poverty,  and  specifying  the  danger  of  riches,  and  the 
cares  and  pains  inseparable  from  power  and  greatness. 

Meanwhile  the  new-baptized,*  who  yet  remain'd 

At  Jordan  with  the  Baptist,  and  had  seen 

Him  whom  they  had  so  late  expressly  call'd 

Jesus,  Messiah,  Son  of  God  declared,* 

And  on  that  high  authority  had  believed, 

And  with  him  talk'd,  and  with  hira  lodged ; «  I  mean 

a  Meanwhile  the  new-baptized,  <fec. 
Th9  greatest,  and  indeed  justest  objection  to  this  poem  is  the  narrowness  of  its 
plan,  which,  being  confined  to  that  single  scene  of  our  Saviour's  life  on  earth,  his 
temptation  in  the  desert,  has  too  much  sameness  in  it ;  too  much  of  the  reasoning,  and 
too  little  of  the  descriptive  part;  a  defect  most  certainly  in  an  epic  poem,  which  ought 
to  consist  of  a  proper  and  happy  mixture  of  the  instructive  and  the  delightful.  Milton 
was  himself,  no  doubt,  sensible  of  this  imperfection,  and  has  therefore  very  judiciously 
contrived  and  introduced  all  the  little  digressions  that  could  with  any  sort  of  propriety 
connect  with  his  subject,  in  order  to  relieve  and  refresh  the  reader's  attention.  The 
following  conversation  betwixt  Andrew  and  Simon  upon  the  missing  of  our  Saviour  so 
long,  with  the  Virgin's  reflections  on  the  same  occasion,  and  the  council  of  the  devils 
how  best  to  attack  their  enemy,  are  instances  of  this  sort,  and  both  very  happily  exe- 
cuted in  their  respective  ways.  The  language  of  the  former  is  cool  and  unaffected, 
corresponding  most  exactly  to  the  humble,  pious  character  of  the  speakers :  that  of  the 
latter  is  full  of  energy  and  majesty,  and  not  inferior  to  their  most  spirited  speeches  in 
the  "  Paradise  Lost." — Thyer. 

b  Jesus,  Messiah,  Son  of  God  declared. 

This  is  a  great  mistake  in  thfc  poet.  All  that  the  people  could  collect  from  the 
declarations  of  John  the  Baptist,  and  the  Voice  from  heaven,  was  that  he  was  a  great 
prophet,  and  this  was  all  they  did  in  fact  collect:  they  were  uncertain  whether  he  was 
their  promised  Messiah. — Warddrton. 

But  surely  the  declaration,  by  the  voice  from  heaven,  of  Jesus  being  the  beloved  Son 
of  God,  was,  as  Milton  terms  it,  "  high  authority"  for  believing  that  he  was  the  Mes- 
siah.— John  the  Baptist  had  also,  John  i.  29,  expressly  called  him  "  the  Lamb  of  God 
which  taketh  away  the  sins  of  the  world,"  referring,  as  is  generally  supposed,  to  Isaiah, 
[iii.  7.  And,  the  day  following,  John's  giving  him  the  same  title,  "  Behold  the  Lamb 
of  God !"  (John  i.  36)  is  the  ground  of  Andrew's  conversion,  who  thereupon  followed 
.Jesus;  and  having  passed  some  time  with  him,  declared  to  his  brother  Peter,  "We 
have  found  the  Messias,  which  is,  being  interpreted,  the  Christ,"  John  i.  41, — Ddnster. 

'  A*d  with  him  talk'd,  and  with  him  lodged. 
These  particulars  are  fo<  nded,  as  Dr.  Newton  observes,  on  what  is  related  in  the  first 
chapter  of  St.  John,  respecting  two  of  John's  disciples  (one  of  whom  was  Andrew,  and 
the  other  probably  John  the  Evangelist  himself),  following  Jesus  to  the  place  where  he 
dwelt,  and  abiding  with  him  that  day, — Dunsteb. 


454  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  n. 

Andrew  and  Simon/  famous  after  known, 
With  others  though  in  Holy  Writ  not  named; 
Now  missing  him,  their  joy  so  lately  found, 
(So  lately  found,  and  so  abruptly  gone) 
Began  to  doubt,  and  doubted  many  days, 
And,  as  the  days  increased,  iacreased  their  doubt. 
Sometimes  they  thought  he  might  be  only  shown,* 
And  for  a  time  caught  up  to  God,  as  once 
Moses  was  in  the  mount  and  missing  long; 
And  the  great  Thisbite,  who  on  fiery  wheels 
Rode  up  to  heaven,'  yet  once  again  to  come.* 

d  /  mean 
Andrew  and  Simon. 
This  sounds  very  prosaic ;  but  I  find  a  like  instance  or  two  in  Harrington's  transla- 
tion of  the  "  Orlando  Furioso,"  c.  xxxi.  st.  46  : — 

And  calling  still  upon  that  noble  name, 
That  often  had  the  pagans  overcome, 
I  mean  Renaldo's  house  of  Montalbane. 
And  again,  st  55 : — 

How  she  had  seen  the  bridge  of  the  pagan  made, 
I  mean  the  cruel  pagan  Rodomont. — NIkwton. 

'  e  Sometimes  they  thought  he  might  he  only  shown, 

Virg.  "^n."  vi.  870  :— 

Ostendent  terris  hunc  tantura  fata,  nee  ultra 
Esse  sinent. — Nem'ton. 

f  And  the  great  Thisbite,  who  on  fiery  toheelt 
Rode  up  to  heaven, 
Elijah,  snatched  up  into  heaven  in  a  fiery  chariot,  was  a  favourite  image  in  Milton's 
early  years,  and  perfectly  coincided  with  his  cast  of  genius.     Thus,  in  his  "  Ode  on  the 
Passion,"  st  6: — 

See,  see  the  chariot,  and  those  rushing  wheelsj 
That  whirl'd  the  prophet  up  at  Chebar  flood. 

And  "  In  Obit  Prsesul.  Eliens."  ver.  49  : — 

Vates  ut  olim  raptus  ad  caelum  senez, 
Auriga  currus  ignei. 

And  I  think  we  may  trace  it  more  than  once  in  the  "  Prose  Works,"  either  by  com- 
parison  or  allusion.  The  "  fiery-wheeled  throne,"  in  "  H  Penseroso,"  has  another  origin. 
— T.  Warton. 

Mr.  Dunster  adds,  from  the  poet's  "In  Proditionem  Bombardicam,"  ver,  6: — 

Scilicet  hosalti  missurus  ad  atria  coeli, 

Sulphureo  curru,  flammivolisaiie  rotis: 
Qualiter  ille,  feris  caput  inviolabile  Parcis, 

Liquit  lurdanios  turbine  raptus  agros. 

Milton  seems,  in  his  descriptions  of  the  prophet,  to  have  had  in  mind  Sylvester,  "Du 
Bart"  edit  1621,  p.  72  :— 

Pure  spirit,  that  rapt'st  above  the  firmest  sphear, 
In  fiery  coach  thy  faithful  messenger,  &c. 

See  likewise  the  note  "  In  Obit.  Praes.  El."  ver.  48.    Or,  as  Mr.  Dunster  also  remarks, 
Sylvester  might  have  been  a  prompter  in  the  following  lines,  "Du  Bart"  p.  295 : — 
O,  thou  fair  chariot  flaming  brauely  bright, 
Which  like  a  whirl-winde  in  thy  swift  career 
Rapt'st  vp  the  Thesbit. 

Milton,  in  like  manner,  writes  "vates  terrae  Thesbitidis,"  Eleg.  iv.  97.  But  Castalic 
likewise  defends  this  orthography  :  "  Elias  autem  Thesbita,"  Ac.  Regum,  lib.  iii.  cap. 
17,  ed.  Basil.  1573.  Doctor  Newton  explains  "Thisbite"  by  adding  "Or  Tiahhite,"  as 
Elijah  is  called  in  the  English  translation  of  the  Bible ;  and  that  Elijah  was  a  native 
of  Thisbs  or  Tishbe,  a  city  of  the  country  of  Gilead,  beyond  Jordan.  Elijah  is  called 
"the  Thesbian  prophet,"  in  Sandy's  "Christ's  Passion,"  ed.  1640,  p.  51. — Todd. 

t  Yet  once  again  to  come. 
It  hath  been  the  opinion  of  the  church,  tiiat  there  would  be  an  Elias  before  Christ's 


BOOK  II.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  455 

Therefore,  as  those  young  prophets  then  with  care 
Sought  lost  Elijah  j  so  in  each  place  these 
Nigh  to  Bethabara,**  in  Jericho 
The  city  of  palms,'  ^non,  and  Salem  old, 

second  coming,  as  well  as  before  his  first;  and  this  opinion  the  learned  Mr.  Mede  sup- 
ports from  the  prophecy  of  Malachi,  iv.  5  : — "  Behold  I  will  send  you  Elijah  the  prophet, 
before  the  coming  of  the  great  and  dreadful  day  of  the  Lord,"  Ac,  and  from  what  our 
Saviour  says,  Matt.  xvii.  11: — "Elias  truly  shall  first  come,  and  restore  all  things." 
These  words  our  Saviour  spake  when  John  Baptist  was  beheaded,  and  yet  speaks  as  of 
a  thing  future,  "  and  shall  restore  all  things."  But  as  it  was  not  Elias  in  person,  but 
only  in  spirit,  who  appeared  before  our  Saviour's  first  coming,  so  will  it  also  be  before 
his  second.  The  reader  may  see  the  arguments  at  large,  in  Dr.  Mede's  Discourse  xxv., 
which  no  doubt  Milton  had  read,  not  only  on  account  of  the  fame  and  excellence  of  the 
writer,  but  as  he  was  also  his  fellow-collegian. — Newton. 

Though  our  Saviour  used  the  future  tense,  something  must  be  previously  understood 
to  limit  the  sense  of  it  to  what  was  then  passed,  to  a  prophecy  already  accomplished. 
Bishop  Pearce,  in  his  commentary  on  the  passage,  has,  "  was  to  come  first  and  restore 
all  things :"  and  Beza,  in  a  note  on  the  place,  says,  "  Hsec  autem  intelligenda  sunt  forma 
dicendi  e  medio  petita,  perinde  ac  si  diceret  Christus,  Verum  quidem  est  quod  sciibas 
dicunt  etiam,  videlicet  antegressurum  fuisse  Messiam,  et  secuturse  instaurationi  viauj 
aperturum ;  sed  dico  vobis,  Eliam  jam  venisse."  It  was  however  the  general  tradition 
of  the  elder  writers  of  the  Christian  church,  from  those  words  of  Malachi,  that  Elias 
the  Tishbite  was  to  come  in  person  before  our  Lord's  second  advent;  which  opinion 
the  Jesuit  De  la  Cerda,  in  his  Commentary  on  Tertullian,  "  De  Kesurrect  Carn."  c.  23, 
says,  all   the   ancient   Fathers   have   delivered,   "tradit   tola   Patrum   antiquitas."— 

DUNSTBR. 

•>  Nigh  to  Bethabara. 
It  has  been  observed  in  a  preceding  note  (b.  i.  ver.  193),  that  M.  D'Anville,  in  the 
map  of  Judea  in  his  "  Geographie  Ancienne,"  has  laid  down  Bethabara  wrong.  Adri- 
chomius,  in  his  "  Theatrum  Terrae  Sanctae,"  places  Bethabara  on  the  eastern  bank  of 
the  river  Jordan,  at  a  small  distance  from  the  Dead  Sea,  nearly  opposite  Jericho. 
Indeed,  if  we  consider  it  to  have  been  the  place  where  the  Israelites  passed  over  Jor- 
dan to  go  into  the  land  of  Canaan,  on  whichever  side  of  the  river  we  place  it,  it  must 
have  been  nearly  opposite  Jericho ;  as  it  is  expressly  said,  Joshua  iii.  16,  "  the  people 
passed  over  right  against  Jericho."  The  Eastern  travellers  also  show,  that  the  place, 
where  the  tradition  of  that  country  supposes  Jesus  to  have  been  baptized  by  John  in 
Jordan,  was  not  more  than  a  day's  journey  distant  from  Jerusalem;  and  that  Jericho 
lay  directly  in  the  way  to  it.  (See  Pocock's  "  Travels  in  the  East,"  and  Maundrell's 
Journal.)  Bishop  Pearce  places  Bethabar*on  the  same  side  of  the  '•■'ver  with  Jericho, 
that  is,  on  the  western  bank.  This  opinion  he  grounds  on  what  is  said,  Judges,  vii.  24, 
about  the  inhabitants  of  Mount  Ephraim  "taking  the  waters"  (i.  e.  taking  possession 
of  all  the  springs),  from  them  "unto  Bethabara  and  Jordan."  Bethabara  indeed 
(John  i.  28)  is  described  "beyond  Jordan,"  ittpav  Toi  lopiavov.  but  this  Bishop  Pearce 
reconciles  by  showing  that  iripav  often  signifies  in  Scripture,  "  on  the  side  of,"  or  "  on 
this  side  of."  For  this  construction  of  itipav,  he  cites  many  authorities  in  his  note  on 
Matt.  iv.  15,  and  likewise  refers  to  Casaubon's  note  on  John  i.  28.  But  it  should  be 
observed  that  Beza  has  the  same  remark,  and  that  he  renders  fipav  toS  'lopiavov,  not 
traiit  Jordanum,  but  gecrcs  Jordanum,  "nigh  to  Jordan,"  both  in  Matt.  iv.  15,  and  John 
L  28.  St  Jerom,  "  De  Nominibus  Hebraeis,"  speaks  of  Bethabara,  as  standing  partly  on 
the  western,  and  partly  on  the  eastern  bank  of  the  river  Jordan. — Dunster. 

'  The  city  of  palms,  &c. 

Jericho  is  called  "the  city  of  palms,"  Deut.  xxxiv.  3 :  and  Josephus,  Strabo,  Pliny, 
and  all  writers,  describe  it  as  abounding  with  those  trees,  .^non  is  mentioned,  John 
III.  23,  as  is  likewise  Salim  or  Salem :  but  there  appears  to  be  no  particular  reason  for 
our  author's  calling  it  "Salem  old,"  unless  he  takes  it  to  be  the  same  with  the  Shalem 
mentioned  Gen.  xxxiii.  18,  or  confounds  it  with  the  Salem  where  Melchizedek  was  king. 
Machaerus  was  a  castle  in  the.  mountainous  part  of  Peraea  or  the  country  beyond  Jordan, 
which  river  is  well  known  to  run  through  the  lake  of  Genezarcth,  or  the  sea  of  Tiberias, 
or  the  sea  of  Galilee,  as  it  is  otherwise  called  :  so  that  they  searched  in  each  place  on 
this  side  Jordan,  or  in  Pera3a,  Ke'pav  'IopSa»ov,  beyond  it. — Newton. 

Ey  the  expression,  "on  this  side  the  broad  lake  Genezareth,"  I  would  understand,  not 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river  to  Perasa,  but  below  the  lake  of  Genezareth,  or  to  the 
Bouth  of  it,  between  that  and  the  Asphaltic  Lake,  or  the  Dead  Sea;  which  is  exactly  the 
situation  of  the  places  here  mentioned,  none  of  which  could  be  properly  said  to  have 


456 


PARADISE  REGAINED. 


[book  ii_ 


Machaerus,  and  each  town  or  city  wall'd 

On  this  side  the  broad  lake  Genezaret, 

Or  in  Peroea ;  but  return'd  in  vain. 

Then  on  the  bank  of  Jordan,J  by  a  creek, 

Where  winds  with  reeds  and  osiers  whispering  play,* 

ofood  on  this  side,  that  is,  on  the  western  side  of  the  lake  of  Genezareth,  though  three 
of  them  stood  on  the  western  side  of  the  river  Jordan.  Or  in  Peraea,  may  be  only 
understood  to  mean  and  in  Peraea,  or  even  in  Perasa :  such  is  often  the  conjunctive  sense 
ol  re',  and  sometimes  .of  ant  in  Latin,  and  of  i)  in  Greek.  It  is  probable  that  Milton 
hud  the  same  idea  of  the  situation  of  Bethabara  with  that  noticed  in  the  preceding  note, 
as  admitted  by  Bishop  Pearce,  and  before  suggested  by  Beza  and  Casaubon.  This  he 
may  be  supposed  to  have  acquired  from  Beza,  whose  translation  of  the  Greek  Testa- 
ment with  notes,  we  may  imagine,  was  in  no  small  degree  of  repute  at  the  time  when 
our  author  visited  Geneva.  Accordingly,  the  first  place  where  he  makes  the  disciples 
seek  Jesus  is  Jericho,  on  the  same  side  of  the  river  as  Bethabara,  and  the  nearest  place 
of  any  consequence  to  it;  then  jEnon  and  Salem,  both  likewise  on  the  same  side,  but 
higher  up  towards  the  lake  of  Genezareth;  then  he  seems  to  make  them  cross  the  river 
and  seek  him  in  all  the  places  in  the  opposite  country  of  Persea,  down  to  the  town  and 
strong  fortress  of  Machaerus,  which  is  mentioned  by  Josephus,  "  De  Bello  Jud."  1.  vii. 
c.  6.  Milton  had  good  authority  for  terming  Salem,  "  Salem  old."  St.  Jerom  shows 
that  the  Salem,  Gen.  xxxiii.  18,  was  not  Jerusalem,  "sed  oppidum  juxta  Scythopolim^ 
quod  usque  hodie  appellatur  Salem ;  ubi  ostenditur  palatium  Melchizedec,  ex  magni- 
tudine  ruinarum  veteris  operis  ostendens  magnificentiam."  See  Hieronym.  Epist.  oxxTi. 
ad  Evag. — Dunster. 

J  On  the  hank  of  Jordan. 

Mr.  Dunster  observes,  that  Maundrell,  in  his  "Journey  to  Jerusalem,"  Ac.,  described 
the  river  Jordan  as  having  its  banks  in  some  parts  covered  so  thick  with  bushes  and 
trees,  such  as  tamarisks,  oleanders,  and  willows,  that  they  prevented  the  water  from 
being  seen  till  any  one  had  made  his  way  through  them".  In  this  thicket,  he  says, 
several  sorts  of  wild  beasts  harbour,  which  are  frequently  washed  out  of  their  covert  by 
the  sudden  overflowings  of  the  river.  Hence  that  allusion  in  Jeremiah,  xlix.  19  :  "Be- 
hold, he  shall  come  up  like  a  lion  from  the  swelling  of  Jordan."  The  same  critic  also 
notices  the  reference  made  to  the  reedy  banks  of  Jordan,  in  Giles  Fletcher's  "  Christ's 
Triumph  over  Death,"  st.  2  : — 

Or  whistling  reeds  that  rutty  Jordan  leaves. 

Milton,  by  the  distinction  which  he  here  makes,  had  perhaps  noticed  Sandys's  account 
of  Jordan,  in  his  "Travels;"  who  says,  "Passing  along,  it  maketh  two  lakes;  the  one 
in  the  Vpper  Galilee,  named  Samachontis  (now  Houle),  in  the  summer  for  the  most  part 
dry,  oucrgrowne  with  shrubs  and  reeds,  which  aflford  a  shelter  for  bores  and  leopards; 
the  other  in  the  Inferior,  called  the  Sea  of  Galilee,  the  lake  of  Genezareth,  and  of  Tybe- 
rias,"  Ac.  p.  141,  edit.  1615. — Todd. 

k  Whispering  piny. 

The  whispering  of  the  wind  is  an  image  that  Milton  is  particularly  fond  of,  and  has 
introduced  in  many  beautiful  passages  of  his  "  Paradise  Lost."  Thus  in  the  opening 
of  the  fifth  book,  where  Adam  wakens  Eve  : — 

then  with  voice 
.  Mild  as  when  Zephyrus  on  Flora  breathes, 

Her  hand  soft  touching,  whisper'd  Dius. 

He  also  applies  whispering  to  the  flowing  of  a  stream  ;  to  the  air  that  plays  upon  the 
water,  or  by  the  side  of  it;  and  to  the  combined  sounds  of  the  breeze  and  the  current. 
In  the  fourth  book  of  this  poem,  he  terms  the  river  Ilyssus,  a  "  whispering  stream  •"  and 
in  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  iv.  325,  he  describes 

a  tuft  of  shade  that  on  a  green 
Stood  whispering  soft  by  a  fresh  fountain  side. 

In  his  "Lycidas,"  ver.  1.36,  likewise,  he  addresses  the 

valleys  low,  where  the  mild  whispers  use 
Of  shades,  and  wanton  v^inds,  and  gushing  brooks. 

See  also  "Paradise  Lost,"  b.  iv.  158,  viii.  516:  "The  mild  whisper  of  the  refreshing 
breeze"  he  had  before  introduced  in  his  Latin  poem  "  In  Adventum  Veris,"  ver.  27, 
which  might  have  been  originally  suggested  to  him  by  Virgil's  "  Culex,"  t.  162 : 

At  circa  passim  fossre  cubnere  capellne, 
Excelsisque  super  duinis;  quos  leniter  adflans 
Aura  susurrantis  possit  confundere  venti. — Dtnster. 


BOOK  II.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  457 

Plain  fishermen,  (no  greater  men  them  call') 

Close  in  a  cottage  low  together  got, 

Their  unexpected  loss  and  plaints  out  breathed : 

Alas,  from  what  high  hope  to  what  relapse 
(Jnlook'd  for  are  we  fallen  !   our  eyes  beheld 
Messiah  certainly  now  come,  so  long 
Expected  of  our  fathers ;  we  have  heard 
Ilis  words,  his  wisdom  full  of  grace  and  truth : 
Now,  now,  for  sure,  deliverance  is  at  hand ; 
The  kingdom  shall  to  Israel  be  restored  : 
Thus  we  rejoiced,  but  soon  our  joy  is  turn'd 
Into  perplexity  and  new  amaze : 

For  whither  is  he  gone  ?  what  accident  * 

Hath  rapt  him  from  us  ?  will  he  now  retire 
After  appearance,  and  again  prolong 
Our  expectation  ?  God  of  Israel, 
Send  thy  Messiah  forth;  the  time  is  come! 
Behold  the  kings  of  the  earth,  how  they  oppress 
Thy  chosen  j  to  what  highth  their  power  unjust 
They  have  exalted,  and  behind  them  cast 
All  fear  of  thee  :  arise,  and  vindicate 
Thy  glory ;  free  thy  people  from  their  yoke  ! 
But  let  us  wait;  thus  far  He  hath  pcrform'd, 
Sent  his  Anointed,  and  to  us  reveal'd  him, 
By  his  great  prophet,  pointed  at  and  shown 
In  publick,  and  with  him  we  have  conversed  : 
Let  us  be  glad  of  this,  and  all  our  fears 
Lay  on  his  Providence ;  He  will  not  fail, 
Nor  will  withdraw  him  now,  nor  will  recall, 
Mock  us  with  his  blest  sight,  then  snatch  him  hence : 
Soon  we  shall  see  our  Hope,  our  Joy,  return. 

Thus  they,  out  of  their  plaints,  new  hope  resume 
To  find  whom  at  the  first  they  found  unsought : 
But,  to  his  mother  Mary,  when  she  saw 
Others  return'd  from  baptism,  not  her  Son, 
Nor  left  at  Jordan,  tidings  of  him  none ; 
Within  her  breast  though  calm,  her  breast  though  pure, 
Motherly  cares  and  fears  got  head,  and  raised 
Some  troubled  thoughts,  which  she  in  sighs  thus  clad  : 

0,  what  avails  me  now  that  honour  high  "» 

1  Plain  fishermen,  (no  greater  men  them  call). 
Thus  Spenser,  in  the  beginning  of  his  "  Shepherd's  Calendar :" — 
A  shepherd's  boy  (no  better  do  him  call). — Nkwton. 
m  0,  what  avails  me  note  that  honour  high,  Ac. 
In  several  parts  of  this  speech  Milton  appears  to  have  had  Vida  in  his  mind.    In 
this  opening  of  it,  at  verse  ^7,  and  from  verse  87  to  92,  we  plainly  trace  him  to  Mary's 
lamentation  under  the  cross,  "  Christ,"  v.  870  : — 

At  non  certe  olim  prsepes  dernissus  Olympo 
Nuntius  hffic  pnvidse  dederat  promissa  puellse. 
Sic  una  ante  alias  felix  ego,  sic  ego  coeli 
Inoedo  regina  ?  tnea  est  hrec  gloria  magna, 
Hie  meus  altus  hones.    Quo  reges  munera  opima 
Obtulerunt  mihi  post  partus  ?    Quo  carmina  laeta 
58 


458  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  ii. 

To  have  conceived  of  God,  or  that  salute, — 
Hail,  highly  favour' d,  among  women  blest  I 
While  I  to  sorrows  am  no  less  advanced, 
And  fears  as  eminent,  above  the  lot 
Of  other  women,  by  the  birth  I  bore ; 
In  such  a  season  born,  when  scarce  a  shed 
Could  be  obtain' d  to  shelter  him  or  me 
From  the  bleak  air ;  a  stable  was  our  warmth, 
A  manger  his  j  yet  soon  enforced  to  fly  » 
Thence  into  Egypt,  till  the  murderous  king 
Were  dead,  who  sought  his  life,  and  missing  fill'd 
With  infant  blood  the  streets  of  Bethlehem : 
From  Egypt  home  return'd,  in  Nazareth 
Hath  been  our  dwelling  many  years ;  •  his  life 
Private,  unactive,  calm,  contemplative. 
Little  suspicious  to  any  kingjp  but  now, 
Full  grown  to  man,  acknowledged,  as  I  hear 
By  John  the  Baptist,  and  in  publick  shown. 
Son  own'd  from  heaven  by  his  Father's  voice, 
I  look'd  for  some  great  change;  to  honour?  noj 
But  trouble,  as  old  Simeon  plain  foretold, 
That  to  the  fall  and  rising  he  should  be 

CcBlestes  cecinere  chori,  si  me  ista  manebat 

Sors  tainen,  et  vitam,  cladem  hanc  visura,  trahebaml 

Felices  ilUe,  natos  quibus  impius  hausit 

Insontes  regis  furor  ipso  in  limine  vitse, 

Dum  tibi  vana  timens  funus  molitur  acerbum 

Ut  cuperem  te  diluvio  cecidisse  sub  illo  ! 

Ho8,  hos  horribili  monitu  trepidantia  corda 

Terrificnns  senior  luntus  sperare  jubebut, 

£t  cecinit  fore,  cum  pectus  mihi  figeret  ensis: 

Nunc  alte  mucro,  nunc  alte  vtilnus  adactum. — ^DUNSTBS. 

"  Yet  soon  enforced  to  fly,  Ac. 
We  may  compare  the  following  stanza  of  Giles  Fletcher's  "Christ's  victory  ia 
Heaven :" — 

And  yet  but  newly  he  was  infanted, 

And  yet  already  he  was  sought  to  die ; 

Yet  scarcely  born,  already  banished; 

Not  able  yet  to  go,  and  forced  to  fly; 

But  scarcely  fled  away,  when  by  and  by 

The  tyrant's  sword  with  blood  is  all  defiled,  &.— Ddnstkr. 

0  In  Nazareth 
Hath  been  our  dwelling  many  years. 
She  mentions  this  as  part  of  their  distress;  because  the  country  of  Galilee,  whereof 
Nazareth  was  a  city,  was  the  most  despised  part  of  Palestine,  despised  hy  the  Jews 
themselves:  and  therefore  Nathaniel  asketh  Philip,  John  i,  46, — "Can  there  any  good 
thing  come  out  of  Nazareth  ?" — Newton. 

This  passage  does  not  strike  me  exactly  in  the  same  light  as  it  does  Dr.  Newton.  All 
this  description  of  the  early  private  life  of  our  Saviour  seems  rather  designed  to  con- 
trast and  to  give  more  effect  to  the  expectations  of  Mary,  where  she  says, 

but  now 
Full  grown  to  man,  acknowledged,  as  I  hear, 
By  John  the  Baptist,  and  in  publick  sho'wn, 
Son  own'd  from  heaven  hy  his  Father's  voice, 
I  look'd  for  some  great  change. — ^Ditnsteb. 

P  Hia  life 
Private,  unactive,  calm,  contemplative. 
Little  suspicious  to  any  king. 
Very  possibly  not  without  an  intended  reference  to  Milton's  own  way  of  life  after  the 
Restoration. — Dunstkb. 


BOOK  II.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  459 

Of  many  in  Israel,'  and  to  a  gign 

Spoken  against,  that  through  my  very  soul 

A  sword  shall  pierce :  this  is  my  favour'd  lot, 

My  exaltation  to  afflictions  high  : 

A.fflicted  I.  may  be,  it  seems,  and  blest  j  "■ 

[  will  not  argue  that,  nor  will  repine. 

But  where  delays  he  now  ?  some  great  intent 

Conceals  him  :  when  twelve  years  he  scarce  had  seen, 

I  lost  him,  but  so  found,  as  well  I  saw 

He  could  not  lose  himself,"  but  went  about 

His  Father's  business :  •  what  he  meant  I  mused, 

Since  understand ;  much  more  his  absence  now 

Thus  long  to  some  great  purpose  he  obscures. 

But  I  to  wait  with  patience  am  inured ; 

My  heart  hath  been  a  storehouse  long  of  things 

And  sayings  laid  up,  portending  strange  events." 

Thus  Mary,  pondering  oft,  and  oft  to  mind 
Recalling  what  remarkably  had  pass'd 
Since  first  her  salutation  heard,  with  thoughts 

q  That  to  the  fall  and  rising  he  should  be 
Of  many  in  Israel,  Ac. 
See  SL  Luke  ii.  34,  35.     These  are  the  aflSietions  that  Mary  notices :  not  the  circum- 
stances of  dwelling  in  a  disreputable  place ;  but  her  anxiety  about  her  son,  and  what 
she  then  suffered,  and  was  still  to  suffer,  upon  his  account. — Dunster. 

r  Afflicted  I  may  he,  it  seems,  and  blest. 
How  charmingly  does  Milton  here  verify  the  character  he  had  before  given  of  the 
blessed  Virgin  in  the  lines  above  ! 

Within  her  breast  though  calm,  her  brcaat  though  pnre, 
Motherly  cares  and  fear&  got  head. 

We  see  at  one  view  the  piety  of  the  saint,  and  the  tenderness  of  the  mother;  and  1 
think  nothing  can  be  conceived  more  beautiful  and  moving  than  the  sudden  start  of 
fond  impatience  in  the  third  line,  "but  whese  delays  he  now?"  breaking  in  so  abruptly 
upon  the  composed  resignation  expressed  in  the  two  preceding  ones.  The  same  beauty 
is  continued  in  her  suddenly  checking  herself,  and  resuming  her  calm  and  resigned 
character  again  in  these  words :— "  Some  great  intent  conceals  him." — Thyeb. 

•  He  eotdd  not  lose  himself. 
A  conceit  and  jingle  unworthy  of  our  author. — Jos.  Wabton. 

What  jingle  exists  between /ounrf  and  lose  I  know  not;  but  these  are  the  associations 
of  langnage,  not  conceits :  contrariety  is  one  of  the  principles  of  association. 

t  But  went  about 
His  father's  business. 
"And  he  said  unto  them.  How  is  that  ye  sought  me?  Wist  ye  not  that  I  must  be 
about  my  Father's  business?"    Luke  ii.  49. — Dunster. 

"  My  heart  hath  been  a  storehouse  long  of  things 
And  sayings  laid  up,  portending  strange  events. 

Alluding  to  what  is  said  of  her,  Luke  ii.  19.  "  But  Mary  kept  all  these  things,  and 
pondered  them  in  her  heart:"  and  see  also  ver.  51.  So  consistent  is  the  part  that  she 
acts  here  with  her  character  in  Scripture. — Newton. 

By  recurring  to  what  passed  at  the  river  Jordan  among  Jesus'  new  disciples  and  fol- 
lowers  upon  his  absence,  and  by  making  Mary  express  her  maternal  feelings  upon  it, 
the  poet  has  given  an  extent  and  variety  to  his  subject.  It  might  perhaps  be  wished 
that  all  which  he  has  put  into  the  mouth  of  the  Virgin  respecting  the  early  life  of  her 
son,  had  been  confined  solely  to  this  place,  instead  of  a  part  being  incorporated  in  our 
Lord's  soliloquy  in  the  first  book.  There  it  seems  awkwardly  introduced;  but  here  I 
conceive  htr  speech  mi^ht  havo  been  extended  with  good  effect. — Ditnster. 


460  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  it. 

Meekly  composed  awaited  the  fulfilling : ' 

The  while  her  Son,  tracing  the  desert  wild, 

Sole,  but  with  holiest  meditations  fed, 

Into  himself  descended, "^  and  at  once 

All  his  great  work  to  come  before  him  set 

How  to  begin,  how  to  accomplish  best 

His  end  of  being  on  earth,  and  mission  high : 

For  Satan,  with  sly  preface  to  return. 

Had  left  him  vacant;  and  with  speed  was  gone 

Up  to  the  middle  region  of  thick  air, 

Where  all  his  potentates  in  council  sat : 

There,  without  sign  of  boast,  or  sign  of  joy," 

Solicitous  and  blank,  he  thus  began  : 

Princes,  Heaven's  ancient  sons,  ethereal  thrones ; 
Deraonian  spirits  now,  from  the  element 
Each  of  his  reign  allotted,  rightlier  call'd 
Powers  of  fire,  air,  water,  and  earth  beneath  \^ 
(So  may  we  hold  our  place  and  these  mild  seats 
Without  new  trouble !)  such  an  enemy 
Is  risen  to  invade  us,  who  no  less 
Threatens  than  our  expulsion  down  to  hellj 
I,  as  I  undertook,  and  with  the  vote 
Consenting  in  full  frequence  '  was  impower'd, 

T  With,  thoughts 
Meekly  composed  awaited  the  fulfilling. 
This  is  beautifully  expressed.     There  is  a  passage  somewhat  similar,  in  "Paradise 
Lost,  b.xii.  596,  where  Michael,  having  concluded  what  he  had  to  show  Adam  from  the 
mountain,  and  what  he  had  farther  to  inform  him  of  in  narration  there,  says  they  must 
now  descend  from  this  "  top  of  speculation  ;"  and  bidding  Adam  "  go  waken  Eve,"  adds, 
Her  also  I  with  gentle  dreams  have  calm'd 
Portending  good,  and  all  her  spirits  composed 
To  meek  suhmission. — Dttjister. 

w  Into  himself  descended. 
Pars.  Sat.  iv.  2.3,— 

Ut  nemo  in  sese  tentat  descendere  ! — Nkwton. 
*  There,  without  sign  of  boast,  or  sign  of  joy. 
In  contrast  to  the  boasting  manner  in  wliich  Satan  Lad  related  his  success  agwnst 
man,  on  his  return  to  Pandeemonium,  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  x.  460.— Dunster. 

''  Demonian  spirits  now,  from  the  element 
Each  of  his  reign  allotted,  rightlier  calVd 
Powers  of  fire,  air,  water,  and  earth  beneath! 
It  was  a  notion  among  the  ancients,  especially  among  the  Platonists,  that  there  were 
demons  in  each  element,  some  visible,  others  invisible,  in  the  aether,  and  fire,  and  air, 
and  water;  so  that  no  part  of  the  world  was  devoid  of  soul,  as  Alcinons,  in  his  sum- 
mary of  the  Platonic  doctrines,  says,  cap.  5.  Michael  Psellus,  in  his  dialogue  concern- 
ing the  operation  of  demons,  from  wliich  Milton  borrowed  some  of  his  notions  of 
spirits,  speaks  to  the  same  purpose ;  that  there  are  many  kinds  of  demons,  and  of  all 
sorts  of  forms  and  bodies ;  so  that  the  air  above  us  and  around  us  is  full,  the  earth 
and  the  sea  are  full,  and  the  inmost  and  deepest  recesses  :  and  he  divides  them  into  six 
kinds  ;  the  fiery,  the  aery,  the  earthy,  the  watery,  the  subterraneous,  and  the  lucifu- 
gous,p.  45,  edit.  Lutet.  Paris.  1615.  But  the  demons  not  only  resided  in  the  elements 
and  partook  of  their  nature,  but  also  presided  and  ruled  over  them;  as  Jupiter  in 
the  air,  Vulcan  in  the  fire,  Neptune  in  the  water,  Cybele  in  the  earth  ;  and  Pluto 
under  the  earth. — Newton. 

^  In  full  freq%ience. 
Milton,  in  his  'History  of  England,'  has  said, '  The  assembly  was  full  and  frequent :' 
and  in  '  Paradise  Lost,' b.  i.  797,  the  council  of  devils  was  '  frequent  and  full.'    Here 


BOOK  ii;i  PARADISE  REGAINED.  4GI 

Have  found  him,  view'd  him,  tasted  him ; '  but  find 

Far  other  labour  to  be  undergone 

Than  when  I  dealt  with  Adam,  first  of  n>en : 

Though  Adam  by  his  wife's  allurement  fell, 

However  to  this  man  inferiour  far;* 

If  he  be  man  by  mother's  side  at  least. 

With  more  than  human  gifts  from  Heaven  adorned, 

Perfections  absolute,  graces  divine, 

And  amplitude  of  mind  to  greatest  deeds.' 

Therefore  I  am  return'd,  lest  confidence 

Of  my  success  with  Eve  in  Paradise 

Deceive  ye  to  persuasion  over-sure 

Of  like  succeeding  here  :  I  summon  all 

the  adjective  is  formed  into  a  substantive,  as  in  b.  i.  128  ;  and  Shakspeare  uses  it  in  the 
same  manner,  "  Timon,"  a.  v.  s.  3. 

Tell  Athens,  in  the  frequence  of  degree, 
From  liigh  to  low  throughout. — Newton. 

»  Tasted  him. 
This  is  a  Greeism.     Ttiojiai  signifies  not  only  guato,  but  likewise  experior,periculum 

facto. — DUNSTER. 

b  However  to  this  man  inferiour  far,  <4;c. 
I  have  ventured  to  correct  the  punctuation.     The  passage  in  the  first  editions,  and  in 
Dr.  Newton's,  stands  pointed  thus : 

However  to  this  mnn  inferiour  far, 

If  he  be  man  by  mother's  side  at  least, 

With  more  than  human  gifts  from  Heaven  adorn'd,  &c. 

On  this,  Mr.  Calton  observes:  "The  Tempter  had  no  doubt  of  Christ's  being  a  man 
by  the  mother's  side;  but  the  want  of  a  comma  in  its  due  place  after  'if  he  be  man,' 
hath  puzzled  both  the  sense  and  the  construction.  He  is  must  be  understood  at  the  end 
of  the  verse  to  support  the  synta.^; 

If  he  be  man,  by  mother's  side  at  least  (he  is)." 

Dr.  Newton  has  however  preserved  the  pointing  of  Milton's  own  edition,  because 
some,  he  says,  may  choose  to  join  the  whole  together,  and  understand  it  thus :  Satan 
had  heard  Jesus  declared  from  Heaven,  and^cnew  him  to  be  the  Son  of  God;  and  now, 
after  the  trial  he  had  made  of  him,  he  questions  if  he  be  man  even  by  the  mother's 
side ;  "  If  he  be  man  by  mother's  side  at  least."  He  farther  observes,  that  it  is  the 
purport  of  Satan,  in  this  speech,  not  to  say  anything  to  the  evil  spirits  that  may  lessen, 
but  everything  that  may  raise  their  idea  of  his  antagonist.  It  seems  to  me  that  there 
can  be  no  doubt  respecting  this  passage.  Dr.  Newton  certainly  sees  it  in  its  true  light: 
but  I  conceive  his  sense  of  it  is  strengthened  and  brought  forward  with  additional 
beauty,  and  the  whole  of  the  sentence  is  rendered  more  clear  and  perfect,  by  the  punc- 
tuation which  I  have  adopted;  and  which  I  think  most  probable  to  have  been  intended 
by  Milton. — Dunster. 

c  With  more  than  human  gift»  from  Heaven  adorn'd, 

Perfections  absolute,  graces  divine, 

And  amplitude  of  mind  to  greatest  deeds. 
Many  lines  of  the  "Paradise  Regained"  have  been  censured  as  harsh  andinhamio- 
ninus;  but  even  of  these  the  greater  part  may  be  vindicated  (as  it  has  been  done  in 
some  instances  by  Mr.  Thyer)  by  showing  that  they  were  very  far  from  being  of  that 
kind  quas  incuria  fudit;  and  that  many  of  them  are  peculiarly  expressive,  and  were 
purposely  designed  as  such  by  the  poet.  The  three  lines  above  cited  seem  however 
secure  from  every  possibility  Of  disapprobation :  they  are  so  eminently  beautiful,  that 
they  must  strike  every  ear  that  is  not  quite  devoid  of  feeling  and  of  taste.  Mr.  "Thyer 
particularly  notices  the  fine  efi"eet  of  the  last  line,  and  the  dignity  and  significaney  of 
the  expression  "amplitude  of  mind ;"  which  he  also  supposes  might  have  been  suggested 
by  the  following  passage  in  Tully's  "  Tusc.  Disput."  ii.  25. — "  Hoc  igitur  tibi  propone, 
amplitudinem  et  quasi  quandami  exaggerfttionera  quam  altissimam  animi,  quas  maxime 
eminet  contemnendis  et  dispicLendis  doloribus,  unam  esse  omnium  rem  pulcherrimam.* 
— Dunster. 


462  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [BOOK  n. 

Rather  to  be  in  readiness,  with  hand 
Or  counsel  to  assist;  lest  I,  who  erst 
Thought  none  my  equal,  now  be  over-match'd. 

So  spake  the  old  serpent,  doubting ;  and  from  all 
With  clamour  was  assured  their  utmost  aid 
At  his  command :  when  from  amidst  them  rose 
Belial,  the  dissolutest  spirit  that  fell, 
The  sensualest;  and,  after  Asmodai, 
The  fleshliest  incubus ;  ■'  and  thus  advised  : 

Set  women  in  his  eye,  and  in  his  walk,* 
Among  daughters  of  men  the  fairest  found : 
Many  are  in  each  region '  passing  fair 
As  the  noon  sky ;  more  like  to  goddesses 
Than  mortal  creatures  ;  graceful  and  discreet  j 
Expert  in  amorous  arts,  enchanting  tongues 

d  Belial,  the  dissolutest  spirit  that  fell, 
The  sensualest ;  and,  after  Asmodai, 
The  fleshliest  incubus, 

I  hare  heard  these  three  lines  objected  to  as  harsh  and  inharmonious,  but  in  my 
opinion  the  very  objection  points  out  a  remarkable  beauty  in  them.  It  is  true,  they  do 
not  run  very  smoothly  off  the  tongue;  but  then  they  are  with  much  better  judgment  so 
contrived,  that  the  reader  is  obliged  to  lay  a  particular  emphasis,  and  to  dwell  for  some 
time  upon  the  word  in  each  verse  which  most  strongly  expresses  the  character  described, 
viz.  "  dissolutest,  sensualest,  fleshliest."  This  has  a  very  good  effect  by  impressing  the 
idea  more  strongly  upon  the  mind,  and  contributes  even  in  some  measure  to  increase 
our  aversion  to  itie  odious  character  of  Belial,  by  giving  an  air  of  detestation  to  the 
very  tone  of  voice  with  which  these  verses  must  necessarily  be  read. — Thyer. 

This  is  a  just  remark  of  Thyer ;  it  is  happy  where  the  metre  requires  that  the  strongest 
accent  should  be  thrown  where  it  is  most  necessary  to  enforce  the  sense. 

The  character  of  Belial  in  the  "Paradise  Lost,''  and  the  part  he  sustains  there,  sufiB- 
ciently  show  how  properly  he  is  introduced  upon  the  present  occasion.  He  is  here  said 
to  be  the  "fleshliest  incubus  after  Asmodai ;"  or  "  Asmadai,"  as  it  is  written,  "  Paradise 
Lost,"  b.  vi.  365;  or  "Asmodeus,"  b,  iv.  168,  the  lustful  angel  who  loved  Sarah  the 
daughter  of  Raguel,  and  destroyed  her  seven  husbands,  as  we  read  in  the  book  of  Tobit. 
— Newton. 

e  Set  women  in  his  eye,  &c. 

As  this  temptation  is  not  mentioned  in  the  Gospels,  it  could  not  with  any  propriety 
have  been  proposed  to  our  Saviour;  it  is  much  more  fitly  made  the  subject  of  debate 
among  the  wicked  spirits  themselves.  All  that  can  be  said  in  praise  of  the  power  of 
beauty,  and  all  that  can  be  alleged  to  depreciate  it,  is  here  summed  up  with  greater 
force  and  elegance,  than  I  ever  remember  to  have  seen  in  any  other  author. — Newton. 

This  temptation  is  something  in  the  style  of  Tasso,  where  Satan  suggests  to  Iledroart 
Bending  Armida  to  tempt  and  corrupt  Godfrey,  "  Gier.  Lib."  c.  iv. — Dunster. 

f  Many  are  in  each  region,  Ac. 
Milton,  with  all  his  philosophical  composure,  appears  to  have  been  no  stranger  to  the 
strong  perceptions  of  the  passion  of  love.     In  his  first  Elegy  he  speaks  feelingly  of  the 
power  of  beauty,  ver.  53  : — 

Ah  !  quotiei  dignae  atnpui  miracula  formae,  &e. 
In  the  seventh  Elegy,  written  at  the  age  of  nineteen,  he  mentions  the  first  time  of  his 
falling  in  love.  He  met  an  unknown  fair  on  some  public  walks,  in  or  about  London ; 
was  suddenly  and  violently  captivated,  but  had  no  opportunity  of  declaring  his  affection 
and  gaining  her  acquaintance.  He  in  vain  ardently  wishes  to  see  her  again,  and  flat- 
ters his  imagination  that  her  heart  is  not  made  of  adament.  Five  of  his  Italian  Son- 
nets, and  his  Canzone,  are  amatorial ;  and  were  perhaps  inspired  by  Leonora  [Baroni] 
a  young  lady  whom  he  had  heard  sing  at  Rome,  and  whom  he  celebrates  in  three  Latin 
epigrams.  But  these  were  among  the  vanities  of  his  youth.  Yet  at  a  much  later  and 
toolor  period,  when  he  wrote  the  present  poem,  we  find  him  deeply  impressed  with  at 
least  a  remembrance  of  the  various  and  irresistible  allurements  of  beauty.  These 
exquisite  lines,  ver.  155  to  ver.  169,  were  written  by  ho  Stoic.  It  is  certain,  that  no 
poet  has  given  more  graceful  and  attractive  images  of  beauty  than  Milton  in  his  various 
portraits  of  Eve,  each  in  a  new  aspect  and  attitude. — T.  Warton. 


BOOK  11.] 


PARADISE  REGAINED. 


463 


Persuasive,  virgin  majesty  with  mild 
And  sweet  allay'd,  yet  terrible  to  approach ; « 
Skill'd  to  retire,  and,  in  retiring,  draw 
Hearts  after  them ''  tangled  in  amorous  nets. 
Such  object  hath  the  power  to  soften  and  tame 
Severest  temper,  smoothe  the  rugged' st  brow,' 
Enerve,  and  with  voluptuous  hope  dissolve, 
Draw  out  with  credulous  desire,-'  and  lead 
At  will  the  manliest,  resolutest  breast, 
Afl  the  magnetick*^  hardest  iron  draws. 

K  Virgin  majesty  with  mild 
And  sweet  allay'd,  yet  terrible  to  approach. 
Possibly  suggested  by  Claudian,  "  Cons.  Prob.  et  01."  91 : — 

Miscetur  decori  virlus,  pulcherque  severe 
Armatur  terrore  piidor. 

S^e  also  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  ix.  489,  Ac. — Dunstrr. 

Perhaps  Milton  remembered  the  description  of  beauty  in  "  Solomon's  Song,"  ch.  vi.  4» 
— "  Thou  art  beautiful,  0  my  love,  as  Tirzah,  comely  as  Jerusalem,  terrible  as  an  army 
with  banners." — Todd. 

I>  Skill'd  to  retire,  and,  in  retiring,  draw 
Hearts  after  them. 
In  the  same  manner,  Milton,  in  his  description  of  Eve, "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  viii.  504 : — 

Not  obvious,  not  obtrusive,  but  retired, 
The  most  desirable. — Trtkr. 

'  Smoothe  the  rugged'st  brow. 
Thus  in  "  Penseroso,"  58 : — 

Smoothing  the  rugged  brow  of  night. — Dvmstkr. 

J  Draw  out  tcith  credulous  desire. 
This  beautiful  expression  was  formed  partly  upon  Horace,  Od.  iv.  i.  40 — 
Spes  nnimi  credula  mutui : 
and  partly,  as  Mr.  Thyer  thinks,  from  a  passage  in  the  "  Andria"  of  Terence,  a.  ir.  s.  1 : — 

Non  tibi  satis  esse  hoc  visum  solidum  est  gaudium, 

Nisi  me  tactasses  amantem,  et  falsa  spe  produceres? — Newton. 

"  Credulous"  might  have  been  suggestedlay  an  ode  of  Horace,  which  Milton  himself 
has  translated : — 

Qui  nunc  te  fruitur  credulus  aurea: 
Qui  semper  vacuam,  <fec.— Dunster. 

^  As  the  magnetick,  &c. 
It  should  be  the  magnet,  or  magnetic  stone.    But  Milton  often  converts  the  adjec- 
tive, and  uses  it  as  the  substantive. — Newton. 

Lueian  hath  this  simile  in  his  "  Imatfines,"  vol.  ii.  p.  2,  ed.  Grajv. : — "But if  the 
fair  one  once  look  upon  yon,  what  is  it  that  can  get  you  from  her?  she  will  draw  you 
after  her  at  pleasure,  bound  hand  and  foot,  just  as  the  loadstone  draws  iron."  We 
may  observe,  that  Milton,  by  restraining  the  cotnpurison  to  the  power  of  beauty  over 
the  wisest  men  and  tlie  most  stoical  tempers,  hatli  given  it  a  propriety  which  is  lost 
in  a  more  general  application. — Calton. 

Claudiaii,  having  very  poetically  described  the  powers  of  the  magnet,  concludes  his 
"  Idylliura,"  in  a  manner  that  possibly  might  have  suggested  to  Milton  some  of  the 
preceding  lines : — 

Quae  duras.jungit  concordia  mentes"? 
Flagrat  auhela  silex,  et  amicam  saucia  sentit 
Materiem,  placidosque  chalybs  cognoscit  amores. 
Sic  Venus  norrificvini  belli  compescere  regem, 
Et  vultu  molllre  soiet.  cum  sanguine  prseceps 
.SIsluat,  et  strictis  mucronibus  asperat  iras 
Sola  feris  occurrit  equis.  solvitque  tumorem 
Pectoris,  et  blando  prajcordia  temperet  igni. 
Pax  animo  (ranquilla  datur,  pugnasque  calentes 
Deserit,  et  rutilas  declinat  in  oscula  cristas. 
Qua;  tibi,  sffive  puer,  non  est  permissa  potestasl 
Tu  magnum  superas  fulmen,  &c.— Dunsteb. 


464 


PARADISE  REGAINED. 


[book  II. 


Women,  when  nothing  else,  beguiled  the  heart 
Of  wisest  Solomon,  and  made  him  build. 
And  made  him  bow,  to  the  gods  of  his  wives. 

To  whom  quick  answer  Satan  thus  return'd : 
Belial,  in  much  uneven  scale  thou  weigh'st 
All  others  by  thyself ;  because  of  old 
Thou  thyself  doat'st  on  womankind,  admiring 
Their  shape,  their  colour,  and  attractive  grace, 
None  are,  thou  think'st,  but  taken  with  such  toys. 
Before  the  flood  thou  with  thy  lusty  crew, 
False  titled  sons  of  God,'  roaming  the  earth, 
Cast  wanton  eyes  on  the  daughters  of  men, 
And  coupled  with  them,  and  begot  a  race. 
Have  we  not  seen,  or  by  relation  heard," 
In  courts  and  regal  chambers  how  thou  lurk'st, 
In  wood  or  grove,  by  mossy  fountain  side, 
In  valley  or  green  meadow,"  to  way-lay 
Some  beauty  rare,  Calisto,  Clymene, 
Daphne,  or  Semele,  Antiopa, 
Or  Amymone,  Syrinx,"  many  more 
Too  long ;  f  then  lay'st  thy  scapes  i  on  names  adored, 

>  Before  the  flood  thou  with  thy  lusty  crew, 
Fahe  titled  sons  of  God,  Ac. 
It  is  to  be  lamented  that  our  author  has  so  often  adapted  the  vulgar  notion  ot  thfl 
angels  having  commerce  with  women,  founded  upon  that  mistaken  text  of  Scripture, 
Gen.  vi.  2  : — "  The  sons  of  God  saw  the  daughters  of  men,  that  they  were  fair;  and  they 
took  them  wives  of  all  which  they  chose."  See  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  iii.  463,  Ac.  But 
though  he  seems  to  favour  that  opinion,  as  we  may  suppose,  to  embellish  his  poetry: 
yet  he  shows  elsewhere  that  he  understood  the  text  rightly,  of  the  sons  of  Seth,  who 
were  the  worshippers  of  the  true  God,  intermarrying  with  the  daughters  of  wicked  Cain, 
"  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  xi.  621,  625. — Newton. 

»>  Have  we  not  seen,  or  by  relation  heard. 
This  passage  is  censured  by  Dr.  Warburton,  as  suiting  only  the  po6t  speaking  in  his 
own  person  ;  but  surely  there  is  no  impropriety  in  the  arch-fiend's  being  well  acquainted 
with  the  fables  of  the  heathen  mythology,  and  the  amours  and  adventures  of  their  gods, 
or,  (according  to  Milton's  system)  his  own  infernal  compeers.  If  we  censure  this 
passage,  we  must  still  more  decisively  condemn  one  in  the  fourth  book ;  where,  in 
answer  to  Satan's  speech,  describing,  while  he  shows  it,  the  splendour  of  Imperial 
Rome,  our  Lord,  taking  up  the  subject,  carries  on  the  description  to  the  luxurious  way 
of  living  among  the  Romans  of  that  time,  with  this  verse  in  a  parenthesis, — 
For  I  have  nlso  heard,  perhaps  have  read.— Dunsteb. 

n  In  wood  or  grove,  by  mossy  fountain  side, 
In  valley  or  green  meadow. 
Thus  in  Shakspeare's  "Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  Puck,  speaking  of  Oberon  and 
Titania,  aays : — 

And  now  tliey  never  meet  in  jfrove  or  green, 
By  fountain  clear,  &c. — Dchitkr. 

0  Calisto,  Clymene, 
Daphne,  or  Semele,  Antiopa, 
Or  Amymone,  Syrinx, 
All  these  mistresses  of  the  gods  might  have  been  furnished  from  Ovid,  oar  anthor's 
brourite  Latin  poet — Dunster. 

P  Many  more 
Too  long. 
A  concise  way  of  speaking  for  "many  more  too  long  to  mention."    The  author  htd 
used  it  before,  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  iii.  473.     Indeed  more  would  have  been  "  too  long," 
and  it  would  have  been  better  if  he  had  not  enumerated  so  many  of  the  loves  of  tix6 


BOOK  II.] 


PARADISE  REGAINED. 


465 


Apollo,  Neptune,  Jupiter,  or  Pan,' 

Satyr,  or  Faun,  or  Sylvan  ?     But  these  haunts 

Delight  not  all :  among  the  sons  of  men. 

How  many  have  vrith  a  smile  made  small  account 

Of  beauty  and  her  lures,  easily  scorn'd 

All  her  assaults,  on  worthier  things  intent ! 

Remember  that  Pellean  conquerour,» 

A  youth,  how  all  the  beauties  of  the  East 

gods.  These  things  are  known  to  every  school-boy,  but  add  no  dignity  to  n  divine 
poem ;  and  in  my  opinion  are  not  the  most  pleasing  subjects  in  painting  any  more  than 
in  poetry. — Newton. 

Poetry,  as  strictly  discriminated  from  prose,  may  be  defined,  elevated  and  ornamented 
language.  Among  the  most  allowed  modes  of  elevating  and  decorating  language,  inde- 
pendent of  metrical  arrangement,  mythological  references  and  allusions,  and  classical 
imitations  hold  a  principal  place.  A  poet  precluded  from  these  would  be  miserably  cir- 
cumscribed; and  might  with  equal  or  better  effect  relate  the  fable  which  he  imagines, 
the  historic  facts  which  he  records,  or  the  precepts  which  he  lays  down,  in  that  species 
of  language  which  asks  no  ornaments  but  purity  and  perspicuity.  A  divine  poem  cer- 
tainly requires  to  be  written  in  the  chastest  style,  and  to  be  kept  perfectly  free  from  the 
glare  of  false  ornament :  but  it  must  still  be  considered  that  the  great  reason  of  exhi- 
biting any  serious  truths,  and  especially  the  more  interesting  facts  of  religious  history, 
through  the  medium  of  poetry,  is  thereby  more  powerfully  to  attract  the  attention. 
Poetry,  to  please,  must  continue  to  be  pleasing.  In  the  beauty  and  propriety  of  his 
references  and  allusions,  the  poet  shows  the  perfection  of  his  taste  and  judgment,  as 
much  as  in  any  other  circumstance  whatever ;  and  Milton  has  eminently  distinguished 
himself  in  this  respect.  How  beautifully  has  he  sprinkled  his  "  Paradise  Lost"  with  the 
flowers  of  classic  poetry,  and  the  fictions  of  Greek  and  Roman  mythology !  And  he  has 
done  this  with  so  judicious  a  hand,  with  a  spirit  so  reverent,  that  the  most  religiously 
delicate  ear  cannot  but  be  captivated  with  it.  I  confess  my  surprise  that  Dr.  Newton 
does  not  see  the  passage  before  us  in  this  light.  It  appears  to  me  not  only  in  the  highest 
degree  justifiable,  but  absolutely  as  one  of  these  loci  Inndandi  which  the  best  critics  ever 
delight  to  exhibit  from  the  works  of  the  more  eminent  poets.  Milton  here  admirably 
avails  himself  of  the  fabulous  amours  of  the  heathen  deities :  he  transfers  them  to  the 
fallen  angels,  and  to  Belial  and  "  his  lusty  crew ;"  and  by  the  judicious  application  of 
these  disgraceful  tK.les,  he  gives  them  a  propriety  which  they  never  before  possessed; 
he  furnishes  even  the  school-boy  with  a  moral  to  the  fable  which  he  has  been  reading; 
and  recalls  to  maturer  minds  the  classical  beauty  of  these  fabulous  descriptions,  which 
at  once  relieve  and  adorn  his  divine  poem.— Funster. 

q  Thy  scapes. 
This  is  a  Gallicism,  echappee,  a  prank  or  frolic. — Dunster. 

f  Apollo,  Neptune,  Jupiter,  or  Pan. 
Calisto,  Semele,  and  Antiopa,  were  mistresses  to  Jupiter ;  Clymene  and  Daphne  to 
Apollo ;  and  Syrinx,  to  Pan.  Both  here  and  elsewhere,  Milton  considers  the  gods  of 
the  heathens  as  demons  or  devils.  Thus,  in  the  Septuagint  version  of  the  Psalms, 
ndvrti  ol  dcoi  Tciv  eOvbiv  Saijjidvia,  Psalm  xcvi.  5,  and  likewise  in  the  Vulgate  Latin, 
"  Quoniam  oranes  Dii  gentium  daemonia."  And  the^.notion  of  the  demons  having  com- 
merce with  women  in  the  shape  of  heathen  gods  is  very  ancient,  and  is  expressly 
asserted  by  Justin  Martyr,  "  Apol."  i.  p.  10,  and  33,  edit.  Thirlbii. — Newton. 

r  Remember  that  Pellean  conquerour,  Ac. 

Alexander  the  Great  was  born  at  Pella  in  Macedonia:  his  continence  and  clemency 
to  Darius's  queen  and  daughters,  and  the  other  Persian  ladies  whom  he  took  captive 
after  the  battle  of  Issus,  are  commended  by  the  historians  :  "  Tum  quidem  ita  se  gessil^ 
ut  omnes  ante  eum  reges  et  cojitinentia  et  dementia  vincerentur :  virgines  tnim  regias 
excellentis  formae  tam  sancte  habuit,  quam  si  eodem  quo  ipse  parente  genitxe  forent : 
conjugem  ejusdem,  quam  nulla  setatis  suae  pulchritudine  corporis  vicit,  adeo  ipse  non 
violavit,  ut  summara  adhibuerit  curam,  ne  quis  captive  corpori  illuderet,"  Ac.  Quint 
Curt.  lib.  iii.  cap.  9.  He  was  then  a  young  conqueror,  of  about  twenty-three  years  of 
age ;  "  a  youth,"  as  Milton  expresses  it. — Newton. 

See  Juvenal,  sat  x.  168 : 


59 


Unas  Pelleeo  juveni  oon  sufficit  orbis. — ^Dunster. 


466  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  ii. 

He  slightly  view'd,  and  slightly  overpass'd;* 
How  he,  surnamed  of  Africa,  dismiss'd. 
In  his  prime  youth,  the  fair  Iberian  maid." 
For  Solomon,  he  lived  at  ease ;  and,  full  / 

Of  honour,  wealth,  high  fare,  aim'd  not  beyond 
Higher  design  than  to  enjoy  his  state; 
Thence  to  the  bait  of  women  ^  lay  exposed : 
But  he,  whom  we  attempt,  is  wiser  far 
Than  Solomon,  of  more  exalted  mind, 
Made  and  set  wholly  on  the  accomplishment 
Of  greatest  things.     What  woman  will  you  find, 
Though  of  this  age  the  wonder  and  the  fame, 
On  whom  his  leisure  will  vouchsafe  an  eye 
Of  fond  desire  ?  *  Or  should  she,  confident 
As  sitting  queen  adored  on  beauty's  throne, 
Descend  with  all  her  winning  charms  begirt* 
To  enamour,  as  the  zone  of  Venus  once 
Wrought  that  effect  on  Jove,  so  fables  tell ; ' 
How  would  one  look  from  his  majestick  brow, 

t  How  all  the  beantiea  of  the  East 
He  slightly  view'd,  and  slightly  overpass'd. 

Alexander,  -we  know  from  history,  did  not  "slightly  overpass  all  the  beauties  of  til6 

East." DUNSTER. 

1  Hoto  he,  surnamed  of  Africa,  dismiss'd, 
In  his  prime  youth,  the  fair  Iberian  maid. 

The  continence  of  Scipio  Africanus  at  the  age  of  twenty-four,  and  his  generosity  in 
restoring  a  beautiful  Spanish  Lady  to  her  husband  and  friends,  are  celebrated  by  Poly- 
bius,  Livy,  Valerius  Maximus,  and  various  other  authors. — Newton. 

T  Thence  to  the  bait  of  loomen,  &c. 
This  remark,  applied  by  Satan  to  Solomon,  the  example  cited  by  Belial,  induces  me 
i'j  notice  the  description  of  Belial  by  Wierus,  "  Pseudomonarchia  Daemonum,"  edit. 
Basil.  1582,  p.  919.  "  Sunt  quidam  necromantic!,  qui  asserunt  ipsum  Salomonem,  quo- 
dam  die  astutia  cujusdam  mulieris  seductum,  orando  se  inclinasse  versus  simulacrum 
Belial  nomine,"  Ac.  Wierus  doubts  this  particular  circumstance.  But  see  1  Kings,  kL 
1 — 8,  and  "  Par.  Lost,"  b.  i.  401,  and  the  present  book,  ver.  169. — Todd. 

"  On  whom,  his  leisure  will  vouchsafe  an  eye 
Of  fond  desire  f 
The  "  eye  of  fond  desire"  is  very  beautifully  expressed  by  ^schylus,  whom  our  author 
perhaps  had  in  view,  "  Suppl."  ver.  1011. — Thyer. 

J5schylus  has  also  the  immediate  expression,  "the  eye  of  desire,"  in  "  Prometh."  ver. 
f(65. — DaNSTEE, 

X  Or  should  she,  confident. 
As  sitting  queen  adored  on  beauty's  throne, 
Descend  xoith  all  her  winning  charms  begirt,  Ac. 

This  is  clearly  from  the  same  palette  and  pencil  as  the  following  highly-coloured, 
passage,  "  Par.  Lost,"  b.  viii.  59. 

With  goddess-like  demeanour  forth  she  went, 

Not  una'.tonded  ;  for  on  her  as  queen 

A  pomp  of  winning  Graces  waited  gti)I, 

And  from  about  her  shot  darts  of  desire 

Into  all  eyes  to  wish  lier  still  in  sight. — Dunbtkr. 

y  So  fables  tell. 

These  words  look  as  if  the  poet  had  forgot  himself,  and  spoke  in  his  own  person 
rather  than  in  the  character  of  Satan. — Nkwton. 


PARADISE  REGAINED.       .  46T 


Seated  as  on  the  top  of  Virtue's  hill," 

Discountenance  her  despised,  and  put  to  rout 

All  her  array  ;  her  female  pride  deject, 

Or  turn  to  reverent  awe  !  for  beauty  stands 

In  the  admiration  only  of  weak  minds 

Led  captive ; "  cease  to  admire,  and  all  her  plumes 

Fall  flat,  and  shrink  into  a  trivial  toy, 

At  every  sudden  slighting  quite  abashM."" 

Therefore  with  manlier  objects  we  must  try 

Kis  constancy ;  with  such  as  have  more  show 

Of  worth,  of  honour,  glory,  and  popular  praise ; 

Rjcks,  whereon  greatest  men  have  oftest  wreck'dj 

Or  that  which  only  seems  to  satisfy 

Lawful  desires  of  nature,  not  beyond  : 

And  now  I  know  he  hungers,  where  no  food 

Is  to  be  found,  in  the  wide  wilderness  : 

The  rest  commit  to  me ;  I  shall  let  pass 

No  advantage,  and  his  strength  as  oft  assay. 

^  One  look  from  his  majcstick  brow, 
Seated  as  on  the  top  of  Virtue's  hill. 

Here  is  the  construction  that  we  so  often  meet  with  in  Milton  :  "from  his  majestick 
brow,"  that  is,  from  the  majestic  brow  of  him  seated  as  on  the  top  of  Virtue's  hill :  and 
the  expression  of  "Virtue's  hill,"  was  probably  in  allusion  to  the  rocky  eminence  on 
which  the  Virtues  are  placed  in  the  Table  of  Cebes;  or  the  arduous  ascent  up  the  hill, 
to  which  Virtue  is  represented  pointing  in  the  best  designs  of  the  Judgment  of  Uer- 
eules. — Newton. 

Milton's  meaning  here  is  best  illustrated  by  a  passage  in  Shakespeare,  which  most 
probably  he  had  in  his  mind.  Hamlet,  in  the  scene  with  his  mother,  pointing  to  tJie 
picture  of  his  father,  says. 

See  what  n  grace  was  seated  ou  this  brow  ! 
Hyperion's  curls;  the  front  of  Jove  himself ; 
An  eye  likeMurs  to  threiUen  or  coiumanU,  &c. 

See  also  "  Love's  Labour's  Lost,"  a.  iii.  s^4.  "  Greatness,  nobleness,  authority,  and 
awe,"  says  Bentley,  "  are  by  all  Greek  and  Latin  poets  placed  in  the  forehead."  See 
"  Par.  Lost,"  b.  vii.  509.  ix.  638. 

And  Spenser's  Belphoebe  : — 

■    Her  ivory  forehead,  full  of  bounty  brave, 
Like  a  broad  table  did  itself  dispread  : 
All  good  anil  honour  might  therein  be  read, 
And  there  their  dwelling  was. — Dcnster. 

a  For  beauty  stands 
In  the  admiration  only  of  weak  minds 
Led  captive. 
Among  Milton's  early  Latin  Elegies,  we  find  one,  the  seventh,  of  the  amatory  kind : 
but  when  he  published  his  Latin  poems,  eighteen  years  afterwards,  he  thought  it  neces- 
sary to  add  to  it  ten  lines,  apologizing  for  the  puerile  weakness,  or  rather  vacancy,  of 
his  mind,  that  could  admit  such  an  impression. — Dunstek. 

b  Cease  to  admire,  and  all  her  plumes 
Fall  flat,  and  shrink  into  a  trivial  toy, 
At  every  sudden  slighting  quite  abash'd. 
This  is  a  very  beautiful  and  apposite  allusion  to  the  peacock;  speaking  of  which  bird, 
Pliny  notices  the  circumstance  of  its  spreading  its  tail  under  a  sense  of  admiration  :— 
"  Gemmantes  laudatus  expandit  colores,  adverso  maxime  sole,  quia  sic  fulgentius  radiant'' 
Nat  Hist  1.  X.  c.  20.     Tasso  compares  Armida,  in  all  the  pride  and  vanity  of  her 
heautj'  and  omarr.ants,  to  a  peacock  with  its  tail  spread,cxvi.  st.  24.     But  Milton  had 
here  in  his  njind  Ovid,  "  De  Arte  Am."  i.  627. 

Laudatns  ostentat  avis  Junonia  pennas; 

Si  tacitus  spectes,  ilia  recondit  opes. — Ditnstbr. 


468  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  ii. 

He  ceased,"  and  heard  their  grant  in  loud  acclaim ; 
Then  forthwith  to  him  takes  a  chosen  band 
Of  spirits,  likest  to  himself  in  guile,* 
To  be  at  hand,  and  at  his  beck  appear, 
If  cause  were  to  unfold  some  active  scene 
Of  various  persons,  each  to  know  his  part; 
Then  to  the  desert  takes  with  these  his  flight; 
Where  still  from  shade  to  shade  the  Son  of  God, 
After  forty  days'  fasting,  had  remain'd, 
Now  hungering  first,^  and  to  himself  thus  said  : 

e  He  ceased. 
Our  Lord  (ver.  110)  is,  in  a  brief  but  appropriate  description,  again  presented  to  us 
In  the  wilderness.  The  poet,  in  the  mean  time,  makes  Satan  return  to  his  infernal 
council,  to  report  the  bad  success  of  his  first  attempt,  and  to  demand  their  counsel  and 
assistance  in  an  enterprise  of  so  much  difficulty.  This  he  does  in  a  brief  and  energetic 
Bpeech.  Hence  arises  a  debate ;  or  at  least  a  proposition  on  the  part  of  Belial,  and  a 
rejection  of  it  by  Satan,  of  which  I  cannot  suflSciently  express  my  admiration.  The 
language  of  Belial  is  exquisitely  descriptive  of  the  power  of  be.auty;  without  a  single 
word  introduced,  or  even  a  thought  conveyed,  that  is  unbecoming  its  place  in  this  divine 
poem.  Satan's  reply  is  eminently  fine :  his  imputing  to  Belial,  as  the  most  dissolute  of 
the  fallen  angels,  the  amours  attributed  by  the  poets  and  mj'thologists  to  the  heathen 
gods;  while  it  is  replete  with  classic  beauty,  furnishes  an  excellent  moral  to  those  extra- 
vagant fictions :  and  his  description  of  the  little  effect  which  the  most  powerful  entice- 
ments can  produce  on  the  resolute  mind  of  the  virtuous,  while  it  is  heightened  with 
many  beautiful  turns  of  language,  is,  in  its  general  tenor,  of  the  most  superior  and 
dignified  kind.  Indeed,  all  this  part  of  his  speech  (from  ver.  191  to  ver.  225)  seems  to 
breathe  such  a  sincere  and  deep  sense  of  the  charms  of  real  goodness,  that  we  almost 
forget  who  is  the  speaker :  at  least,  we  readily  subscribe  to  what  he  had  said  of  himself 
in  the  first  book : 

I  have  not  lost 

To  love,  at  least  contemplate,  and  admire, 

What  I  see  excellent  in  good,  or  fair, 

Or  virtuous. 

After  such  sentiments  so  expressed,  it  might  have  been  thought  difficult  for  the  poet 
to  return  to  his  subject,  by  making  the  arch-fiend  resume  his  attempts  against  the 
Divine  Person,  the  commanding  majesty  of  whose  invincible  virtue  he  had  just  been 
describing  with  such  seemingly  heartfelt  admiration.  This  is  managed  with  much 
address,  by  Satan's  proposing  to  adopt  such  modes  of  temptation  as  are  apt  to  prevail 
most  where  the  propensities  are  virtuous,  and  where  the  disposition  is  amiable  and 
generous  :  and,  by  the  immediate  return  of  the  tempter  and  his  associates  to  the  wilder- 
ness, the  poem  advances  towards  the  heighth  of  its  argument. — Dunster. 

<1  To  him  takes  a  chosen  hand 
Of  spirits,  likest  to  himself  in  guile. 
"Then  goeth  he  and  taketh  with  himself  seven  other  spirits  more  wicked  than  him- 
self," Matt.  xii.  45. — Dunstek. 

«  Now  hungering  first. 
There  seems,  I  think,  to  be  a  little  inaccuracy  in  this  place.  It  is  plain,  by  the 
yc-ripture  account,  that  our  Saviour  hungered  before  the  devil  first  tempted  him  by  pro- 
posing to  him  his  making  stones  into  bread,  and  Milton's  own  account  in  the  first  book 
s  consistent  with  this :  is  there  not  therefore  a  seeming  impropriety  in  saying  that  he 
'now  first  hungered;"  especially,  considering  the  time  that  must  have  necessarily 
cliipsed  during  Satan's  convening  and  consulting  with  his  companions  ? — Thyeb. 

Milton  comprises  the  principal  action  of  the  poem  in  four  successive  days.  This  is 
the  second  day,  in  which  no  positive  temptation  occurs ;  for  Satan  had  left  Jesus  (as 
was  said,  ver.  116  of  this  book)  "  vacant,"  i.  e.  unassailed,  that  day.  Previous  to  the 
tempter's  appearing  at  all,  it  is  said  (b.  i.  303)  that  our  blessed  Lord  had  "passed  full 
forty  days"  in  the  wilderness.  All  that  is  here  meant  is  that  he  was  not  hungry  till 
the  forty  days  were  ended  j  and  accordingly  our  Saviour  himself  presently  says  that, 
during  the  time,  he 

human  food 
Nor  tasted,  nor  had  appetite. 

Ab  to  the  time  necessary  for  convening  the  infernal  council,  there  is  the  space  of 


PARADISE  REGAINED. 


469 


Where  will  this  end  ?  four  times  ten  days  I've  pass'd 
Wandering  this  woody  maze,  and  human  food 
Nor  tasted,  nor  had  -appetite ;  that  fast 
To  virtue  I  impute  not,  or  count  part 
Of  what  I  suffer  here ;  if  nature  need  not, 
Or  God  support  nature  without  repast 
Though  needing,  what  pnise  is  it  to  endure? 
But  now  I  feel  I  hunger,  which  declares 
Nature  hath  need  of  what  she  asks ;  yet  God 
Can  satisfy  that  need  some  other  way, 
Though  hunger  still  remain  :  so  it  remain 
Without  this  body's  wasting,  I  content  m^., 
And  fi'om  the  sting  of  famine  fear  uo  harm ; 
Nor  mind  it,  fed  with  better  thoughts,  that  feed 
Me  hungering  more  to  do  my  Father's  will.' 

It  was  the  hour  of  night,  when  thus  the  Son 
Communed  in  silent  walk,  then  laid  him  down* 
Under  the  hospitable  covert  nigh 
Of  trees  thick  interwoven ;''  there  he  slept, 

twenty -four  hours  taken  for  the  devil  to  go  up  to  "the  region  of  mid  air,"  where  bis 
council  was  sitting,  and  where  we  are  told  he  went  "with  speed;"  (ver.  117  of  this 
book)  fl.nd  for  him  to  debate  the  matter  with  his  council  and  return  "with  his  chosen 
band  of  spirits :"  for  it  was  the  commencement  of  night  when  he  left  our  Saviour  at  the 
en  J  of  the  first  book ;  and  it  is  now  "  the  hour  of  night"  (ver.  260),  when  he  is  returned. 
But  it  must  also  be  considered  that  spiritual  beings  are  not  supposed  to  require,  for 
their  actions,  the  time  necessary  to  human  ones ;  otherwise  we  might  proceed  to  calcu- 
late the  time  requisite  for  the  descent  of  Michael,  or  Raphael,  to  Paradise,  and  criticise 
the  "  Paradise  Lost"  accordingly.  But  Raphael,  in  the  eighth  book  of  that  poem,  saya 
to  Adam,  inquiring  concerning  celestial  motions; — 

The  swiftness  of  those  circles  attribute,         * 
Though  numberless,  to  his  Omnipotence, 
That  to  corporsiil  substances  could  add 
f  peed  almost  spiritual :  me  thou  think'st  not  slow, 
Who  since  the  morning  hoyr  sot  out  from  heaven 
Where  God  resides,  and  ere  mid-day  arrived 
In  Eden;  distance  inexpressible 
By  numbers  tluit  have  name. 

We  are  also  expressly  told  by  St.  Luke,  when  the  devil  took  our  Lord  up  into  a  high 
nountain,  that  "he  showed  unto  him  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  world  in  a  moment  of 
dme,"  Luke  iv.  5. — Dunstek. 

f  J/e  hungering  more  to  do  my  Father'i  will. 

In  allusion  to  our  Saviour's  words,  John  iv.  34 : — "  My  meat  is  to  do  the  will  of  him 
that  sent  me,  and  to  finish  his  work." — Newton. 

But  with  reference  also  to,  "Blessed  are  they  which  do  hunger  and  thirst  afte. 
righteousness,"  Matt,  v,  6. — Dunster. 

s  Communed  in  silent  walk,  then  laid  him  down. 
Agreeable  to  what  we  find  in  the  Psalms,  iv,  4: — "Commune  with  your  own  heart 
upon  your  bed,  and  be  still." — Newton. 

h  The  hospitable  covert  nigh 
Of  trees  thick  interwoven. 
Thus  Horace,  Od.  n.  iii.  9 : — ^^ 

Qua  pinus  ingens  albaque  populus 
Uml)ram  hospitalem  consociare  amant 
Kumis. 

And  Virgil,  "Georg."  iv.  24: — 

Obviaque  hospitiis  teneat  frondentibus  arbos. 

Milton  also,  in     Comus,"  ver.  186  : — 

Such  cooling  fruit 
As  the  kind  hospitable  woods  provide. — Dunster. 


470  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  ii. 

And  dream'd,  as  appetite  is  wont  to  dream, 

Of  meats  and  drinks,  nature's  refreshment  sweet : 

Him  thought,  he  by  the  brook  of  Cherith  stood,' 

And  saw  the  ravens  with  their  horny  beaks 

Food  to  Elijah  bringing,  even  and  morn, 

Though  ravenous,  taught  to  abstain  from  what  they  brought ; 

He  saw  the  prophet  also,  how  he  fled 

Into  the  desert,  and  how  there  he  slept 

Under  a  juniper;  then  how,  awaked. 

He  found  his  supper  on  the  coals  prepared, 

And  by  the  angel  was  bid  rise  and  eat, 

And  eat  the  second  time  after  repose, 

The  strength  whereof  sufficed  him  forty  days  : 

Sometimes  that  with  Elijah  hfe  partook. 

Or  as  a  guest  with  Daniel  at  his  pulse. 

Thus  wore  out  night ;  and  now  the  herald  lark 

Left  his  ground-nest,  high  towering  to  descry 

The  morn's  approach,  and  greet  her  with  his  song  'J 

As  lightly  from  his  grassy  couch''  up  rose 

'  He  hy  the  brook  of  Cherith  stood,  Ac. 
Alluding  to  the  account  of  Elijah,  1  Kings  xvii.  5,  6;  and  xix.  4.  And  Daniel's 
living  upon  pulse  and  water,  rather  than  the  portion  of  the  king's  meat  and  drink,  is 
celebrated,  Dan.  i.  So  that  as  our  dreams  are  often  composed  of  the  matter  of  our 
waking  thoughts,  our  Saviour  is  with  great  propriety  supposed  to  dream  of  sacred 
persons  and  subjects.     Lucretius,  iv.  960  : — 

Et  quoi  quisque  fere  studio  devinctus  adhoeret, 

Aut  quihiis  in  rel)us  iniiltuin  suinus  ante  morati, 

Atque  in  qua  ratioiie  fuit  contenta  mugis  mens, 

In  soranis  eadem  plerumque  videinur  obire. — Nkwtos. 

J  To  descry 
The  morn's  approach,  and  greet  her  tcith  liis  song. 
This  is  a  beautiful  thought,  which  modern  wit  hath  added  to  the  stock  of  antiquity. 
We  may  see  it  rising,  though  out  of  a  low  hint  of  Theocritus,  like  the  bird  from  his 
"  thatch'd  pallat,"  Idyll,  x.  60. 

Chaucer  leads  the  way  to  the  English  poets,  in  four  of  the  finest  lines  in  all  his  works, 
"  Knight's  Tale,"  1493  :— 

The  merry  lark,  messengere  of  the  day, 
Salewith  in  her  song  the  morrow  gray; 
And  firy  Phebus  risith  up  so  bright, 
That  all  the  Orient  laugheth  at  the  sight. 
In  the  same  manner,  Spenser,  "  Faery  Queen,"  i.  xi.  51 : — 
When  Una  did  her  mark 
Climb  to  her  charet  all  with  flowers  spread. 
From  heaven  high  to  chase  the  cheerless  dark  ; 
With  merry  notes  her  loud  salutes  the  mounting  lark. — Calto5. 
Tbu8,  in  "Comus,"  the  early  hour  of  morning  is  marked  bj'  the  lark's  r<iusing  from 
his  thatch'd  pallat,  ver.  315;  and  the  lark,  high-towering  and  greeting  the  .  »orn  with 
her  song,  is  thus  beautifully  described  in  P.  Fletcher's  "  Purple  Island,"  c.  ix.  st  2 : — 
The  cheerl"ul  lark,  mounting  from  early  bed, 
With  sweet  salutes  awakes  the  drowsy  lieht: 
The  earth  she  left,  and  up  to  heaven  is  fteu  : 
There  chants  her  Maker's  praises  out  of  sight. 
See  also  Spenser's  Astrophel,  st.  vi. : — 

As  summers  lark,  that  with  her  song  doth  greete 
The  dawning  day,  &c. — Dunster. 

k  From  his  grassy  couch. 
So  in  "Paradise  Lost,"  b.  iv.  600  :— 

For  beast  and  bird, 
They  to  their  grassy  couch,  these  to  their  nesta, 
Were  slunk. — Thybr. 


BOOK  u.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  471 

Our  Saviour,  and  found  all  was  but  a  dream  j' 
Fasting  he  went  to  sleep,  and  fasting  waked. 
Up  to  a  hill  anon  his  steps  he  rear'd, 
From  whose  high  top  to  ken  the  prospect  round, 
If  cottage  were  in  view,  sheep-cote,  or  herd  j 
But  cottage,  herd,  or  sheep-cote,  none  he  saw ; " 
Only  in  a  bottom  saw  a  pleasant  grove," 
With  chant  of  tuneful  birds  resounding  loud : 
Thither  he  bent  his  way,  determined  there 
To  rest  at  noon ;  °  and  entcr'd  soon  the  shade 

I  And  found  all  was  but  a  dream. 
"  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  v.  92. 

But  O  !  how  glad  I  waked, 
To  find  this  but  a  dream ! — Dunster. 

">  If  cottage  were  in  view,  sheep-cote,  or  herd  ^ 
But  cottage,  herd,  or  sheep-cote,  none  he  saw. 
This  mode  of  repetition  our  poet  is  fond  of,  and  lias  frequently  used  with  singular 
efFect    See  "Comus,"  v.  221,  <fcc.     Thus  also,  in  "Paradise  Lost,"  b.  iv.  640,  a  deligau- 
ful  description  of  morning,  evening,  and  night  is  beautifully  recapitulated. — Dunstbr. 

1  Only  in  a  bottom  saw  a  pleasant  grove,  &c. 
The  tempter  here  is  the  magician  of  the  Italian  poets.     This  "pleasant  grove"  is  a 
magical  creation  in  the  desert,  designed  as  a  scene  suited  for  the  ensuing  temptation  of 
the  banquet.     Thus  Tasso  lays  the  scene  of  the  sumptuous  banquet,  which  Armida 
provides  for  her  lovers,  amidst 

High  trees,  sweet  meadows,  waters  pure  and  good, 
Under  the  curtain  of  the  greenwood  sliade, 
Beside  the  brook,  upon  the  velvet  gmss. 

Fairfax's  "  Tasso,"  c.  x.  63,  64. 

The  whole  of  Milton's  description  here  is  very  beautiful;  and  I  rather  wonder  that 
the  noble  author  of  the  "Anecdotes  of  Painting"  did  not  subjoin  it  to  his  citations  from 
the  "  Paradise  Lost,"  in  the  "  Observations  on  Modern  Gardening."  He  there  ascribes 
to  our  author  the  having  foreseen,  with  "  the  prophetic  eye  of  taste,"  our  modern  stylo 
of  gardening.  It  may  however  be  questioned,  whether  his  idea  of  a  garden  was  much, 
if  at  all,  elevated  above  that  of  his  contemporaries.  In  the  "  Comus,"  speaking  of  the 
gardens  of  the  Hesperides,  he  describes  '^cedarn  alleys,"  and  "crisped  shades  and 
bowers;"  and  in  his  "  Penseroso,"  "retired  leisure"  is  made  to  please  itself  in  "trim 
gardens."  Mr.  Warton,  in  a  note  on  the  latter  passage,  observes  that  Milton  had 
changed  his  ideas  of  a  garden  when  he  wrote  his  "  Paradise  Lost :"  but  the  Paradise 
which  he  there  describes  is  not  a  garden,  either  ancient  or  modern  :  it  is  in  fact  a  coun- 
try in  its  natural,  unornamented  state ;  only  rendered  beautiful,  and  (which  is  more 
essential  to  happiness  in  a  hot  climate)  at  all  times  perfectly  habitable,  from  its  abun- 
dance of  pleasingly-disposed  shade  and  water,  and  its  consequent  verdure  and  fertility 
From  all  such  poetical  delineations,  as  from  Nature  herself,  the  landscape-gardener 
maj'  certainly  enrich  his  fancy  and  cultivate  his  taste.  The  poet  in  the  mean  time 
contributes  to  the  perfection  of  art,  not  by  laying  down  rules  for  it,  but  by  his  exquisite 
descriptions  of  the  more  beautiful  scenes  of  nature,  which  it  is  the  oflSce  of  art  to  imitate 
and  to  represent  One  merit  of  our  modern  art  of  laying  out  ground,  independent  of 
the  beauty  of  its  scenery,  is  its  being  peculiarly  adapted  to  the  circumstances  of  our 
climate.  A  modern  English  pleasure-ground  would  not  be  considered  as  a  Paradise  on 
the  sultry  plains  of  Assyria,  if  it  could  be  formed  or  exist  there  :  accordingly,  anothei 
mode  of  gardening  has  always  prevailed  in  hot  countries,  which,  though  it  would  be 
the  height  of  absurdity  to  adopt  in  our  own  island,  may  be  well  defended  in  its  proper 
place  by  the  best  of  all  pleas,  necessity.  The  reader  may  see  this  question  fully  .iis- 
cussed  with  great  taste  and  judgment,  by  my  learned  friend  Dr.  Falconer,  in  his 
"  Historical  View  of  the  Taste  for  Gardening  and  laying  out  grounds  among  the  Nations 
of  Antiquity." — Dunster. 

o  Determined  there 
To  rest  at  noon. 
The  custom  of  retiring  to  the  shade  and  reposing,  in  hot  countries,  during  the 
extreme  heat  of  the  day,  is  frequently  alluded  to  by  Milton,  in  his  "  Paradise  Lost" 
See  b.  iv.  627 j  b.  v.  230  and  300 ;  and  b.  ix.  401.— Dunster. 


•i<2  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  ii.. 

High  roof  d,  and  walks  beneath,  and  alleys  brown,' 
That  open'd  in  the  midst  a  woody  scene  :  ^ 
Nature's  own  work  it  seem'd,  (Nature  taught  Art') 
And,  to  a  superstitious  eye,  the  haunt 
Of  wood-gods  and  wood-nymphs  : '  he  view'd  it  round  j 
When  suddenly  a  man  before  him  stood ; 
Not  rustick  as  before,  but  seemlier  clad,* 
As  one  in  city,  or  court,  or  palace  bred ; 
And  with  fair  speech  these  words  to  him  address'd : 
With  granted  leave  "  oflBcious  I  return ; 

p  High  roof'd,  and  icalka  beneath,  and  alleys  brown. 
Such  are  also  the  arched  over-shading  groves  of  Spenser,  with  their  walks,  alleys,  and 
arbours,  "  Faer.  Q."  i.  i.  7. 

A  shady  grove  not  far  away  they  spied,  &c. 
And  all  within  were  paths  and  alleys  wide. 

See  a?so  "  Faer.  Q."  iv.  x.  25.  "  High-roof  d"  reminds  ua  of  some  of  Milton's 
descriptions  in  the  "  Paradise  Lost,"  as  in  b.  ix.  1037. 

A  ahudy  bank 
Thick  overhead  with  verdant  roof  irabower'd. 

See  also  b.  iv.  692,  772;  b.  v.  137.  The  deep  shade  produced  by  great  masses  of 
wood,  is  a  favourite  object  of  our  poet's  description.  The  epithet  "  brown"  that  he 
applies  to  it  (as  here  "alleys  brown"),  he  borrowed  from  the  Italian  poets ;  as  has  been 
justly  observed  by  Mr.  Thyer.    See  his  notes  on  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  iv.  246,  and  b.  ix. 

1086,— DUNSTER. 

<J  That  open'd  in  the  midst  a  woody  scene. 

Here  is  some  resemblance  of  Homer's  description  of  the  bower  of  Calypso,  "  Odyss." 
V.  63,  73. 

It  may  be  observed,  that  "a  various  sylvan  scene"  was  possibly  suggested  by  Milton's 
"happy  rural  seat  of  various  view,"  Par.  Lost,  b.  iv.  246. — Ddnsteb. 

f  Nature's  own  work  it  seem'd,  {Nature  taught  Art.) 
Thus  Spenser,  in  his  description  of  the  garden  of  Acrasia,  "Faer.  Qu."  ii.  xii.  68. 

And,  that  which  all  fair  workes  doth  most  aggrace, 
The  art,  which  all  that  wrought,  appeared  in  no  place. 
One  would  have  thought,  (so  cunningly  the  rude 
And  scorned  parts  were  mingled  with  the  fine) 
That  Nature  had  for  wantonness  ensude 
Art,  and  that  Art  at  Nature  did  repine  ; 
So  striving  each  the  otlier  to  undermine. 
Each  did  the  other's  work  more  beautify,  &c. 

But  here  he  is  not  a  little  indebted  to  his  predecessor  Tasso,  in  his  description  of  the 
garden  of  Armida,  "  Gier.  Lib."  c.  xvi.  st.  9,  10.    See  also  "  Faer.  Qu."  ii.  v.  29. — DuH- 

STER. 

•  The  haunt 
Of  wood-gods  and  wood-nymphs. 
They  who  think  that  all  poetry  ought  to  consist  of  picturesque  imagery  and  material 
descriptions,  cannot  refuse  their  admiration  to  the  exquisite  scenery  here  exhibited,  to 
which  nothing  in  Spenser,  Thomson,  or  Cowper,  can  be  compared. 

»  Not  rustick  as  before,  hut  seemlier  clad. 

The  tempter  is  very  properly  made  to  change  his  appearance  and  hfibit  with  the 
temptation.  In  the  former  book,  when  he  came  to  tempt  our  Saviour  to  turn  the  stones 
into  bread  to  satisfy  their  hunger,  he  appeared  as  a  poor  old  man  in  "  rural  weeds  ;"  but 
now,  when  he  comes  to  offer  a  magniticent  entertainment,  he  is  "seemlier  clad,"  and 
appears  as  a  wealthy  citizen  or  a  courtier:  and  here  "with  fair  speech"  he  addresses 
his  words ;  there,  it  was  only  "  with  words  thus  utter'd  spake."  These  lesser  particu- 
lars have  a  propriety  in  them,  which  is  well  worthy  of  the  reader's  observation, — 
Newton. 

n  With  granted  leave. 

It  is  true  that  Satan  at  parting,  in  the  conclusion  of  the  former  book,  had  asked  leave 
to  come  again ;  but  all  the  answer  that  our  Saviour  returned  was. 


BOOK  II.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  473 

But  much  more  wonder  that  the  Son  of  God 

In  this  wild  solitude  so  long  should  bide, 

Of  all  things  destitute ;  and,  well  I  know, 

Not  without  hunger.     Others  of  some  note, 

As  story  tells,  have  trod  this  wilderness  j 

The  fugitive  bond-woman,  with  her  son,^ 

Outcast  Nebaioth,  yet  found  he  reliei 

By  a  providing  angel ;  all  the  race 

Of  Israel  here  had  famish'd,  had  not  God 

Rain'd  from  heaven  manna ;  and  that  prophet  bold,* 

Thy  coming  hither,  though  I  know  thy  scope, 
I  bid  not  or  forbid  ;  do  as  thou  find'et 
Permission  from  above. 

But  as  the  tempter  must  needs  have  been  a  most  impudent  being,  it  was  perfectly  in 
character  to  represent  him  as  taking  "  permission"  for  "  granted  leave." — Newtok. 

The  "  granted  leave"  here  is  "  permission  from  above."  In  answer  to  Satan's  request 
(b,  i.  492), 

Disdain  not  such  access  to  me. 
our  Saviour  had  said. 

Do  as  thou  find'st 
Permission  from  above. 

Satan  therefore  here  introduces  himself  with  a  boast  of  "  that  permission  ftom  him," 
who  had  before  given  up  Job  to  be  tempted  by  him,  b.  i.  368.  Indeed  our  author  makes 
the  Deity,  in  his  speech  to  Gabriel,  say,  speaking  of  our  blessed  Lord,  b.  L  140, 

This  man,  born  and  now  upgrown, 
To  show  him  worthy  of  his  birth  divine 
And  high  prediction,  htinceforth  I  expose 
To  Satan;  let  him  tempt  and  now  assay 
His  utmost  subtlety. — 1)vnster. 

▼  The  fugitive  bond-iooman,  with  her  son,  Ac. 

Hagar,  who  fled  from  the  face  of  her  mistress,  Gen.  xvi.  6,  is  therefore  called  a 
'•  fugitive  :"  her  son  was  not  a  fugitive,  but  an  "outcast;"  so  exact  was  our  author  in  the 
nse  of  his  epithets.  But  then  what  shall  we  say  to  the  words  "  Outcast  Nebaioth  ?" 
For  Nebaioth  was  the  eldest  son  of  Ishmael  (Gen.  xxv.  13),  and  grand.son  of  Abraham 
and  Hagar.  He  seems  here  to  be  put  by  mistake  for  Ishmael ;  at  least,  it  is  not  usual 
to  call  the  father  by  the  name  of  the  son. — Newton. 

There  is  no  immediate  instance  of  a  grap^son  being  substituted  for  a  son  in  Scrip- 
ture :  and  yet  the  curse  is  addressed  to  Canaan  (Gen.  ix.  25),  though  it  was  Ham,  his 
father,  who  had  offended  Noah  :  but  Nebaioth  and  Canaan  both  gave  names  to  a  people 
descended  from  them,  viz.  the  Canaanites  and  Nabath»ans;  and  therefore  each  of  theii 
names  might  attach  to  their  fathers  as  the  first  stock  of  their  respective  nations. 
Ishmael  was  not  born  when  Hagar  fled  from  her  mistress's  face,  Gen.  xvi.  6.  But  the 
term  "fugitive"  here  refers  to  what  is  said  of  her,  Gen.  xxi.  when  she  and  her  son  were 
both  cast  out  at  the  instigation  of  Sarah,  and  with  the  approbation  of  God ;  when  alM>, 
in  her  distress  in  the  wilderness,  "she  cast  the  child  from  her  to  die."  This  moment 
oi'  distress  is  the  exact  moment  of  Milton's  description. — Dunsteb. 

"  And  that  prophet  bold. 
In  the  character  of  Elijah,  as  it  stands  portrayed  in  Scripture,  we  trace  a  spirit  and 
resolution  of  the  most  dignified  kind.  Hence  it  is  said,  1  Maceab.  ii.  58,  that  "  he  was 
taken  up  into  heaven  for  being  fervent  and  zealous  for  the  law."  The  first  twelve 
verses  of  the  48th  chapter  of  Eecleslasticus  are  entirely  occupied  with  a  panegyric  upon 
him ;  in  Avhich  it  is  said,  that  "  he  stood  up  like  fire,"  and  that  "  his  words  burned  like 
a  lamp :"  which  expressions  must  be  understood  to  imply  a  peculiar  fervour  of  zeal  and 
spirit.  Milton  seems  to  have  been  much  struck  with  the  character  of  this  "  prophet 
bold,"  as  he  here  terms  him. .  He  had  before,  ver.  16  of  this  book,  called  him  the  "  great 
Thisbite,"  and  has  mentioned  him  no  less  than  four  times  in  this  poem,  and  three  times 
In  his  juvenile  Latin  poems.  El.  iv.  "In  Prodit.  Bombard."  and  "In  Obit.  Prassul. 
Eliens."  But  it  may  be  observed  (and  I  hope  without  impropriety),  that  possibly  he 
had  a  political  predilection  for  this  eminent  prophet,  to  whose  lot  it  fell  to  resist  the 
tyranny  of  wicked  kings,  and  to  denounce  the  judgments  of  God  against  them.  In  thia 
part  of  his  office  he  particularly  manifested  his  undaunted  spirit;  on  which  account  he 
might  be  a  favourite  scripture  character  with  our  author.  Compare  Sylvester'B  "  Do 
Bartas,"  ed.  1821,  p.  480, 
60 


4U  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  ii. 

Native  of  Thebez,  wandering  here  was  fed  * 
Twice  by  a  voice  inviting  him  to  oat. 
Of  thee  these  forty  days  none  hath  regard, 
Forty  and  more  deserted  here  indeed. 

To  whom  thus  Jesus  : — What  concludest  thou  hence  ? 
They  all  had  need ;  I,  as  thou  seest,  have  none. 

How  hast  thou  hunger  then  ?  Satan  replied. 
Tell  me,  if  food  were  now  before  thee  set, 
Wouldst  thou  not  eat  ? — Thereafter  as  I  like 
The  giver,  answer'd  Jesus.^ — Why  should  that 
Cause  thy  refusal  ?  said  the  subtle  fiend : 
Hast  thou  not  right  to  all  created  things  ? 
Owe  not  all  creatures  by  just  right  to  thee 
Duty  and  service,^  nor  to  stay  till  bid. 
But  tender  all  their  power  ?     Nor  mention  I 
Meats  by  the  law  unclean,  or  offer' d  first 
To  idols ;  those  young  Daniel  could  refuse  : 
Nor  proffer'd  by  an  enemy ;  though  who 
Would  scruple  that,  with  want  oppress'd  ?     Behold, 
Nature  ashamed,  or,  better  to  express, 
Troubled,  that  thou  shouldst  hunger,  hath  purvey'd 
From  all  the  elements  her  choicest  store,* 

Thesbite  Elijah— 
Who,  burning  bold  in  spirit  and  speech,  cries  out 
In  Ahab's  ear,  and  all  liis  court  about, 
"  O  impious  Ahab  .'" — Ditnster. 

^  Wandering  here  was  fed. 
It  appears  that  Milton  conceived  the  wilderness,  where  Hagar  wandered  with  her 
son,  and  where  the  Israelites  were  fed  with  manna,  and  where  Elijah  retreated  from  the 
rage  of  Jezebel,  to  be  the  same  with  the  wilderness  where  our  Saviour  was  tempted: 
and  yet  it  is  certain,  that  they  were  very  different  places ;  for  the  wilderness,  where 
Hagar  wandered,  was  "  the  wilderness  of  Becrsheba,"  Gen.  xxi.  14 ;  and  where  the 
Israelites  were  fed  with  manna,  was  "the  wilderness  of  Sin,"  Exod.  xvi.  1  ;  and  where 
Elijah  retreated,  was  "  in  the  wilderness,  a  day's  journey  from  Beersheba,"  1  Kings, 
xix.  4  ;  and  where  our  Saviour  was  tempted,  was  "  the  wilderness  near  Jordan."  Bui 
our  author  considers  all  that  tract  of  country  as  one  and  the  same  wilderness,  though 
distinguished  by  different  names  from  the  different  places  adjoining. — Newton. 

y  Woiddst  thou  not  eat  T- — Thereafter  as  I  like 
The  giver,  answer'd  Jesus. 
Thus  in  "  Comus  "  when  the  enchanter  offers  the  ciap  to  the  Lady,  and  presses  her 
to  drink  of  it,  she  tells  him, 

Were  it  a  draught  for  Juno  when  she  banquets, 

I  would  not  taste  thy  treasonous  offpr  ;  none 

But  such  as  are  good  men  can  give  good  things,  &c. — Di7N6TEa. 

z  Hast  thou  not  right  to  all  created  things  7 
Owe  not  all  creatures  by  just  right  to  the 
Duty  and  service,  &c.,  &c. 
This  part  of  the  tempter's  speech  alludes  to  the  heavenly  declaration  which  he  had 
heard  at  Jordan,  "  This  is  my  beloved  Son,"  &c.     One  may  observe  too,  that  it  is 
much  the  same  sort  of  flattering  address  with  that  which  he  "had  before  made  use  of 
to  seduce  Eve,  "  Paradise  Lost,''  b.  ix.  539  : — 

Thee  all  things  living  gaze  on,  all  things  thine. 
By  gift,  &c.— Thybr. 

a  Hath  purveyed 
From  all  the  elements  her  choicest  store. 
The  Latin  poets  have  similar  passages,  descriptive  of  that  nnbonnded  luxury, 
'whicli  ransacked  all  the  elements  to  furnish  out  the  requisite  delicacies  of  their  ban- 
quets.    Thus  Juv.  Sat.  xi.  14, 


BOOK   II.] 


PARADISE  REGAINED. 


475 


To  treat  thee,  as  beseems,  and  as  her  Lord, 
With  honour :  only  deign  to  sit  and  eat. 

He  spake  no  dream ;  *>  for,  as  his  words  had  end, 
Our  Saviour,  lifting  up  his  eyes,  beheld, 
In  ample  space  under  the  broadest  shade, 
A  table  richly  spread,"  in  regal  mode,* 
With  dishes  piled,  and  meats  of  noblest  sort 
And  savour ;  beasts  of  chase,  or  fowl  of  game. 
In  pastry  built,*  or  from  the  spit,  or  boil'd, 
Gris-amber-steam'd ;  all  fish,  from  sea  or  shore, 

Interea  gustus  elementa  per  omnia  quserunt. — Dunstes. 

•>  He  spake  no  dream. 

This  was  no  dream,  as  before,  ver.  264,  but  a  reality. — Newton. 

c  A  table  richly  spread,  <fec. 

This  temptation  is  not  recorded  in  Scripture,  but  is  however  invented  with  great 
consistency,  and  very  aptly  fitted  to  the  present  condition  of  our  Saviour.  This  way  of 
embellishing  his  subject  is  a  privilege  which  every  poet  has  a  just  right  to,  provided  he 
observes  harmony  and  decorum  in  his  hero's  character;  and  one  may  farther  add,  that 
Milton  had  in  this  particular  place  a  still  stronger  claim  to  an  indulgence  of  this  kind; 
since  it  was  a  pretty  general  opinion  among  the  fathers,  that  our  Saviour  underwent 
many  more  temptations  than  those  which  are  mentioned  by  the  evangelists  :  nay,  Origen 
goes  so  far  as  to  say,  that  he  was  every  day,  whilst  he  continued  in  the  wilderness, 
attacked  by  a  fresh  one.  The  beauties  of  this  description  are  too  obvious  to  escape 
any  reader  of  taste.  It  is  copious,  and  yet  expressed  with  a  very  elegant  conciseness: 
every  proper  circumstance  is  mentioned ;  and  j'et  it  is  not  at  all  clogged  or  encumbered, 
as  is  often  the  case,  with  too  tedious  a  detail  of  particulars.  It  was  a  scene  entirely 
fresh  to  our  author's  imagination,  and  nothing  like  it  had  before  occurred  in  his  "Para- 
dise Lost ;"  for  which  reason  he  has  been  the  more  diffuse,  and  laboured  it  with  greater 
care,  with  the  same  good  judgment  that  makes  him  in  other  places  avoid  expatiating  on 
scenes  which  he  had  before  described.  In  a  word,  it  is  in  my  opinion  worked  up  with 
great  art  and  beauty,  and  plainly  shows  the  crudity  of  that  notion  which  so  much  pre- 
vails among  superficial  readers,  that  Milton's  genius  was  upon  the  decay  when  he  wrote 
his  "  Paradise  Regained." — Thyer. 

<i  7))  reqnl  mode. 
"Regal  mode"  was  probably  intended  to  glance  at  the  luxury  and  expense  of  the 
court  at  that  time :  it  is  however  well  covered  by  classical  authority.     Thus  Sil.  ItaL 
xi.  272, 

Instituunt  de  more  epulas.  festamque  per  urbem 
Regifice  extructis  celebrant  couviviu  niensis. 

And  Virgil,  "^n."  vi.  604: 

epulaeque  ante  ora  paratse 

I  RegifiCO  luXU.— DUNSTKR. 

e  In  pastry  built. 

The  pastry,  in  the  beginning  of  the  last  century,  was  frequently  of  considerable 
magnitude  and  solidity  :  of  such  kind  must  have  been  the  pie,  in  whicli  Geott'rey  Hud- 
son, afterwards  King  James's  dwarf,  when  eight  years  old,  was  served  up  to  table  at 
an  entertainment  given  by  the  Duke  of  Buckmgham.  We  may  suppose  this  pie  was 
not  considerably  larger  than  was  usual  on  such  occasions  ;  otherwise  the  joke  would 
have  lost  much  of  its  effect  from  something  extraordinary  being  expected.  A  species 
of  mural  pastry  seems  to  have  prevailed  in  some  of  the  preceding  centuries,  when  arti- 
ficial representations  of  castles,  towers,  &c.,  were  very  common  at  all  great  feasts, 
and  called  "  suttleties,"  "subtilties,"  or  "  sotilties."  Leland,  in  his  account  of  the 
entertainment  at  the  inthrbnization  of  Archbishop  Warham  in  lo04("  Collectanea," 
vol.  vi.),  mentions  "a  suttlety  of  three  stages,  with  vanes  and  towres  embattled," 
and  "  a  warner  with  eight  towres  embattled,  ana  made  with  flowres  ;"  which  possibly 
meant  made  in  pastry.  In  the  catalogue  of  the  expenses  at  this  feast,  there  is  a  charge 
for  wax  an<.l  sugar,  in  operatione  de  le  sotilties.  Probably  the  wax  and  sugar  were 
employed  to  render  the  paste  of  flower  more  adhesive  and  tenacious,  the  better  to 
support  itself  when  moulded  into  such  a  variety  of  forms. — Dunsteb, 


476  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  IL 

Freshet '  or  purling  brook,  of  shell  or  fin, 
And  exquisitest  name,s  for  which  was  drain'd 
Pontus,  and  Lucrine  bay,  and  Africk  coast :  "^ 
(Alas,  how  simple,  to  these  cates  compared, 
Was  that  crude  apple  that  diverted  Eve  ' ') 
And  at  a  stately  sideboard,-'  by  the  wine. 
That  fragrant  smell  diffused,''  in  order  stood 
Tall  stripling  youths  rich  clad,  of  fairer  hue 
Than  Ganymed  or  Hylas ; '  distant  more 

t  Freahet. 
" Freshet,"  a  stream  of  fresh  water.     So  Browne,  in  his  "Brit.  Pastorals,"  1613,  b.  ii. 
8.  iii.  of  fish,  who 

Now  love  the  freshet,  and  then  love  the  sea. — Todd. 

s  And  exquisitest  name. 
This  alludes  to  that  species  of  Roman  luxury,  which  gave  exquisite  names  to  fish  of 
exquisite  taste,  such  as  that  they  called  cerebrum  Jovis :  they  extended  this  even  to  a 
very  capacious  dish,  as  that  they  called  clypeum  Minervce.  The  modern  Italians  fall 
into  the  same  wantonness  of  luxurious  impiety;  as  when  they  call  their  exquisite 
wines  by  the  names  of  lacrymae  Ghristi  and  lac  Virginis. — Warburton. 

h  For  which  was  drain'd 
Pontus,  and  Lucrine  hay,  and  Africk  coast. 

The  fish  are  brought  to  furnish  this  banquet  from  all  the  different  parts  of  tns  world 
then  known  :  from  Pontus,  or  the  Euxine  sea,  in  Asia ;  from  the  Lucrine  bay,  in  Italy ; 
and  from  the  coast  of  Africa :  all  which  places  are  celebrated  for  diflerent  kinds  of  fish 
by  the  authors  of  antiquity. — Newton. 

Milton  had  here  in  his  mind  the  excessive  luxury  of  the  Romans  in  the  article  of 
fish;  in  regard  to  which  it  is  said  by  Juvenal,  that,  having  exhausted  their  own  seas, 
they  were  obliged  to  be  supplied  from  their  distant  provinces. — Dunster. 

Pliny  observes  how  quickly  all  sorts  of  fish  came  to  perfection  in  the  Pontus  Euxinus 
— '*  Piscium  genus  omne  prsecipua  celeritate  adolescit,  maxime  in  Ponto.  Causa,  mul- 
titudo  amnium  dulces  inferentium  aquas,"  1.  ix.  15.  Horace  notices  the  shell-fish  of  the 
Lucrine  lake,  Epod.  ii.  49: — "  Non  me  Lucrina  juverint  conchylia;"  and  particularly 
commends  its  muscles,  Sat.  ii.  iv.  32.  Martial  records  the  excellence  of  the  Lucrine 
oysters,  lib.  iii.  Ep.  ix.  3.  These  were  so  much  in  request,  that  Lucrina  alone  is  used 
by  the  last-mentioned  poet  to  signify  oysters,  1.  vi.  Ep.  xi.  5,  and  1.  xii.  Ez.  xlviii.  4. 
Aulus  Gellius,  in  his  chapter  on  Roman  luxury,  notices  the  lamprey  from  the  Straits  of 
Gibraltar,  Murcena  Tartessia,  1.  vii.  16.  It  is  related  by  Athenaeus,  (b.  i.  p.  7)  that  the 
celebrated  Roman  glutton  Apicius,  having  been  used  to  eat  at  Minturnae  a  sort  of  craj^- 
fish,  which  exceeded  the  lobsters  of  Alexandria  in  bigness;  when  he  was  told  there 
were  some  of  these  fish  still  larger  to  be  found  on  the  coast  of  Africa,  sailed  thither 
immediately,  in  spite  of  a  great  many  inconveniences.  The  fishermen,  who  were 
apprised  of  the  object  of  his  voyage,  met  him  with  the  largest  they  had  taken ;  but  as 
Boon  as  he  found  they  had  none  which  exceeded  those  he  had  been  used  to  eat  at  Min- 
tornse,  he  sailed  back  instantly  without  going  on  shore. — Dunsteb. 

«  That  diverted  Eve  ! 
Diverted  iBhere  used  in  the  Latin  signification  of  diverto,^''  to  turn  aside." — Newton. 

J  And  at  a  stately  sideboard,  &c. 
As  the  scene  of  this  entertainment  lay  in  the  Eastj  Milton  has  with  great  judgment 
thrown  in  this  and  the  following  particulars  to  give  it  an  air  of  Eastern  grandeur  ;  as 
in  that  part  of  the  worldj  it  is  well  known,  a  great  part  of  the  pomp  and  splendour 
of  their  feasts  consists  in  their  liaving  a  great  number  of  beautiful  slaves  of  both 
sexes,  to  attend  and  divert  the  guests  with  music  and  singing. — Thyer. 

^  Wine, 
That  fragrant  smell  diffused 
The  ancients  prized  their  wines  according  to  their  fragrance.    Otvoj  avBoaiaq  was  the 
term  of  supreme  commendation  among  the  Greeks.    Dunster. 

'  Than  Qanymed  or  Hylas. 
These  were  two  most  beautiful  youths ;  the  one  beloved  by  Jupiter,  tojvhom  he  was 


BOOK  II.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  417 

Under  the  trees  now  tripp'd,  now  solemn  stood," 
Nymphs  of  Diana's  train,  and  Naiades 
"With  fruits  and  flowers  from  Anialthea's  horn, 
And  ladies  of  the  Hesperides,"  that  seem'd 
Fairer  than  feign'd  of  old,  or  fabled  since " 
Of  faery  damsels,  met  in  forest  wide 
By  knights  of  Logres,  or  of  Lyones, 
Lancelot,  or  Pelleas,  or  Pelleuore.J" 

cup-bearer;  the  other,  by  Hercules,  for  whom  he  drew  water:  they  are  therefore  both 
properly  mentioned  upon  this  occasion. — Newton. 

Milton  had  mentioned  these  two  boys  in  his  seventh  Elegy,  where  he  compares  the 
God  of  Love  to  them.  In  which  he  had  most  probably  an  eye  to  Spenser's  description 
of  Fancy  in  his  Mask  of  Cupid,  "  Faer.  Qu."  iii.  xii.  7. 

The  first  was  Fancy,  like  a  lovely  boy,  &c. — Dunsteb. 

Milton  here  alludes  to  ihe  description  of  the  costly  tables  of  the  Romans,  theii 
waiters,  <fec.,  given  by  an  author,  to  whose  opinions  he  was  certainly  partial :  "  Seneca 
describes  the  order  and  number  of  their  waiters  more  particularly :  they  had  waiting 
them,  saith  he,  puerorum  iiifelicium  yreges,  whole  troopes  of  vnfortunate  Ganymedes,  • 
Ac.     Ilakewill's  "  Apol.  of  the  Power  and  Providence  of  God,"  fol.  ed.  1630,  d.  376  — 

TODI). 

m  Now  solemn  stood. 
The  same  idea  of  graceful  attitude  is  given  in  a  line  of  "  Comus,"  where  the  enchanter, 
speaking  to  the  Lady  of  her  brothers,  whom  he  professes  to  have  seen,  says, 
Their  port  was  more  than  human  as  they  stood. 
Hamlet  likewise,  in  the  scene  with  his  mother,  thus  exemplifies  the  gracefulness  of 
his  father's  person : — 

A  station  like  the  herald  Mercury 
New-lighted  on  a  heaven-kissing  hill; 
where  "station"  is  attitude,  or  the  act  of  standing. — Dunster. 

n  Nymphs  of  Diana's  train,  and  Naiades, 
With  fruits  and  Jloicers  from  Anialthea's  horn, 
And  ladies  of  the  Hesperides. 
The  poet  perhaps  specifies  these  beautiful  attendants,  as  more  eminently  possessing 
the  power  of  beguiling  the  heart:  the  "nymphs  of  Diana's  train,"  on  account  of  their 
remarkable  beauty;  see  "  Odyss."  vi.  110:  the  "Naiades,"  as  having  been  companions 
of  the  enchantress  Circe;  see  "  Comus,"  ver.  254;  and  the  "ladies  of  the  Hesperides," 
by  their  skill  in  singing.     See  notes  on  "  Oomus,"  v.  981.     Compare  also  P.  Fletcher's 
"Purp.  Isl."  1613,  c.  X.  St.  30  :— 

Choice  nymph,  the  crown  of  chaste  Diana's  train, 
Thou  beautie's  lilie,  &c. — Todd. 
The  story  of  Amalthea's  horn,  strictly  so  called,  is  given  by  Ovid,  "Fast."  v.  116, 
kc;  but  in  the  beginning  of  the  ninth  book  of  the  "  Metamorphoses,"  a  ditferent  his- 
tory of  a  cornucopia  is  given,  which  seems  to  be  more  immediately  referred  to  in  this 
passage  of  the  "  Paradise  Regained :" — 

Nee  satis  id  fueiat;  rigidum  fera  dextera  coma 

Dum  tenet,  infregit,  truncnque  a  fronte  revellit. 

Naiades  hoc,  poinis  et  odom  Hore  ropletum, 

Sucrarunt;  divesque  meo  bona  Copia  cornu  est.— Dvnstxb. 

o  Fairer  than  feign'd  of  old,  or  fabled  since. 

Some  readers  may  perhaps,  in  this  passage,  think  our  author  a  little  too  fond  of 
showing  his  great  reading;  a  fault,  of  which  he  is  indeed  sometimes  guilty:  but  those 
who  are  conversant  in  romance-writers,  and  know  how  lavish  they  are  in  the  praises  of 
their  beauties,  will,  I  doubt  not,  discover  great  propriety  in  this  allusion. — Thyer. 

Whenever  Milton  takes  any  images  from  his  favourite  romances,  he  immediately 
rises,  as  here,  into  the  most  exquisite  poetry,  and  seems  to  finish  his  lines  with  peculiar 
pleasure  a.nd  art. — Jos.  Warton. 

The  reason  of  this  seems  to  be,  that  here  was  more  play  for  his  imagination.  The 
classical  learning  was  not  so  imaginative  as  the  gothic  and  romantic. 

P  Faery  damsels,  met  in  forest  wide 
By  knights  of  Logres,  or  of  Lyoneit, 
Lancelot,  or  Pelleas,  or  Pellenore. 
Sir  Lancelot,  Pelleas,  and  Pellenore  (the  latter  by  the  title  of  King  Pellenore)  are 


478  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  ii. 

And  all  the  while  harmonious  airs  were  heard 

Of  chiming  strings,  or  charming  pipes ;  i  and  winds 

persons  in  the  old  romance  of  "Morte  d'Arthur,  or  The  Lyf  of  King  Arthur,  of  his 
noble  knyghtes  of  the  round  table,  and  in  thende  the  dolorus  deth  of  them  all;  written 
originally  in  French,  and  translated  into  English  by  Sir  Thomas  Malleory,  Knt.  printed 
by  William  Caxton,  1484." — From  this  old  romance,  Mr.  AVarton  ("  Observations  on 
Spenser,"  sect.  2)  shows  that  Spenser  borrowed  much.  Sir  Lancelot  is  there  called  of 
"Logris;"  and  Sir  Tristram  is  named  of  "Lyones,"  under  which  title  he  appears  also 
in  the  "  Faery  Queen."  "  Logris"  is  the  same  with  Loeyria  (according  to  the  more 
fibuio'^.s  historians,  and  amongst  them  Milton),  an  old  name  for  England.  Holinshed 
calls  it  both  Loegria  and  Loyiera.  See  his  "  History  of  England,"  b.  ii.  4,  5.  The  same 
i^uthor,  in  his  "Description  of  Britain,"  instead  of  Loegria,  or  Logiera,  writes  it 
Lhoegres.  The  title  of  his  22d  chapter  is,  "after  what  manner  the  sovereigntie  of  this 
isle  awlh  remaine  to  the  princes  of  Lhoegres  or  kings  of  England."  Spenser,  in  his 
"Faery  Queen,"  where  he  gives  the  "Chronicle  of  the  early  Briton  kings  from  Brute 
to  Uther'e  reign,"  calls  it  Logris,  ii.  x.  14  : — 

And  Camber  dio  possess  the  western  quart, 
Which  Severn  now  from  Logris  doth  depart. 

Li/ones  was  an  ol  i  name  for  Cornwall,  or  at  least  for  a  part  of  that  county.  Camden, 
in  his  "  Britannia,"  speaking  of  the  Land's  End,  says,  "  The  inhabitants  are  of  opinion 
that  this  promontoiy  did  once  reach  farther  to  the  west,  which  the  seamen  positively 
conclude  from  the  rubbish  they  draw  up.  The  neighbours  will  tell  you  too,  from  a 
certain  old  tradition,  that  the  land  there  drowned  bj'  the  incursions  of  the  sea  was 
called  Lionease."  Sir  Tristram  of  Lyones  or  Lionesse,  is  well  known  to  the  readers  of 
the  old  romances.  In  the  French  translation  of  the  "  Orlando  Inamorato"  of  Boiardo, 
he  is  termed  Tristan  de  Leonhois,  although  in  the  original  he  is  only  mentioned  by  the 
Bingle  name  of  Tristan.  In  the  "  Orlando  Inamorato"  also,  among  the  knights,  who 
defend  Angelica  in  the  fortress  of  Albraca  against  Agriean,  is  Sir  Hubert  of  Lyones, 
Uberto  dal  Lione.  Tristram,  in  his  account  of  himself  in  the  "  Faery  Queen,"  vi.  IL 
28,  says, 

And  Tristram  is  my  name,  the  only  hoire 

Of  grood  king  ..Mcliogras,  which  did  rayno 

In  Cornewiile,  till  tliat  he  through  lives  despeiro 

Untimely  dyde. 

He  then  relates  how  his  uncle  seized  upon  the  crown  ;  whereupon  his  mother,  con- 
ceiving great  fears  for  her  son's  personal  safety,  determined  to  send  him  into  "  some 
foreign  land," 

Out  of  the  countrie  wherein  1  was  bred, 

The  which  the  fertile  Lionesse  is  hight. 

Into  the  liind  of  Faerie. 

These  particulars,  Mr.  Warton  shows,  are  drawn  from  the  "Morte  d'Arthur,"  where 
it  is  said  "There  was  a  knight  Meliodas,  and  he  was  lord  and  king  of  the  county  of 
Lyones,  and  he  wedded  king  Marke's  sister  of  Cornewale."  The  issue  of  this  marriago 
was  Sir  Tristram.  These  knights,  he  also  observes,  are  there  often  represented  as 
meeting  beautiful  damsels  in  desolate  forests.  Sir  Pelleas,  "  a  very  valorous  knight  of 
Arthur's  round  table,"  is  one  of  those  who  pursue  the  blatant  beast,  when,  after  having 
been  conquered  and  chained  up  by  Sir  Calidore,  it  "  broke  its  iron  chain"  and  again 
"ranged  through  the  world." — Faery  Queen,  vi.  xii.  39. 

Milton's  later  thoughts  could  not,  we  And,  but  rove  at  times,  where,  as  he  Limself 
told  us,  "his  younger  feet  wandered,"  when  he  "betook  him  among  those  lofty  fa- 
l3les  and  romances,  which  recount  in  solemn  cantos  the  deeds  of  knighthood  founded 
by  our  victorious  kings,  and  from  hence  had  in  renowne  over  all  Christendome." 
"Apol.  for  Smectym,"  p.  177,  "Prose  Works,"  ed.  Amst.  1698.— Dunsteb. 

1  And  all  the  while  harmonious  airs  were  Jveard 
Of  chiming  strings,  or  charming  pipes. 
Thus  in  "Paradise  Lost,"  b.  xi.  5i8  :— 

the  sound 
Of  instruments  that  made  melodious  chime. 


thus 


And  again,  ver.  594,  "  charming  symphonies."     Spenser,  as  Mr.  Calton  observes, 
us  likewise  uses  the  verb  to  charm^  "Faery  Queen,"  v.  ix.  13  :^- 


Like  the  fouler,  on  his  guileful  pype, 
Charmes  to  the  birds  full  many  a  pleasant  lay. 


But  Spenser  has  to  charm  frequently  in  this  sense.     Thus  in  his  "  Colin  Clont's 
come  home  again"  of  his  shepherd's  boy. 


BOOK  II.] 


PARADISE  REGAINED. 


479 


Of  gentlest  gale  Arabian  odours  fann'd. 

From  their  soft  wings/  and  Flora's  earliest  smells.  ^ 

Such  was  the  splendour ;  •  and  the  tempter  now 

His  invitation  earnestly  renew'd  : 

What  doubts  the  Son  of  God  to  sit  and  eat  ? 
These  are  not  fruits  forbidden  ;  no  interdict 
Defends  the  touching  of  these  viands  pure  : 
Their  taste  no  knowledge  works,  at  least  of  evil;* 
But  life  preserves,  destroys  life's  enemy, 
Hunger,  with  sweet  restorative  delight. 
All  these  are  spirits  of  air,  and  woods,  and  springs,' 

Charming  his  outen  pipe  unto  his  peers  : 
And  again,  in  the  conclusion  of  his  "  October :" — 

Here  we  our  slender  pipes  may  safely  charme. — Diti?8TSB. 

r  And  wind* 
Of  gentlest  gale  Arabian  odours  fann'd 
From  their  soft  wings. 
Mr.  Thyer,  who  supposes  this  circumstance  introduced  in  compliance  with  the  Eastern 
custom  of  using  perfumes  at  their  entertainments,  has  noticed  the  similarity  of  the  fol- 
lowing lines,  "Paradise  Lost,"  b.  iv.  156: — 

Now  gentle  gnles, 
Fanning  their  odoriferous  wings,  dispense 
Native  perfumes,  and  whisper  whence  they  stole 
Those  balmy  spoils. 

He  might  also  have  cited  a  beautiful  line  from  our  author's  early  Elegy,  "In  Adven- 
tum  Veris ;" 

Cinnamea  Zephyrus  leve  plaudit  odorifer  ala. 

Milton,  in  the  same  Elegy,  refers  to  the  "Arabian  odours;"  and  in  the  continuation 
of  the  passage  from  th'e  "  Paradise  Lost,"  exhibited  by  Mr.  Thyer,  he  speaks  of  the 
winds  blowing 

Sabenn  odours  from  the  spicy  shore 
Of  Araby  the  blest. — Dunster. 

See  likewise  "Paradise  Lost,"  b.  viii.  516,  &c.  And  compare  Apoll.  Rhod.  "Argon," 
i.  1142;  and  particularly  the  following  passage  from  Drayton,  "Muses  Eliz."  1630, 
p.  138  :— 

Where  the  soft  windes  diTt  mutually  embrace, 

In  the  cool  arbours  Nature  tliere  had  mnde ; 

Fanning  their  sweet  breath  gently  in  his  face,  ^ 

Through  the  calm  cincture  of  his  amorous  shade. — ToDD. 

»  Such  was  the  splendour. 
Virgil,  describing  the  magnificent  entertainment  prepared  by  Dido  for  JEneas  ("  JEn." 
I.  637),  says, — 

At  domuB  interior  regali  splendida  luxu 
Instniitur; 

on  which  La  Cerda  observes: — "Apte  et  signate  splendida;  nam  splendor  de  conviviia 
soepej"  and  he  cites  from  Athenasus,  b.  iii.  Aa^irpoTdriji'  ^cinvdi  irapaaKtvfiv. — Dunstbr. 

*  These  are  not  fruits  forbidden  ;  no  interdict 
Defends  the  touching  of  these  viands  pure  : 
Their  taste  no  knowledge  works,  at  least  of  evil. 
This  sarcastical  allusion  to  the  Fall  of  Man,  and  to  that  particular  command,  by  the 
transgression  of  which,  being  seduced  by  Satan,  he  fell,  is  finely  in  character  of  the 
speaker.     Milton,  in  his  "  Paradise  Lost,"  terras  the  forbidden  fruit  "  the  tree  of  inter- 
dicted knowledge ;"  and,  in  the  eighth  book,  where  Adam,  relating  to  the  angel  what 
he  remembered  since  his  own  creation,  particularly  recites  the  "  rigid  interdiction,"  ver. 
323— 335.— Dunster. 

»  All  these  are  spirits  of  air,  and  woods,  and  springs,' 
These  "spirits  of  air,  and  woods,  and  springs,"  remind  us  of  Shakspeare's  "elves  of 

hills,  brooks,  standing  lakes,  and  groves,"  in  the  "  Tempest." — Dunster. 

The  whole  of  this  passage  is  extraordinarily  and  exquisitely  beautiful;  the  turn  of  the 

expression  is  in  the  highest  degree  persuasive  and  happy. 


480  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  ii. 

Tlij  gentle  ministers,  who  come  to  pay 

Thee  homage,  and  acknowledge  thee  their  Lord. 

What  doubt' st  thou,  Son  of  God  ?  Sit  down,  and  eat. 

To  whom  thus  Jesus  temperately  replied  : — 
Said'st  thou  not  that  to  all  things  I  had  right  ? 
And  who  withholds  my  power  that  right  to  use  ? 
Shall  I  receive  by  gift,  what  of  my  own, 
When  and  where  likes  me  best,  I  can  command? 
I  can  at  will,  doubt  not,  as  soon  as  thou, 
Command  a  table  in  this  wilderness,'^ 
And  call  swift  flights  of  angels ''  ministrant 
Array'd  in  glory  on  my  cup  to  attend  :  , 

Why  shouldst  thou  then  obtrude  this  diligence, 
In  vain,  where  no  acceptance  it  can  find  ? 
And  with  my  hunger  what  hast  thou  to  do  ? 
Thy  pompous  delicacies  I  contemn. 
And  count  thy  specious  gifts  no  gifts,  but  guiles. 

To  whom  thus  answer'd  Satan  malcontent : 
That  I  have  also  power  to  give,  thou  seest ; 
If  of  that  power  I  bring  thee  voluntary 
What  I  might  have  bestow'd  on  whom  I  pleased, 
And  rather  opportunely  in  this  place 
Chose  to  impart  to  thy  apparent  need. 
Why  shouldst  thou  not  accept  it  ?  but  I  see 
What  I  can  do  or  offer  is  suspect ; 
Of  these  things  others  quickly  will  dispose,  , 
Whose  pains  have  earn'd  the  far-fet  spoil.     With  that,^ 
Both  table  and  provision  vanish'd  quite 
With  sound  *  of  harpies'  wings  and  talons  heard  : 

V  Command  a  table  in  this  wildernesi. 
From  Psalm  Ixxviii.  19  • — "  They  said,  Can  God  furnish  a  table  in  the  wilderness  ?" 
—Richardson. 

^  "  Flights  of  angeh. 

An  expression  likewise  in  Shakspeare,  "Hamlet,"  a.  v.  s.  6:  "And  flights  of  angels 
sing  thee  to  thy  rest." — Newton. 

Compare  St  Matthew,  xxvi.  53. — Dunster. 

»  And  count  thy  specious  gifts  no  gifts,  hut  guiles. 
Not  without  a  resemblance  to  Virgil,  "  Mn."  ii.  49  : — 

Timeo  Danaos  et  dona  ferenteB ; 
and  to  a  preceding  part  of  the  same  speech  of  Laocoon  : — 

O  miseri,  quae  tanta  msania,  cives  ? 
Credites  avectos  hostcs,  autnilla  putatis 
Dona  carere  dolis  Danaum  T 

Dr.  Newton  observes,  that  "  thy  gifts  no  gifts,"  is  from  Sophocles,  "  Ajax,"  v.  675.— 
Dunster. 

Compare  our  author,  in  his  "Apology  for  Smectymnus,"  sect.  xi. : — "Shall  we  receive 
our  prayers  at  the  bounty  of  our  more  wicked  enemies,  whose  gifts  are  no  gifts,  but  the 
instruments  of  our  bane  V — Todd. 

y  With  that,  Ac. 
See  the  notes  on  "  Comus,"  ver.  659. — Todd. 

«  With  sound,  Ac. 
The  sound  of  the  wings  and  talons  is  much  finer  than  if  the  harpies  had  been  seen 
because  the  imagination  is  left  at  work,  and  the  surprise  is  greater  than  if  they  had 
been  mentioned  before. — T.  Warton. 


BOOK  11.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.     .  481 

Only  the  importune  »  tempter  still  remain'd, 
And  with  these  words  his  temptation  pursued : 

By  hunger,  that  each  other  creature  tames, 
Thou  art  not  to  be  harm'd,  therefore  not  moved  j 
Thy  temperance,  invincible  besides, 
For  no  allurement  yields  to  appetite ; 
And  all  thy  heart  is  set  on  high  designs, 
High  actions :  but  wherewith  to  be  achieved  ? 
Great  acts  require  great  means  of  enterprise  : 
Thou  art  unknown,  unfriended,  low  of  birth, 
A  carpenter  thy  father  known,  thyself 
Bred  up  in  poverty  and  straits  at  home; 
Lost  in  a  desert  here  and  hunger-bit. 
Which  way,  or  from  what  hope,  dost  thou  aspire 
To  greatness  ?  whence  authority  derivest  ? 
What  followers,  what  retinue  canst  thou  gain, 
Or  at  thy  heels  the  dizzy  multitude, 
Longer  than  thou  canst  feed  them  on  thy  cost  ?  * 
Money  brings  honour,  friends,  conquest,  and  realms : « 
What  raised  Antipater  the  Edomite, 
And  his  son  Herod  placed  on  Judah's  throne,* 

As  this  infernally  magical  banquet  vanishes,  the  attendant  spirits  (see  before,  ver. 
236),  who  had  appeared  in  the  snene  as  "tall  stripling  youths,  nymphs  of  Diana's  train, 
or  ladies  of  the  Hesperides,"  resume  their  proper  infernal  shapes.  Milton,  we  may 
observe,  characterizes  the  furies  as  harpy -footed,  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  ii.  696- — DuN- 

9TER. 

The  powerful  brevity  of  this  termination  of  the  splendid  array  is  rery  striking. 

»  Importune. 

Spenser  and  our  old  poets  write  importune,  thus  accented ;  "  Faer.  Qu."  i.  xii,  16 : — 

And  often  blame  thee  to  importune  fate. — Nbwton. 

'i  Or  at  thy  heels  the  dizzy  multitude. 
Longer  than  thou  caniit  feed  them  on  thy  coat? 
The  "diz7.y  multitude"  is  the  ventosn  plebs  ofl,he  Roman  poet,  who  speaks  of  them  as 
(o  be  gained  in  the  same  manner.     Hor.  "  Epist."  i.  xix.  .37  : — 

Nnn  ego  ventosse  plebis  suflrngia  venor 
ImpenBis  cceimrum. 

See  also  Shakspeare,  "Henry  V."  a.  iv.  s.  3  : — 

Nor  care  I  who  doth  feed  upon  my  cost. — Dunster. 
<!  Money  brings  honour,  friends,  conquest,  and  realms. 
Mammon,  in  the  "  Faery  Queen,"  attempts  the  virtue  of  Sir  Guyon  with  the  same 
pretences,  ii.  vii.  11 : —  * 

Vain-glorious  elf,  said  he,  dost  thou  not  weet, 

Thiit  money  citn  thy  w;ints  at  will  supply  ? 

Shields,  steeds,  and  arms,  ami  all  things  for  thee  meet 

It  can  purvey  in  twinkling  of  an  eye  : 

And  crowns  and  kingdoms  to  thee  multiply. 

Do  I  not  kings  o rente,  anil  throw  the  crow^n 

Sometimes  to  him  that  low  in  dust  doth  lie  ? 

And  him  that  reign'd  into  his  room  tlirust  down; 

And  whom  1  lust,  do  heap  with  glory  and  renown  ? — Calton. 

d  What  raised  Antipater  the  Edomite, 

And  his  son  Herod  placed  on  Judah's  throne. 

This  appears  to  be  the  fact  from  history.    When  Josephus  introduces  Antipater  upon 

the  stage,  he  speaks  of  him  as  abounding  with  great  riches,  "  Antiq."  lib.  xiv.  cap.  2. 

And  his  son   Ilercd  was  declared  king  of  Judea  by  the  favour  of  Mark  Anthonj, 

oartly  for  the  sake  of  the  money  which  he  promised  to  give  him.     Ibid.  cap.  xxvi.— 

i^EWTON. 

61 


482  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  ii. 

(Thy  throne)  but  gold,  that  got  him  puissant  friends? 
Therefore,  if  at  great  things  thou  wouldst  arrive, 
Get  riches  first,*  get  wealth,  and  treasure  heap, 
Not  difficult,  if  thou  hearken  to  me  : 
Riches  are  mine,  fortune  is  in  my  hand : 
They  whom  I  favour  thrive  in  wealth  amain;' 
While  virtue,  valour,  wisdom,  sit  in  want. 
To  whom  thus  Jesus  patiently  replied  :« 
Yet  wealth,  without  these  three,  is  impotent        / 
To  gain  dominion,  or  to  keep  it  gain'd. 
Witness  those  ancient  empires  of  the  earth. 
In  highth  of  all  their  flowing  wealth  dissolved : 
But  men  endued  with  these  have  oft  attain'd 
In  lowest  poverty  to  highest  deeds ; 
Gideon,  and  Jephthah,  and  the  shepherd  lad,' 
Whose  offspring  on  the  throne  of  Judah  sat 
So  many  ages,  and  shall  yet  regain 
That  seat,  and  reign  in  Israel  without  end. 
Among  the  heathen,  (for  throughout  the  world 
To  me  is  not  unknown  what  hath  been  done 
Worthy  of  memorial)  canst  thou  not  remember 
Quintius,  Fabricius,  Curius,  Regulus  ? ' 

e  Get  riches  Jirat,  <tc. 
Hor.  "Epist"  I.  i.  63  :— 

Quserenda  pecunia  primum  est. — Newton. 

•  niches  are  mine,  fortune  is  in  my  hand : 
TTiey  whom  I  favour  thrive  in  vjealth  amain. 
This  temptation  we  owe  to  our  author's  invention,  as  Mr.  Thyer  observes,  who  adds, 
that  "it  is  very  happily  contrived,  as  it  gradually  leads  the  reader  on  to  thj  stronger 
ones  in  the  following  books."  It  affords  also  a  fine  opportunity  of  concluding  this  book 
with  some  reflections,  the  beauty  of  which  Mr.  Thyer  has  justly  noted,  on  the  insuffi- 
ciency of  riches  and  power  to  the  happiness  of  mankind.  The  language  here  reminds 
ns  of  Spenser,  who  puts  a  similar  speech  in  the  mouth  of  Mammon,  "  Faer.  Qu."  ii.  vii. 

8. — DUNSTER. 

g  To  whom  thus  Jesus  patiently  replied. 
When  our  Saviour,  a  little  before,  refused  to  partake  of  the  banquet  to  which  Satan 
had  invited  him,  the  line  ran  thus,  ver.  378 : — 

To  whom  thug  Jesus  temperately  replied ; 
but  now,  when  Satan  has  reproached  him  with  his  poverty  and  low  circumstances,  the 
word  is  fitly  altered,  and  the  verse  runs  thus : — 

To  whom  thuB  Jesus  patiently  replied. — Nkwton. 

h  Gideon,  and  Jephthah,  and  the  shepherd  lad. 
Our  Saviour  is  rightly  made  to  cite  his  first  instances  from  Scripture,  and  of  his  own 
nation,  as  being  the  best  known  to  him ;  but  it  is  with  great  art  that  the  poet  also  sup- 
poses him  not  to  be  unacquainted  with  heathen  history,  for  the  sake  of  introducing  a 
greater  variety  of  examples.  G'ideon  saith  of  himself: — "0  my  Lord,  wherewith  shall 
I  save  Israel?  behold  my  family  is  poor  in  Manassuh,  and  I  am  the  least  in  my  father's 
house,"  Judges  vi.  15.  And  Jephthah  "was  the  son  of  an  harlot,"  and  his  brethren 
"  thrust  him  out,  and  said  unto  him,  Thou  shalt  not  inherit  in  our  father's  house,  for 
thou  art  the  eon  of  a  strange  woman,"  Judges  xi.  1,  2.  And  the  exaltation  of  David 
from  a  sheep-hook  to  a  sceptre  is  very  well  known. — Newton. 

•  Quintius,  Fabriciiw,  Curius,  liegulus  f 
Quintius  Cincinnatus  was  twice  invited  from  following  the  plough,  to  be  consul  and 
dictator  of  Rome;  and  after  he  had  subdued  the  enemy,  when  the  senate  would  have 
enriched  him  with  public  lands  and  private  contributions,  he  rejected  all  these  offers, 


BOOK  II  ]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  483 

For  I  esteem  those  names  of  men  so  poor, 

Who  could  do  mighty  things,  ■•  and  could  contemn 

Riches,  though  offer'd  from  the  hand  of  kings. 

And  what  in  me  seems  wanting,  but  that  I 

May  also  in  this  poverty  as  soon 

Accomplish  what  they  did,  perhaps  and  more  ? 

Extol  not  riches  then,"  the  toil  of  fools, 

The  wise  man's  cumbrance,  if  not  snare ;  more  ap 

To  slacken  Virtue,  and  abate  her  edge, 

and  retired  again  to  his  cottage  and  old  course  of  life.  Fabricius  could  not  be  bribed 
by  all  tlie  large  offers  of  king  Pyrrhus  to  aid  him  in  negotiating  a  peace  with  the  Romans ; 
and  yet  he  lived  and  died  so  poor,  that  he  was  buried  at  the  public  expense,  and  hia 
daughters'  fortunes  were  paid  out  of  the  treasury.  Curius  Dentatus  would  not  accept 
of  the  lands  which  the  senate  had  assigned  him  for  the  reward  of  his  victories;  and 
when  the  ambassadors  of  the  Samnites  offered  him  a  large  sum  of  money  as  he  was 
sitting  at  the  fire  and  roasting  turnips  with  his  own  hands,  he  nobly  refused  to  take  it; 
saying  that  it  was  his  ambition  not  to  be  rich,  but  to  command  those  who  were  so :  and 
Regulus,  after  performing  many  great  exploits,  was  taken  prisoner  by  the  Carthagi- 
ni£.ns,  and  sent  with  the  ambassadors  to  Rome  to  treat  of  peace,  upon  oath  to  return  to 
Carthage  if  no  peace  or  exchange  of  prisoners  should  be  agreed  upon :  but  was  himself 
the  first  to  dissuade  a  peace ;  and  chose  to  leave  his  country,  family,  friends,  everything, 
and  return  a  glorious  captive  to  certain  tortures  and  death,  rather  than  suffer  the  senate 
to  conclude  a  dishonourable  treaty.  Our  Saviour  cites  these  instances  of  noble  Romans 
in  order  of  time,  as  he  did  those  of  his  own  nation :  and,  as  Mr.  Calton  observes,  the 
Romans  in  the  most  degenerate  times  were  fond  of  these,  and  some  other  like  examples 
of  ancient  virtues ;  and  their  writers  of  all  sorts  delight  to  introduce  them :  but  the 
greatest  honour  that  poetry  ever  did  them  is  here,  by  the  praise  of  the  Son  of  God. — 
Newton. 

i  For  T  esteem  those  names  of  men  so  poor, 
Who  could  do  mighty  things,  &c. 
The  author  had  here  plainly  Claudian  in  his  mind,  "  De  IV.  Cons.  Honor."  412 : — 

Discitur  hinc  quantum  paupertas  snbria  possit : 
Pnuper  era.t  Curius,  cum  rages  vinceret  armis; 
Pauper  Fabricius,  Pyrrlii  cum  sperneret  aurum; 
f  Sordida  Serranus  flexit  lUctator  aratra  ;  &;c. 

And  again,  "  In  Rufinum,"  i.  200  : —  , 

Semper  inops,  quicunque  cupit.    Contentus  honesto 
Fabricius  parvo  spernebat  munera  regum, 
Sudabatque  gravi  consul  f*erranus  aratro, 
Et  casa  pugnaces  Curios  angusta  tegebat. 
Hsec  mihi  paupertas  opulentior. 

ft  is  probable  that  he  remembered  here  some  of  his  beloved  republicans, — 

those  names  of  mon  so  poor, 
Who  could  do  mighty  things; 

and  it  is  possible  that  he  might  also  think  of  himself,  who — 

could  contemn 
Riches,  though  offered  from  the  hand  of  kings ; 

if  chat  story  be  true  of  his  having  been  offered  to  be  Latin  secretary  to  Charles  the 
Second,  and  of  his  refusing  it. — Newton. 

With  the  citation  of  "Riches,  though  offer'd  from  the  hand  of  kings,"  compare  Plu- 
tarch, "  Life  of  Cicero  :" — Kat  Soipa  /liv  oiSi  roiv  PaaiKitov  iMvrutv  i\a0e. — Dunstek. 

k  Extol  not  riches  then,  Ac. 

Milton  concludes  this  book,  and  our  Saviour's  reply  to  Satan,  with  a  series  of  thoughts 
as  noble  and  just,  and  as  worthy  of  the  speaker,  as  can  possibly  be  imagined.  I  think 
one  may  venture  to  aflSrm,  that,  as  the  "  Paradise  Reffained"  is  a  poem  entirely  moral 
and  religious,  the  excellency  of  which  does  not  consist  so  much  in  bold  figures  and 
strong  images,  as  in  deep  and  virtuous  sentiments  expressed  with  a  becoming  gravity, 
and  a  certain  decent  majesty;  this  is  as  true  an  instance  of  the  sublime  as  the  battles 
of  the  angels  in  the  "  Paradise  Lost  " — Thyer. 

This  is  an  excellent  note  of  Thyet  worthy  to  be  always  kept  in  remembrance. 


484  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  ii. 

Than  prompt  her  to  do  aught  may  merit  praise,* 

What  if  with  like  aversion  I  reject 

Kiches  and  realms  ?  yet  not,  for  that  a  crown, 

Golden  in  show,  is  but  a  wreath  of  thorns, 

Brings  dangers,  troubles,  cares,  and  sleepless  nights. 

To  him  who  wears  the  regal  diadem. 

When  on  his  shoulders  each  man's  burden  liesj 

For  therein  stands  the  office  of  a  king, 

His  honour,  virtue,  merit,  and  chief  praise, 

That  for  the  publick  all  this  weight  he  bears.™ 

Yet  he,  who  reigns  within  himself,"  and  rules 

Passions,  desires,  and  fears,  is  more  a  king; 

Which  every  wise  and  virtuous  man  attains ; 

And  who  attains  not,  ill  aspires  to  rule 

Cities  of  men,  or  headstrong  multitudes, 

Subject  himself  to  anarchy  within, 

I  The  toil  of  fools, 
The  wise  man's  cumhrance,  if  not  snare /  more  apt 
To  slacken  Virtue,  and  abate  her  edge, 
Than  prompt  her  to  do  aught  may  merit  praise. 

Thus  Juvenal,  Sat.  vi.  297  :— 

Prima  peregnnos  obscoena  peeunia  mores 
Intulit,  et  turpi  fregorunt  ssecula  luxu 
Diviti^e  mullos. 

And  see  Spenser,  "Faery  Queen,"  ii.  vii.  12,  13. — Dunster. 

n>  For  therein  stands  the  office  of  a  king, 
His  honour,  virtue,  merit,  and  chief  praise, 
That  for  the  publick  all  this  weight  he  bears. 

Milton,  in  the  height  of  his  political  ardour,  declared  that  he  was  not  actuated  "by 
hatred  to  kings,  but  only  to  tyrants :"  neither  is  there  any  occasion  to  question  the  truth 
of  this  assertion ;  but  such  was  his  apprehension  of  monarchical  tyranny,  that  the 
current  of  his  prejudices  certainly  ran  very  strongly  in  favour  of  a  republican  govern- 
ment. Even  in  one  of  his  latest  political  publications,  "  The  ready  and  easy  Way  to 
establish  a  Free  Commonwealth,"  he  professes,  that  "though  there  may  be  such  a 
king,  who  may  regard  the  common  good  before  his  own,  yet  this  rarely  happens  in  a 
monarchy  not  elective;"  and,  on  this  ground,  he  strongly  remonstrates  against  the  risk 
of  admitting  kingship.  The  contest  however  was  now  completely  over;  and  our 
author,  having  seen  the  fallacy,  not  only  of  his  hopes,  but  also  of  his  confidence  in 
those  persons,  of  whose  consummate  hypocrisy  his  ardent  integrity  had  been  the  dupe, 
seems,  in  thus  sketching  out  the  laborious  duties  of  a  good  and  patriotic  prince,  to  be 
somewhat  more  reconciled  to  kingly  government.  About  this  time,  also,  seemingly 
under  the  same  impression,  he  had  proceeded  in  his  history,  and  composed  the  fifth  and 
sixth  books,  in  which  we  find  no  marks  of  any  splenetic  dislike  to  kings  :  on  the  contrary, 
many  of  the  characters  of  our  early  monarchs  are  drawn,  not  merely  with  an  impartial 
hand,  but  often  with  a  favourable  one.  The  character  of  Alfred,  in  particular,  is  given 
with  the  most  affectionate  admiration ;  and  is  not  without  its  resemblance  to  the  com- 
pressed description  of  a  good  king  in  this  place.     See  his   "History  of  England,"  b. 

V. — DUNSTER. 

n  Yet  he,  who  reigns  within  himself,  Ac. 
Such  sentiments  are  inculcated  not  only  by  the  philosophers,  but  also  by  the  poets;  as 
Hor,  Ode  n.  9  :— 

Latins  regnes  avidum  domando 
Spiritum,  &c. 

and  see  Sat.  ii.  vii.  83. — Newton. 

The  "  Paradise  Regained,"  Mr.  Hayley  very  justly  observes,  "  is  a  poem  rhat  particu- 
larly deserves  to  be  recommended  to  ardent  and  ingenuous  youth;  as  it  is  admirably 
calculated  to  inspire  that  spirit  of  s-elf-command,  which  is,  as  Milton  esteemed  it,  the 
truest  heroism,  and  the  triumph  of  Christianity."    Life  of  Milton,  p.  126. — Dcnster. 


BOOK  II.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  485 

Or  lawless  passions  in  him,  which  he  serves.' 
But  to  guide  nations  in  the  way  of  truth 
By  saving  doctrine,  and  from  errour  lead. 
To  know,  and  knowing  worship  God  aright, 
Is  yet  more  kingly ;  p  this  attracts  the  soul, 
Governs  the  inner  man,  the  nobler  part : 
That  other  o'er  the  body  only  reigns. 
And  oft  by  force ;  which  to  a  generous  mind. 
So  reigning,  can  be  no  sincere  delight. ■» 
Besides,  to  give  a  kingdom  hath  been  thought 
Greater  and  nobler  done,*"  and  to  lay  down 

o  Subject  himself  to  anarchy  within, 
Or  lawless  passions  in  him,  which  he  serves. 
Palpably  alluding  to  Charles  the  Second,  and  his  dissolute  manners.     Compare  "  Para- 
dise Lost,"  b.  xiL  86,  Ac. — Dunsteb. 

p  But  to  guide  nations  in  the  waif  of  truth 
By  saving  doctrine,  and  from  errour  lead, 
To  know,  and  knowing  worship  God  aright, 
Is  yet  more  kingly. 
In  this  speech  concerning  riches  and  realms,  our  poet  has  called  all  the  choicest, 
finest  flowers  out  of  the  heathen  poets  and  philosophers  who  have  written  upon  these 
subjects.     It  is  not  so  much  their  words,  as  their  substance  sublimed  and  improved: 
but  here  he  soars  above  them ;  and  nothing  could  have  given  him  so  complete  an  idea 
of  a  divine  teacher,  as  the  life  and  character  of  our  blessed  Saviour. — Newton. 

q  Tliat  other  o'er  the  body  only  reigns. 
And  oft  by  force  ;  which,  to  a  generous  mind, 
So  reigning,  can  be  no  sincere  delight. 
This  is  perfectly  consonant  to  our  Lord's  early  sentiments,  as  the  poet  describes  him 
relating  them  in  the  first  book  of  this  poem,  ver.  221,  Ac. — Dunster. 

r  Besides,  to  give  a  kingdom  hath  been  thought 
Greater  and  nobler  done,  &o. 

So  Hephsestion  to  those  who  transferred  the  kingdom  of  Sidon  from  themselves  to 
another ;  Quint.  Curt.  iv.  1. — "  Vos  quidem  macti  virtute,  inquit,  estote,  qui  primi  Intel- 
lexistis,  quanto  majus  esset  regnum  fastidire  jjuam  accipere,"  <fee.  Dioclesian,  Charles 
v.,  and  others,  who  have  resigned  the  crown,  were  perhaps  in  our  author's  thought, 
upon  this  occasion  :  for,  as  Seneca  says,  Thyest.  in.  529  : — 

Habere  regnum,  casus  est;  virtus,  dare. — ^Nbwton. 

Possibly  Milton  had  hero  in  his  mind  the  famous  Christina,  queen  of  Sweden,  who 
after  having  reigned  twenty-one  years,  resigned  her  crown  to  her  cousin  Charles  Gus- 
tavus,  when  she  was  still  a  young  woman,  being  only  thirty  years  old.  Our  author  had 
before  paid  her  considerable  compliments.  The  verses  under  Cromwell's  picture,  sent 
to  Christina,  have  been  generally  supposed  to  be  his ;  though  Mr.  Warton  inclinob  to 
think  they  were  written  by  Andrew  Marvel ;  and  adds,  that  he  suspects  ''  Milton's  habit 
of  facility  in  elegiac  Latinity  had  long  ago  ceased."  What  ground  he  had  for  this 
suspicion  he  does  not  specify,  nor  is  it  easy  to  conjecture.  I  should  not  willingly  per- 
suade myself  that  our  author  could  soon  lose  any  faculty  which  he  had  acquired. 
Besides,  these  verses  must  have  been  written  before  the  year  1654,  when  Christina  abdi- 
cated ;  and  only  nine  years  before  that,  when  he  published  a  collection  of  his  Latin  and 
English  poems  in  1645,  he  had  added  to  his  seventh  Elegy  ten  lines,  which  sufficiently 
show  that  he  then  perfectly  retained  his  elegiac  Latinity ;  and  why  it  should  be  sup- 
posed entirely  to  cease  in  eight  or  nine  years  more,  I  cannot  imagine.  As  Marvel  was 
not  his  associate  in  the  secretaryship  till  the  year  1657,  Milton  has  officially  the  best 
claim  to  them :  it  was  also  an  employment,  which  we  may  well  suppose,  he  was  fond 
of;  as  at  this  time  he  certainly  thought  highly  of  Christina,  and  was  particularly  flat- 
tered with  the  idea,  that,  on  reading  his  "Defensio  Populi,"  she  withdrew  all  her  pro- 
tection from  his  antagonist  Salmasius,  who  was  then  resident  at  her  court;  and  whom, 
it  was  then  said,  she  dismissed  with  contempt,  as  a  parasite  and  an  advocate  of  tyranny. 
Accordingly,  in  his  "Defensio  Secunda,"  Milton  honours  her  with  a  most  splendid 
panegyric;  and  in  appealing  to  her  that  he  had  no  determined  prejudices  against 
kings,  nor  any  wish  wantonly  to  attack  their  rights,  he  particularly  congratulates  him- 


486  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  n. 


Far  more  magnanimous,  than  to  assume/ . 
Riches  are  needless  then,  both  for  themselves, 
And  for  thy  reason  why  they  should  be  sought, 
To  gain  a  sceptre,*  oftest  better  miss'd. 

self  upon  having  a  witness  of  his  integrity  tarn  vere.  regiam.  The  expression  is 
sufficiently  obvious  and  hackneyed  in  the  flattery  of  royalty ;  but  it  is  well  worth 
observing,  when  it  comes  from  one  who  so  seldom  sings  in  that  strain.  It  may  also  be 
noticed  here,  as  we  trace  a  resemblance  of  it  in  some  of  the  preceding  lines ;  where  our 
author,  having  said  that  in  the  laborious  and  disinterested  discharge  of  magistracy 
consists  the  real  and  proper  "office  of  a  king,"  proceeds  to  ascribe  a  superior  degree  of 
royalty,  of  the  most  distinguished  eminence,  to  him  who  is  duly  practised  in  the  habit  of 
self-command ; 

Yet  he  who  reigns  within  himself,  and  rules 

Passions,  desires,  and  fears,  is  more  a  king; 

and  still  more  to  him  who  conscientiously  labours  for  the  well-doing  ant  well-being  of 
mankind  at  large,  by  the  zealous  propagation  of  truth  and  pure  unadulterated  religion ; 

But  to  guide  nations  in  the  way  of  truth 

By  saving  doctrine,  and  from  error  lead. 

To  know,  and  knowmg  worship  God  aright, 

Is  yet  more  kingly. 

Milton,  it  appears,  however,  was  rather  unfortunate  in  his  selection  of  a  favourite 
from  among  the  crowned  heads  of  his  time.  Mr.  Warton,  in  his  note  on  the  "Verses 
to  Christina,"  collects  many  curious  anecdotes  of  her  improprieties  and  absurdities ;  and 
Harte,  the  English  historian  of  Gustavus  Adolphus,  terms  her  "  an  unaccountable  woman; 
reading  much,  yet  not  extremely  learned ;  a  collector  and  critic  in  the  fine  arts,  but  col- 
lecting without  judgment,  and  forming  conclusions  without  taste;  affecting  pomp,  and 
rendering  herself  a  beggar;  fond  to  receive  servile  dependence,  yet  divesting  herself 
of  the  means ;  paying  court  to  the  most  serious  Christians,  and  making  profession  of 
little  less  than  atheism."  But  our  author  saw  only  the  bright  side  of  her  character; 
and  considered  her  as  a  learned,  pious,  patriotic,  disinterested  princess. — Ditnstek. 

See  farther  information,  drawn  from  indisputable  authority,  relating  to  the  extraor- 
dinary Christina,  in  my  note  on  the  poet'."  verses  to  her. — Todd. 

«  And  to  lay  down 
Far  more  magnanimous  than  to  assume. 
We  may  rather  trace  Milton  here  to  Macrobius,  than  to  the  passage  cited  in  a  pre- 
ceding note  from  Q.  Curtius  by  Dr.  Newton  : — "  Quid  ?  quod  duas  virtutes,  quae  inter 
nobiles  quoque  unice  clarae  sunt,  in  uno  video  fuisse  mancipio ;  imperium  regendi 
peritiam,  et  imperium  contemnendi  magnanimitatem.  Anaxilaus  enim  Messenius,  qui 
Messanam  in  Sicilia  condidit,  fuit  Rheginorum  tyrannus.  Is,  cum  parvos  relinqueret 
liberos,  Micitho  servo  suo  commendasse  contentus  est:  is  tuteiam  sancte  gessit;  imperi- 
umque  tam  clementer  obtinuit,  ut  Rhegini  a  servo  regi  non  dedignarentur.  Perductus 
delude  in  aetatem  pueris  et  bona  et  imperium  tradidit.  Ipse  parvo  viatieo  sumpto  pro- 
fectus   est;   et   Olympiae   cum   summa  tranquillitate   consenuit."    Saturnal.  i.  11.— 

DUNSTER. 

t  To  gain  a  sceptre. 
Dunster  gives  the  following  closing  summary  of  this  book : — Our  Saviour's  passing 
the  night  is  well  described.  The  coming  on  of  morn  is  a  beautiful  counterpart  of 
'■'night  coming  on  in  the  desert,"  which  so  finely  closed  the  preceding  book.  Onr 
Lord's  waking — his  viewing  the  country — and  the  description  of  the  "  pleasant  grove," 
which  is  to  be  the  scene  of  the  banquet — are  all  set  off  with  every  grace  that  poetry 
can  give.  The  appearance  of  Satan,  varied  from  his  first  disguise,  as  he  has  now  quite 
another  part  to  act,  is  perfectly  well  imagined;  and  his  speech,  referring  to  Scripture 
examples  of  persons  miraculously  fed  in  desert  places,  is  truly  artful  and  in  character; 
as  is  his  second  sycophantic  address,  where,  having  acknowledged  our  Lord's  right  to 
all  created  things,  he  adds, 

Behold, 

Nature  ashamed,  or,  better  to  express, 

Troubled  that  thou  shoiildst  hunger,  hath  purvey'd 

From  ail  the  elements  her  choicest  store, 

To  treat  thee  as  beseems,  and  as  her  Lord, 

With  honour. 

The  banquet,  ver.  340,  comprises  everything  that  Roman  luxury,  Eastern  magnifi- 
cence, mythological  fable,  or  poetic  fancy  can  supply ;  and  if  compared  with  similar 
descriptions  in  the  Italian  poets,  will  be  found  much  superior  to  them.  In  the  con- 
cluding part  of  his  invitation,  the  rirulence  of  the  arch-fiend  breaks  out,  as  it  were 


BOOK  II.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  487 

involuntarily,  in  a  s.ircastie  allusion  to  the  divine  prohibition  respecting  the  tree  of 
knowledge ;  but  he  immediately  resumes  his  hypocritical  servility,  which  much  resem* 
bles  his  language  in  the  ninth  book  of  the  "Paradise  Lost,"  when,  in  his  addresses  to 
Eve,  "  persuasive  rhetorick  sleek'd  his  tongue."  The  last  three  lines  are  quite  in  this 
style : — 

All  these  .ire  spirits  of  air,  nnd  woods,  and  spring!, 

Tli>"  gentle  ministers,  who  come  to  pay 

Thee  homage,  and  acknowledge  thee  their  Lord. 

Our  Lord's  reply  is  truly  sublime  : — 

I  can  at  will,  doubt  not,  as  soon  ns  thou, 
Commiind  a  table  in  the  wilderness, 
And  call  swirt  flights  of  angels  ministrant, 
Array 'd  in  glory,  on  my  cup  to  attend. 

This  part  of  the  book,  in  particular,  is  so  highly  finished,  that  I  could  wish  it  had  con- 
cluded, as  !t  might  well  have  done,  with  the  vanishing  of  the  banquet.  The  present 
conclusion,  from  its  subject,  required  another  style  of  poetry :  it  has  little  description, 
no  machinery, and  no  mythological  allusions  to  elevate  and  adorn  it;  but  it  is  not  with- 
out a  sublimity  of  another  kind.  Satan's  speech,  in  which  he  assails  our  Lord  with  the 
temptation  of  riches  as  the  means  of  acquiring  greatness,  is  in  a  noble  tone  of  dramatic 
dialogue,  and  the  reply  of  our  Saviour,  where  he  rejects  the  offer,  contains  a  series  of 
the  finest  moral  precepts,  expressed  in  that  plain  majestic  language,  which,  in  many 
parts  of  didactic  poetry,  is  the  most  becoming  veHiUis  orationis.  Still  it  must  be  acknow- 
ledged, that  all  this  is  much  lost  and  obscured  by  the  radiance  and  enriched  descriptiona 
of  the  preceding  three  hundred  lines.  These  had  been  particularly  relieved,  and  their 
beauty  had  been  rendered  more  eminently  conspicuous,  from  the  studied  equality  and 
scriptural  plainness  of  the  exordium  of  this  book;  which  has  the  effect  ascribed  by 
Cicero  to  the  subordinate  and  less  shining  parts  of  any  writing,  "  quo  magis  id,  quod 
erit  illnminatum,  extare  atque  eminere  videatnr." — De  Orator,  iii.  101,  ed.  Proust. 
But  the  conclusion  of  this  book,  though  excellent  in  its  kind,  unfortunately,  from  its 
locoposition,  appears  to  considerable  disadvantage.  Writers  of  didactic  poetry,  to 
secure  the  continuance  of  their  reader's  attention,  must  be  careful  not  only  to  diver- 
sify, but  as  much  as  possible  gradually  to  elevate,  their  strain.  Accordingly,  they 
generally  open  their  several  divisions  with  their  dryer  precepts,  proceed  then  to  more 
pleasing  illustrations,  and  are  particularly  studious  to  close  each  book  with  some  de- 
scription, or  episode,  of  the  most  embellished  and  attractive  lund. 


488  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  in. 


BOOK    III. 

INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 

The  third  book  of  the  "Paradise  Regained"  continues  to  he  argumentative  :  but 
Satan,  having  found  himself  hitherto  foiled,  begins  by  the  most  wily  and  flattering 
compliments.  He  now  dwells  upon  the  attractions  and  delights  of  worldly  glory  ; 
and  tells  our  Saviour  how  he  is  fitted  to  attain  it  above  all  other  beings,  both  by 
counsel  and  action ;  and  that  it  is  his  duty  not  to  throw  away  his  gifts,  and  pass  his 
life  in  obscurity  :  he  says,  that  men,  at  a  more  youthful  age  than  his,  have  conquered 
the  world.    Our  Saviour  replies  calmly  :— 

Thou  neither  dost  persuade  me  to  seek  wealth 

For  empire's  sake,  nor  empire  to  affect 

For  glory's  sake,  by  all  thy  argument : 

For  what  is  glory  but  the  blaze  of  fame, 

The  people's  praise,  if  always  praise  unmix'd  1 

He  then  describes  what  is  true  glory ;  and  instances  Job,  who  was  more  famous  in 
heaven  than  known  on  earth. 
He  next  expatiates  on  the  false  glory  of  conquerors : — 

Till  conqueror  Death  discovers  them  scarce  men, 
Rolling  in  brutish  vices,  and  deform'd, 
Violent  or  shameful  death*  their  due  reward. 

After  Job,  he  next  names  Socrates  ;  who,  he  says,  lives  now 
Equal  in  fame  to  proudest  conquerours. 

I  must  here  draw  the  reader's  notice  to  Thyer's  observation,  who  praises  "the  au- 
thor's great  art,  in  weaving  into  the  body  of  so  short  a  work  so  many  grand  points 
of  the  Christian  theology  and  morality."     Jesus  exclaims : 

But  why  should  man  seek  glory,  who  of  his  own 
Hath  nothing;  and  to  whom  nothing  belongs, 
But  condemnation,  ignominy,  and  shame? 

Satan,  not  silenced,  takes  up  another  ground  :  he  appeals  to  Christ's  duty  to  free 
his  country  from  heathen  servitude.  Our  Saviour  answers  that  this  must  be  done  in 
the  Almighty's  time,  and  by  the  Almighty's  means  ;  but  demands  of  Satan,  why  he 
should  be  anxious  for  his  rise,  when  it  would  be  his  own  fall. 

Satan's  cunning  reply  is  one  of  the  finest  of  all  that  Milton  has  invented  of  him. 
Then  it  was  that  he  took  Christ  to  a  high  mountain,  to  show  him  the  monarchies  of 
the  earth.  The  description  of  the  prospect  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  is  in  the  rich- 
est style  of  picturesque  poetry  :  he  now  points  out  the  Assyrian  empire. 

After  going  through  an  immense  Geographical  view,  conducted  with  wonderful 
art,  skill,  and  learning,  and  everywhere  discriminated  by  the  happiest  epithets; — 
Satan  says, 

All  these  the  Parthian  (now  Rome  ages  past. 

By  great  Arsaces  led,  who  founded  first 

That  empire)  under  his  dominion  holds, 

From  the  luxurious  king  of  Antioch  won. 

Then  comes  a  most  magnificent  picture  of  great  armies  going  out  to  battle.  This  is 
done,  to  show  our  Saviour  the  necessity  of  worldly  power,  and  numerous  military 
preparations,  to  enable  him  to  fulfil  the  duties  for  which  he  supposes  him  to  be  sent 
on  earth  ;— the  recovery  of  the  throne  of  David.  For  this  end  he  offers  to  secure  for 
him  the  Parthian  alliance. 

Our  Saviour,  in  answer,  speaks  with  scorn  '  of  the  cumbersome  luggage  of  war ;' 
and  at  the  same  time  reproaches  Satan  with  the  insidiousness  of  his  pretended  zeal 
for  the  welfare  of  Israel,  or  David,  or  his  throne,  when  he  had  hitherto  proved  their 
greatest  enemy. 

Of  the  poetry  of  this  character  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  urge  the  exalted  merits. 
•  Here  is  a  little  carelessness  in  this  repetition  of  the  word  "  death." 


BOOK  HI.] 


PARADISE  REGAINED. 


489 


Imagination  exerts  itself  in  various  tracks,  and  various  forms  ;  here  it  executes  its 
duty  in  filling  up  the  outlines  of  a  divine  story  ; — that  is,  a  story  of  inspired  wisdom, 
— of  holiest  virtue, — of  superiority  to  all  worldly  temptations, — of  patient  sufifering, 
— of  faith  in  the  Supreme  Being, — of  examples  of  the  punishment  of  the  wicked, — 
and  of  the  inappeasable  malice  of  Satan.  It  is  necessarily  therefore  more  intellect- 
ual, spiritual,  and  didactic,  in  every  part,  than  material :  and  yet  it  is  so  intermixed 
with  a  due  portion  of  imagery,  that  the  fertility  of  a  rich  poetical  genius  pervades 
the  whole  poem. 

Mind  is  of  more  value  than  matter :  it  is  the  soul  which  belongs  to  the  image,  ra- 
ther than  the  image  itself,  which  is  the  gem  :  thought,  opinion,  conclusion,  the  im- 
pression of  the  heart, — these  are  what  instruct  us,  and  elevate  our  nature.  Of  these 
what  poem  is  so  full  as  "  Paradise  Regained  ?"  Its  mere  learning  is  miraculous  ;  but 
that  is  of  comparatively  less  interest.  Yet  the  more  enlarged  is  the  author's  experi- 
ence, the  wider  the  field  whence  he  derives  his  deductions  and  convictions,  the  more 
numerous  the  eminent  minds  by  whose  wisdom  he  is  aided,  the  richer  and  more 
sure  must  be  the  intellectual  fruits  at  which  he  arrives. 

Milton  is  so  familiar  with  the  ancient  classics,  that  he  perpetually  falls,  not  only  in- 
to a  concurrence  of  observation  and  sympathy  of  feeling,  but  into  their  very  expres- 
sions :  yet  not  as  if  it  was  borrowed,  but  as  if  it  was  simultaneous  :  its  freshness  and 
its  force  prove  its  originality. 

Our  Saviour's  answer  to  Satan,  in  assertion  of  the  vanity  of  human  glory,  aston- 
ishes by  its  vigour  of  thought  and  blaze  of  eloquence.  It  is  like  the  beams  of  the 
cheering  sun  let  in  iipon  a  billowy  and  blinding  mist:  the  understanding  ratifies  it ; 
the  conscience  hails  it.  That  no  doctrine  can  be  more  pure,  more  noble,  more  sound, 
more  useful  than  this,  will  scarcely  be  denied :  its  poetical  character  depends  upon 
its  loftiness,  which  also  is  of  the  most  decisive  kind. 

The  poetry  of  mere  style,  the  artifices  of  language,  are  nothing :  great  thoughts 
and  great  iniages  will  support  themselves.  The  necessity  of  illustration  proves  that 
the  primary  idea  or  image  is  dark,  or  weak,  or  trifling.  Grandeur  or  beauty  wants 
no  dress  :  metaphorical  phrases  are  often  corrupt ;  and  similes  are  generally  super- 
fluous and  impertinent ;  yet  these  are  taken  to  be  the  essence  of  modern  poetry.  I 
mention  this,  because  the  mere  reader  of  the  productions  of  our  own  times  is  apt  to 
suppose  Milton  prosaic,  when  his  strains  are  of  the  most  poetical  tone ;  because  his 
style  is  simple  and  pure.  The  finest  passage  in  our  Saviour's  exposition  of  the  no- 
thingness of  human  glory,  are  the  plainest :  till  poets  learn  this,  they  will  be  but 
frivolous  and  gaudy  pretenders.  Whoever  thinks  magnificently,  scorns  the  aid  of 
flowers  and  .spangles. 

If  we  could  bring  back  poetry,  even  in  mere  style,  to  what  it  was  in  the  times  of 
Spenser,  and  Shakspeare,  and  Milton,  we  should  indeed  be  gaining  an  immense  bene- 
fit to  the  world  of  English  readers,  and  redeeming  the  splendour  of  the  Muse's  name 
and  ofllce.  The  unmeaning  gaudiness,  the  gilded  inanity  of  the  greater  part  of  mod- 
ern verses,  has  turned  the  public  taste  for  poetical  compositions  into  loathing.  Let 
the  reader  study  Milton's  energetic  thought  and  chaste  manner  day  and  night ;  and 
if  at  first  any  factitious  -taste  may  render  it  more  a  duty  than  a  pleasure,  his  dis- 
eased habit  will  soon  amend  itself,  and  be  changed  to  simplicity  and  purity.  Then 
he  will  find  his  momentary  delight  followed  by  no  satiety  ;  but  the  wholesome  food 
strengthen  his  mind,  and  grow  with  his  growth.  If  the  "  Paradise  Regained"  does 
not  please  him,  let  him  be  sure  that  he  has  much  to  amend  in  his  intellectual  quali- 
fications. 


490  PARADISE  REaAINED.  [BOOK  in. 


AEGUMENT. 

Satan,  in  his  speech  of  much  flattering  commendation,  endeavours  to  awaken  in  Jesus  passion 
for  glory,  by  particularizing  various  instances  ot  conquests  achieved,  and  great  actions  per- 
formed, by  persons  at  an  early  period  of  life.  Our  Lord  replies,  by  showing  the  vanity  of 
worldly  fame,  and  the  improper  means  by  which  it  is  generally  attained  ;  and  contrasts 
with  it  the  true  glory  of  religious  patience  and  virtuous  wisdom,  as  exemplified  in  the 
character  of  Job.  Salan  justifies  the  love  of  glory  from  the  example  of  God  himself,  who 
requires  it  from  all  his  creatures.  Jesus  detects  the  fallacy  of  this  argument,  by  showing 
that,  as  goodness  is  the  true  ground  on  which  glory  is  due  to  the  great  Creator  of  all  things, 
sinful  man  can  have  no  right  whatever  to  it. — Satan  then  urges  our  Lord  respecting  his 
claim  to  the  throne  of  David  ;  he  tells  him,  that  the  kingdom  of  Judea.  being  at  thai  time 
a  province  of  Rome,  cannot  be  got  possession  of  without  much  personal  exertion  on  his 
part,  and  presses  him  to  lose  no  time  in  beginning  to  reign.  Jesus  refers  him  to  the  time 
allotted  for  this,  as  for  all  other  things;  and,  after  intimating  somewhat  respecting  his  own 
previous  sutftriugs,  asks  Satan,  why  he  shoulil  be  so  solicitous  for  the  exaltation  of  one, 
whose  rising  was  destined  to  be  his  fall.  Satan  replies,  that  his  own  desperate  state,  by 
excluding  all  hope,  leaves  little  room  for  fear;  and  that,  as  his  own  puni^hment  was 
equally  doomed,  he  is  not  interested  in  preventing  the  reign  of  one,  from  whose  apparent 
benevolence  he  might  rather  hope  for  some  interference  in  his  favour.  Satan  still  pursues 
his  former  incitements;  and  supposing  that  the  seeming  reluctance  of  Jesus  to  be  thus 
advanced  might  arise  from  his  being  unacquainted  with  the  world  and  its  glories,  conveys 
him  to  the  summit  of  a  high  mountain,  and  from  thence  shows  him  most  of  the  kingdoms 
of  Asia,  particularly  pointing  out  to  his  notice  some  extraordinary  military  preparations 
of  the  Parthians,  to  resist  the  incursions  of  the  Scythians.  He  then  informs  our  Lord, 
that  he  showed  him  this  purposely,  that  he  might  see  how  necessary  military  exertions 
are  to  retain  the  possession  of  kingdoms,  as  well  as  to  subdue  them  at  first  ;  and  advises 
him  to  consider  how  impossible  it  was  to  maintain  Judea  against  two  such  powerful 
neighbours  as  the  Romans  and  Parthians,  and  how  necessary  it  would  be  to  form  an  alli- 
ance with  one  or  other  of  them.  At  the  same  time,  he  recommends,  and  enga^s  to  secure 
to  him,  that  of  the  Parthians  :  and  tells  him  that  by  this  means  his  power  will  De  defended 
from  anything  that  Rome  or  Caesar  might  attempt  against  it,  and  that  he  will  be  able  to 
extend  his  glory  wide,  and  especially  to  accomplish  what  was  particularly  necessary  to 
make  the  throne  of  Judea  really  the  throne  of  David,  the  deliverance  and  restoration  of  the 
ten  tribes,  stilt  in  a  state  of  captivity.  Jesus,  having  briefly  noticed  the  vanity  of  military 
efforts  and  the  weakness  of  the  arm  of  flesh,  says,  that  when  the  time  comes  for  ascending 
his  allotted  throne,  he  shall  not  be  slack  :  he  remarks  on  Satan's  extraordinary  zeal  for 
the  deliverance  of  the  Israelites,  to  whom  he  had  always  showed  himself  an  enemy ;  and 
declares  their  servitude  to  be  the  consequeiice  of  their  idolatry  ;  but  adds,  that  at  a  future 
time  it  may  perhaps  please  God  to  recall  them,  and  restore  them  to  their  liberty  and  native 
laud. 

So  spake  the  Son  of  God ;  and  Satan  stood 

Awhile,  as  mute,  confounded  what  to  say, 

What  to  reply,  confuted,  and  convinced 

Of  his  weak  arguing  and  fallacious  drift : 

At  length,  collecting  all  his  serpent  wiles. 

With  soothing  words  renew'd  him  thus  accosts  :• — 

I  see  thou  know'sf"  what  is  of  use  to  know, 
What  b^st  to  say  canst  say,  to  do  canst  doj 
Thy  actions  to  thy  words  accord ;  thy  words 

»  Him  thus  accosts. 

1  oongider  the  opening  of  this  book,  with  the  arguments  in  favour  of  worldly  glory, 
and  especially  our  Saviour's  answer,  to  be  the  finest  of  the  whole  poom ;  notwithstand- 
ing that  it  comes  under  the  classes  of  character,  and  sentiment,  and  language,  rather 
than  of  story.  Its  sublime  distinctions,  its  exalted  feelings,  its  magnificent  plainness 
of  Ptyle,  fill  one  with  a  sort  of  glowing  approbation,  which  seems  to  spiritualize  and 
uplift  our  nature. 

•>  /  see  thou  know' St, 

Thi>  extreme  brevity  and  simplicity,  yet  noble  climax,  of  this  and  the  four  following 
lines,  is  admirable. 


BOOK  III.]  PARADISE  REaATNED.  491 

To  thy  large  heart  give  utterance  due ;  thy  heart 

Contains  of  good,  wise,  just,  the  perfect  shape." 

Should  kings  and  nations  from  thy  mouth  consult, 

Thy  counsel  would  be  as  the  oracle 

Urim  and  Thummira,  those  oraculous  gems 

On  Aaron's  breast ;  or  tongue  of  seers  old 

Infallible ;  "^  or  wert  thou  sought  to  deeds 

That  might  require  the  array  of  war,  thy  skiL 

Of  conduct  would  be  such,  that  all  the  world 

Could  not  sustain  thy  prowess,  or  subsist 

In  battle,  though  against  thy  few  in  arms. 

These  godlike  virtues  wherefore  dost  thou  hide, 

Affecting  private  life,  or  more  obscure 

In  savage  wilderness  ?     Wherefore  deprive 

All  earth  her  wonder  at  thy  acts,  thyself 

The  fame  and  glory ;  glory,  the  reward  * 

That  sole  excites  to  high  attempts,  the  flame 

Of  most  erected  spirits,''  most  temper'd  pure 

Ethereal,  who  all  pleasures  else  despise, 

1=  Of  good,  wise,  j^ist,  the  perfect  shape. 

Milton,  no  doubt,  by  the  word  "shape,"  intended  to  express  the  meaning  of  the 
Greek  I'Jt'a,  but  in  my  opinion  it  does  not  at  all  come  up  to  it,  and  seems  rather  harsh 
and  inelegant.  There  are  words  in  ^11  languages  which  cannot  well  be  translated 
without  losing  much  of  their  beauty,  and  even  some  of  their  meaning ;  of  this  sort  I 
take  the  word  "  idea"  to  be.  Tully  renders  it  by  the  word  "  species"  with  as  little 
success  as  Milton  has  done  here  by  his  English  "  shape." — Thyer. 

I  should  rather  think  it  expressed  from  the  perfecta  forma  honestatis,  and  the  forma 
ipsa  honesti  of  Cicero,  "  De  Fin."  ii.  15.  "  De  Off."  i.  5.  And  the  more,  because  he 
renders /or/na  by  "shape"  in  the  "Paradise  Lost,"  b.  iv.  848  : — 

Virtue  in  her  shape  how  lovely. — Nkwton. 

Milton  vas  fond  of  thia  phrase. — Todd. 

J  Or  tongue  of  seers  old 
Infallible. 

The  poet,  by  mentioning  this  after  Urim  and  Thummim,  seems  to  allude  to  the 
opinion  of  the  Jews,  that  the  Holy  Spirit  spake  to  the  children  of  Israel  during  the 
tabernacle  by  Urim  and  Thummim,  and  under  the  first  temple  by  the  prophets.  See 
Prideaux's  "  Connect."  part  i.  book  3. — Newton. 

e  Qlory,  the  reward. 
Our  Saviour  having  withstood  the  allurement  of  richea,  Satan  attacks  him  in  the 
next  place  with  the  cliarms  of  glory.  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  Milton  might 
possibly  take  the  hint  of  thus  connecting  these  two  temptations  from  Spenser,  who, 
in  his  second  book  of  the  "Faery  Queen,"  representing  the  virtue  ot  temperance 
under  the  character  of  Guyon,  and  leading  him  throug'h  various  trials  of  his  constancy, 
brings  him  to  the  house  of  riches,  or  "  Mammon's'  delve,"  as  he  terms  it :  and  im- 
mediately after  to  the  palace  of  glory,  which  he  describes,  in  his  allegorical  manner, 
under  the  figure  of  a  beautiful  woman  called  Philotime. — Thyeb. 

f  The  flame 
Of  most  erected  spirits. 

Silius  Ital.  vi.  332.  "Erected  spirits"  is  a  classical  phrase.  "Magno  animo  et 
erecto  est,  nee  unquam  succumbit  inimicis,  nee  fortunse  quidem,"  Cicero,  "  Pro  Rege 
Deiotaro,"  13.  And  Seneca,  Epist.  ix.  "  Ad  hoc  enim  multis  illi  rebus  opus  est ;  ad 
illud,  tantum  animo  sano  et.erecto,  et  despiciente  fortunam." 

It  occura  likewise  in  "  Paradise  Lost,"  d.  i.  679 — 

Mammon,  the  lea.<!t  erected  spirit  that  fell 
From  heaven. — Dunster. 


492  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  in. 

All  treasures  and  all  gain  esteem  as  dross,' 
And  dignities  and  powers  all  but  the  highest  ? 
Thy  years'"  are  ripe  and  over-ripe;  the  son 
Of  Macedonian  Philip  had  ere  these 
Won  Asia,  and  the  throne  of  Cyrus  held 
At  his  dispose ;  •  young  Scipio  had  brought  down 
The  Carthaginian  pride ;  young  Pompcy  quell'd 
The  Pontick  king,  and  in  triumph  had  rode.^ 
Yet  years,  and  to  ripe  years  judgment  mature, 
Quench  not  the  thirst  of  glory,  but  augment. 
Great  Julius,  whom  now  all  the  world  admires, 
The  more  he  grew  in  years,  the  more  inflamed 
With  glory,  wept  that  he  had  lived  so  long 
Inglorious : "  but  thou  yet  art  not  too  late. 

To  whom  our  Saviour  calmly  thus  replied  : — 
Thou  neither  dost  persuada  me '  to  seek  wealth 
For  empire's  sake,  nor  empire  to  affect 
For  glory's  sake,  by  all  thy  argument. 
For  what  is  glory  but  the  blaze  of  fame 

Who  all  pleasures  else  despise, 
All  treasures  and  all  gain  esteem  as  dross. 

Thus  Spenser,  in  the  conclusion  of  his  "  Hymn  of  Heavenly  Love :" — 

Seem  dirt  and  dross  in  thy  pure-sighted  eye. 

And  Milton  again,  in  his  "Verses  on  Time:" — 

Which  is  no  more  than  what  is  false  and  vain, 
And  merely  mortal  dross. — ^Dvnstbk. 

•>  Thy  years,  <tc. 

Our  Saviour's  temptation  was  soon  after  his  baptism ;  and  he  was  baptized  when  h 
was  "  about  thirty  years  of  age,"  Luke  iii.  23. — Newton. 

'  At  hia  dispose, 
Shakspeare  writes  "dispose"  for  disposal,  K.  John,  a.  i.  s.  3.     "Needs  must  you  lay 
your  heart  at  his  dispose." — Dunster. 

J  Young  Pompey  quell'd 
The  Pontick  king,  and  in  triumph  had  rode. 
In  this  instance  our  author  is  not  so  exact  as  in  ths  rest;  for  when  Pompey  was  sent 
to  command  the  war  in  Asia  against  Mithridates,  king  of  Pontus,  he  was  above  forty, 
but  had  signalized  himself  by  many  extraordinary  actions  in  his  younger  years,  and  had 
obtained  the  honour  of  two  triumphs  before  that  time. — Newton. 

k  Wept  that  he  had  lived  so  long 
Inglorious, 

Alluding  to  a  story  related  of  Julius  Csesar,  that,  ona  day  reading  the  History  of 
Alexander,  he  sat  a  great  while  very  thoughtful,  and  at  last  burst  into  tears;  and  his 
friends  wondering  at  the  reason  of  it;  "  Do  you  not  think,"  said  he,  "I  have  just  caMso 
to  weep,  when  I  consider  that  Alexander  at  my  age  had  conquered  so  many  nations,  and 
I  have  all  this  time  done  nothing  that  is  memorable?"  See  Plutarch's  "Life  of  Cseaar." 
Newton. 

"Inglorious"  here  is  Virgil's  inglorius,  i.  e.  insensible  to  the  charms  of  glory,  "Georg." 
ii.  486  :— 

Rurn  mihi  et  rigui  placennt  in  vallibus  amnes  ; 
Flumina  amem  sylvagque  inglorius. — Dunster. 

I  Thou  neither  dost  persuade  me,  <tc. 
How  admirably  does  Milton  in  this  speech  expose  the  emptiness  anduneertainty  of  a 
popular  character;  and  found  true  glory  upon  its  only  basis,  tho  approbation  of  the 
God  of  Truth !— Thtbr 


BOOK  III.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  493 

The  people's  praise,"  if  always  praise  unmix'd  ? 

And  what  the  people  but  a  herd  confused, 

A  miscellaneous  rabble,  who  extol 

Things  vulgar,"  and,  well  weigh'd,  scarce  worth  the  praise? 

They  praise,  and  they  admire,  they  know  not  what, 

And  know  not  whom,  but  as  one  leads  the  other; 

And  what  delight  to  be  by  such  extoll'd, 

To  live  upon  their  tongues,  and  be  their  talk, 

Of  whom  to  be  dispraised  were  no  small  praise  ? 

His  lot  who  dares  be  singularly  good." 

The  intelligent  among  them  and  the  wise 

Are  few,  and  glory  scarce  of  fiw  is  raised  p 

This  is  true  glory  and  renown ;  i  when  God, 

Looking  on  the  earth,  with  approbation  marks 

The  just  man,""  and  divulges  him  through  heaven 

To  all  his  angels,  who  with  true  applause 

Recount  his  praises :  thus  he  did  to  Job, 

When  to  extend  his  fame  through  heaven  and  earth, 

As  thou  to  thy  reproach  mayst  well  remember, 

He  ask'd  thee, — Hast  thou  seen  my  servant  Job  ? 

Famous  he  was  in  heaven,  on  earth  less  known ; 

"•  The  people's  praise,  Ac. 
"We  may  compare  with  this  and  some  of  the  following  lines  the  31st  stanza  of  GileB 
Fletcher's  "  Christ's  Triumph  over  Death  :" — 

Frail  multitude  !  whose  giddy  law  is  list, 

And  best  appliiuse  is  windy  fiiittering, 

Most  like  the  hre;ith  of  which  it  doth  consist, 

No  sooner  blown  but  as  soon  vnnishing, 

As  much  desired  as  little  profiting, 

That  makes  the  men  that  have  it  oft  as  light 

As  those  that  give  it. — Dunster. 

0  And  ichnt  the  people  hut  a  herd  confused, 
A  miacellaneouB  rabble,  who  extol 
Things  vulgar,  Ac. 

These  lines  are  certainly  no  proof  of  a  democratic  disposition  in  our  anthor. 

DUNSTEK. 

°  His  lot  who  dares  he  singularly  good. 
Dr.  Newton  conjectures  that  Milton  might  here  allude  to  himself,  '•  who  dared  to 
be  as  singular  in  his  opinions  and  in  his  conduct  as  any  man  whatever."    But  the 
language  of  the  poet  in  this  place  is  perhaps  only  classical,  as  it  might  well  have  been 
suggested  by  Horace,  Ep.  i.  li.  40 : — 

Sapere  aude  ; 
Incipe  :  vivendi  rtcle  qui  prorogat  horam, 
Ruiiticus  ejcpectat  dum  dtflujt  amnis. — Dunstbr. 

p  And  glory  scarce  of  few  is  raised. 
"  Gloriam  latins  fusam  intelligo  ;  consemsum  enim  multorum  exigit.    Quid  intersit 
inter  claritatem  et  gloriam  dicam ;  gloria  multorum  judiciis  constat,  cJaritas  bonorum." 
Senec.  Epist.  102. — Dunster 

1  This  is  the  true  glory  and  renown,  &c. 

Here  is  a  glory  that  is  solid  and  substantial,  "  expressa,"  as  Tully  says,  "  non  adum- 
brata;"  and  that  will  endure,  when  all  the  records  and  memorials  of  human  pride 
are  perished. — Caxton. 

'  When  God. 
Looking  on  fhe  earth.,  with  approbation  marks 
The  just  man. 
"  Ecce  spectacnlum  dignum,  ad  quod  respiciat  intentus  operi  suo  Dens !"    Seneca 
*'  De  Providentia,"  2.    This  celebrated  passage  of  Seneca  the  amiably  affectionate 
biographer  of  Milton  applies  to  the  principles  and  the  affiictions  of  our  author.    Hay- 
ley,  "  Life  of  Milton,"  p.  225.— Dunsteb.  ' 


494  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  m, 


Where  glory  is  false  glory,  attributed 
To  things  not  glorious,  men  not  worthy  of  fame  • 
They  err,  who  count  it  glorious  to  subdue 
By  conquest  far  and  wide,*  to  overrun 
Large  countries,  and  in  field  great  battles  win. 
Great  cities  by  assault :  what  do  these  worthies. 
But  rob,  and  spoil,"  burn,  slaughter,  and  enslave 
Peaceable  nations,  neighbouring  or  remote. 
Made  captive,  yet  deserving  freedom  more 
Than,  those  their  conquerours,  who  leave  behind 
Nothing  but  ruin ''  wheresoe'er  they  rove, 
And  all  the  flourishing  works  of  peace  destroy ; 
Then  swell  with  pride,  and  must  be"  titled  gods, 
Great  benefactors  of  mankind,  deliverers,''^ 
Worship'd  with  temple,  priest,  and  sacrifice  ? 
One  is  the  son  of  Jove,  of  Mars  the  other  ;^ 
Till  conquerour  Death  discover  them  scarce  men. 
Rolling  iu  brutish  vices,  and  deform' d,' 

e  Where  glory  itfalte  glory,  attributed 

To  things  not  glorious,  men  not  worthy  of  fame. 
True  glory,  TuUy  says,  is  the  praise  of  good  men,  the  echo  of  virtue  :  but  that  ape  of 
glory,  the  random  injudicious  applause  of  the  multitude,  is  often  bestowed  upon  the 
worst  of  actions.  "Tusc.  Disp."  iii.  2.  When  Tully  wrote  his  "  Tusculan  Disputations," 
Julius  Caesar  had  overturned  the  constitution  of  his  country,  and  was  then  in  the  height 
of  his  power;  and  Pompey  had  lost  his  life  in  the  same  pursuit  of  glory. — Calton. 

t  They  err,  who  count  it  glorious  to  subdue 
By  conquest  far  and  wide,  Ac.  *': 

Here  might  be  an  allusion  intended  to  Louis  XIV.,  who  a^  this  time  began  to  disturb 
Europe ;  and  whose  vanity  and  ambition  were  gratified  by  titles,  such  as  are  here  men- 
tioned, from  his  numerous  parasites.  We  may  here  compare  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  zL 
691,  Ac.    And  again,  ver.  789,  Ac,  of  the  same  book. — Dunster. 

u  What  do  these  worthies. 
But  rob,  and  spoil,  &c. 
Thus  Drummond,  in  his  "  Shadow  of  the  Judgment :" 
All  live  on  earth  by  spoil : 

Who  most  can  ravage,  rob,  ransack,  blaspheme, 
Is  held  most  virtuous,  hath  a  worthy's  name. 

Milton's  description  of  the  ravages  of  conquerors  may  have  been  copied  from  some 
of  the  accounts  of  the  barbarous  nations  that  invaded  Rome.  Ovid  describes  the  Get® 
thus  spoiling,  robbing,  slaying,  enslaving,  and  burning,  Trist.  in.  El.  x.  55,  &c — Bunsteb. 

▼  Who  leave  behind 
Nothing  hut  ruin. 
Thus  Joel,  ii.  3.    "  The  land  is  as  the  garden  of  Eden  before  them,  and  behind  them 
a  desolate  wilderness." — Dunster. 

y  And  must  be  titled  gods, 
Great  benefactors  of  mankind,  deliverers. 
The  second  Antiochus,  king  of  Syria,  was  called  Antiochus  Ottfy,  or  "  the  God."    The 
Athenians  gave  Demetrius  Poliorcetes,  and  his  father  Antigonus,  the  titles  of  Eiepydrai, 
benefactors;  and  Xurripts,  deliverers—  Calton. 

*  One  is  the  son  of  Jove,  of  Mars  the  other. 
Alexander  is  particularly  intended, by  the  one,  and  Romulus  by  the  other;  who, 
though  better  than  Alexander,  founded  his  empire  in  the  blood  of  his  brother,  and  for 
his  overgrown  tyranny  was  at  last  destroyed  by  his  own  senate. — Newton. 

y  Rolling  in  brutish  vices,  and  deform'd. 
See  "  Comus,"  ver.  77.     "  To  roll  with  pleasure  in  a  sensual  stye." 
Compare  also  "  Par.  Lost,"  b.  xi.  516. 


BOOK  m]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  495 

Violent  or  shameful  death  their  due  reward. 

But  if  there  be  in  glory  aught  of  good, 

It  may  by  means  far  different  be  attain'd, 

Without  ambition,  war,  or  violence ; 

By  deeds  of  peace,  by  wisdom  eminent, 

By  patience,  temperance  :  '■  I  mention  still 

Him,  whom  thy  wrongs,  with  saintly  patience  borne, 

Made  famous  in  a  land  and  times  obscure : 

Who  names  not  now  with  honour  patient  Job  ? 

Poor  Socrates,"  (who  next  more  memorable  ?) 

By  what  he  taught,  and  suffer'd  for  so  doing. 

For  truth's  sake  suffering  death  unjust,  lives  now, 

Equal  in  fame  to  proudest  conquerours.* 

Themselves  they  vilified 
To  serve  ungovern'd  nppetite ;  and  took 
His  image  whom  they  served,  a  brutish  vice,  &c. — ToDD. 

^  By  patience,  temperance. 
In  allusion  to  St  Peter's  combination,  2  Pet.  i.  6.    "Add  to  knowledge  temperance, 
and  to  temperance  patience." — Todd. 

»  Poor  Socrates,  Ac. 
Milton  here  does  not  scruple,  with  Erasmus,  to  place  Socrates  in  the  foremost  rank 
of  saints;  an  opinion  more  amiable  at  least,  and  agreeable  to  that  spirit  of  love  which 
breathes  in  the  Gospel,  than  the  severe  orthodoxy  of  those  rigid  textuaries  who  are 
unwilling  to  allow  salvation  to  the  moral  virtues  of  the  heathen. — Thyer. 

b  Equal  infante  to  proudest  conquerors. 
Among  the  various  beauties  which  adorn  this  truly  divine  poem,  the  most  distin- 
guishable and  captivating  feature  of  excellence  is  the  character  of  Christ:  this  is  so 
finely  drawn,  that  we  can  scarcely  forbear  applying  to  it  the  language  of  Quintilian 
respecting  the  Olympian  Jupiter  of  the  famous  sculptor  Phidias;  "cujus  pulchritudo 
adjecisse  aliquid  etiam  receptse  religioni  videatur,  adeo  majestas  operis  Deum  aequavit." 
L  xii.  e.  10.  It  is  observed  by  Mr.  Hayley,  that  as  in  "Paradise  Lost"  the  j'oet  seems  to 
emulate  the  sublimity  of  Moses  and  the  prophets,  it  appears  to  have  been  his  wish  in 
the  "  Paradise  Regained"  to  copy  the  sweetness  and  simplicity  of  the  Evangelists.  The 
great  object  of  this  second  poem  seems  indeed  to  be  the  e.xemplification  of  true  evan- 
gelical virtue,  in  the  person  and  sentiments  of  our  blessed  Lord.  From  the  beginning 
of  the  third  book  to  ver.  363  of  the  next,  practical  Christianity,  thus  personified,  is  con- 
trasted with  the  boasted  pretensions  of  the  heathen  world,  in  its  zenith  of  power,  splen- 
dour, civilization,  and  knowledge ;  the  several  claims  of  which  are  fully  stated,  with 
much  ornament  of  language  and  poetic  decoration.  After  an  exordium  of  flattering 
commendation  addressed  to  our  Lord,  the  tempter  opens  his  progressive  display  of  hea- 
then excellence  with  an  eulogy  on  glory  (ver.  25),  which  is  so  intrinsically  beautiful, 
that  it  may  be  questioned  whether  any  Roman  orator  or  poet  ever  so  eloquently  and 
concisely  defended  the  ambition  of  heroism :  the  judgment  of  the  author  may  also  be 
noticed  (ver.  31,  Ac),  in  the  selection  of  his  heroes;  two  of  whom,  Alexander  and 
Bcipio,  he  has  before  introduced  (b.  ii.  166,  199),  as  examples  of  continency  and  self- 
denial :  in  short,  the  first  speech  of  Satan  opens  the  cause,  for  which  he  pleads,  with 
all  the  art  becoming  his  character.  In  our  Lord's  reply,  the  false  glory  of  worldly 
fame  is  stated  with  energetic  briefness,  and  is  opposed  by  the  true  glory  of  obedience 
to  tha  divine  commands.  The  usual  modes  of  acquiring  glory  in  the  heathen  world, 
and  the  intolerable  vanity  and  pride  with  which  it  was  claimed  and  enjoyed,  are  next 
most  forcibly  depicted;  and  are  finely  contrasted  with  those  means  of  acquiring  honour 
and  reputation,  which  are  innocent  and  beneficial : — 

But  if  there  in  glory  aught  of  good, 
It  may  by  means  far  dilfercnt  be  attain'd, 
Without  ambition,  war,  or  violence; 
By  deeds  of  peace,  by  M^sdom  eminent, 
By  patience,  temperance. 

These  lines  are  marked  with  that  peculiar  species  of  beauty,  which  distinguishes 
Virgil's  description  of  the  amiable  heroes  of  benevolence  and  peace,  whom  he  places  in 
Elysium,  together  with  his  blameless  warriors,  the  virtuous  defenders  of  their  country. 
"  ^n.'  vi.  660—665. 


496  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  hi. 


Yet  if  for  fame  and  glory  aught  be  done, 
Aught  suffer'd ;  if  young  African  for  fame 
His  wasted  country  freed  from  Punick  rage ; " 
The  deed  becomes  unpraised,  the  man  at  least, 
And  loses,  though  but  verbal,  his  reward. 
Shall  I  seek  glory  then,  as  vain  men  seek, 
Oft  not  deserved  ?     I  seek  not  mine,  but  his 
"Who  sent  me  ;  and  thereby  witness  whence  I  am. 

To  whom  the  tempter  mui-muring  thus  replied : — 
Think  not  so  slight  of  glory ;  ^  therein  least 
Eesembling  thy  great  Father :  he  seeks  glory. 
And  for  his  glory  all  things  made,  all  things 
Orders  and  governs;  not  content  in  heaven, 
By  all  his  angels  glorified,  requires 
Glory  from  men,  from  all  men,  good  or  bad. 
Wise  or  unwise,  no  difference,  no  exemption : 
Above  all  sacrifice  or  hallow' d  gift, 
Glory  he  requires,  and  glory  he  receives, 
Promiscuous  from  all  nations,*  Jew  or  Greek, 
Or  barbarous,  nor  exception  hath  declared  : 
From  us,  his  foes  pronounced,  glory  he  exacts. 

To  whom  our  Saviour  fervently  replied  : 
And  reason;  since  his  Word  all  things  produced, 
Though  chiefly  not  for  glory  as  prime  end. 
But  to  show  forth  his  goodness,  and  impart 

In  the  conclusion  of  the  speech  an  heroical  character  of  another  kind  is  opposed  to 
the  warlike  heroes  of  antiquity ;  one,  who,  though  a  heathen,  surpassed  them  all  in 
true  wisdom  and  true  fortitude.  Such  indeed  was  the  character  of  Socrates,  such  his 
reliance  on  Divine  Providence,  and  his  resignation  thereto;  that  he  seems  to  have 
imbibed  his  sentiments  from  a  source  "above  the  famed  Castalian  spring;"  and  while 
his  demeanour  eminently  displays  the  peaceable,  patient,  Christian-like  virtues,  his 
language  often  approaches  nearer  than  could  be  imagined  to  that  of  the  holy  penmen. 
The  artful  sophistry  of  the  tempter's  farther  defence  of  glory,  and  our  Lord's  majesti- 
cally plain  confutation  of  his  arguments  in  the  clear  explanation  given  of  the  true 
ground  on  which  glory  and  honour  are  due  to  the  great  Creator  of  all  things,  and 
required  by  him, — are  both  admirable.  The  rest  of  the  dialogue  is  well  supported; 
and  it  is  wound  up  with  the  best  effect,  in  the  concluding  speech,  where  Satan  offers  a 
vindicatory  explanation  of  his  conduct,  in  which  the  dignity  of  the  archangel  (for, 
though  "ruined,"  the  Satan  of  Milton  seldom  "appears  less  than  an  archangel")  is 
happily  combined  with  the  insinuating  art  and  "  sleek'd  tongue"  of  this  grand  deceiver. 
The  first  nineteen  lines  are  peculiarly  illustrative  of  this  double  character:  the 
transition  that  follows  to  the  immediate  temptation  then  going  on,  and  which  paves  the 
way  for  the  ensuing  change  of  scene,  is  managed  with  the  happiest  address. — Dunster. 

e  If  young  African  for  fame 
His  waited  coimtry  freed  from  Punick  rage. 
This  shows  plainly  that  he  had  spoken  before  of  the  elder  Scipio  Africanns;  for  he 
only  can  be  said  with  propriety  to  have  "  freed  his  wasted  country  from  Punick  rage," 
by  transferring  the  war  into  Spain  and  Africa,  after  the  ravages  which  Hannibal  had 
committed  in  Italy  during  the  second  Punic  war. — Newton. 

d  Think  not  so  slight  of  glory. 
There  is  nothing  throughout  the  whole  poem  more  expressive  of  the  true  character 
of  the  tempter  than  this  reply :  there  is  in  it  all  the  real  falsehood  of  the  father  of  lies, 
and  the  glozing  subtlety  of  an  insidious  deceiver. — Thyer. 

e  Promiscuous  from  all  nations. 
The  poet  puts  here  into  the  mouth  of  the  devil  the  absurd  notions  of  the  apologists 
for  paganism. — Wabburton. 


BOOK  III.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  49t 

His  good  communicable  to  every  soul 

Freely ;  of  whom  what  could  he  less  expect 

Than  glory  and  benediction,  that  is,  thanks, 

The  slightest,  easiest,  readiest  recompense' 

From  them  who  could  return  him  nothing  clsej 

And,  not  returning  that,  would  likeliest  render 

Contempt  instead,  dishonour,  obloquy  ? 

Hard  recompense,  unsuitable  return 

For  so  much  good,  so  much  beneficence ! 

But  why  should  man  seek  glory,  who  of  his  own 

Hath  nothing,  and  to  whom  nothing  behmgs,  ' 

But  condemnation,  ignominy,  and  shame  ? 

Who,  for  so  many  benefits  received, 

Turn'd  recreants  to  God,  ingrate  and  false, 

And  so  of  all  true  good  himself  despoil'd  : 

Yet,  sacrilegious,  to  himself  would  take 

That  which  to  God  alone  of  right  belongs  : 

Yet  so  much  bounty  is  in  God,  such  grace  j 

That  who  advance  his  glory,  not  their  own, 

Them  he  himself  to  glory  will  advance. 

So  spake  the  Son  of  God :  and  here  again 
.  Satan  had  not  to  answer,  but  stood  struck 
With  guilt  of  his  own  sin ;  for  he  himself, 
Insatiable  of  glory,  had  lost  all : 
Yet  of  another  plea  bethought  him  soon. 

Of  glory  as  thou  wilt,  said  he,  so  deem ; 
Worth  or  not  worth  the  seeking, •"  let  it  pass. 
But  to  a  kingdom  thou  art  born,  ordain'd 
To  sit  upon  thy  father  David's  throne. 
By  mother's  side  thy  father ;  though  thy  right 
Be  now  in  powerful  hands,  that  will  not  part 
Easily  from  possession  won  with  arms  : 
Judea  now  and  all  the  Promised  Land, 
Reduced  a  province  under  Roman  yoke,' 

f  The  slightest,  easiest,  readiest,  recompense. 

The  same  sentiment  occurs  in  the  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  iv.  46 : — 

Whcit  could  be  lent  t)ian  to  afford  him  praise,  > 

The  easiest  recompense,  and  pay  him  thanks  T 
How  due  ! — Nbwton. 

S  Recreant. 
See  Spenser,  "Faerie  Queen,"  ii.  ri.  28.     "Thou  recreant  knight,"  to  which  Mr. 
Dnnster  refers ;  where  Mr.  Warton  has  observed  that  "recreant  knight"  is  a  term  of 
romance.     The  phrase  means  not  only  one  who  yields  himself  to  his  enemy  in  single 
combat,  but  a  coward  and  a  traitor. — Todd. 

h  Worth  or  not  worth  the  seeking. 
In  all  the  editions  which  I  have  seen,  except  the  first,  it  is  printed  "'W'orth  or  not 
worth  their  seeking;"  but,  not  knowing  to  whom  "their"  could  refer,  I  imagined  it 
should  be  "Worth  or  not  worth  thy  seeking:"  but  the  first  edition  exhibits  this 
reading,  "  Worth  or  not  worth  the  seeking,"  as  Mr.  Simpson  proposed  to  read  by  con- 
jecture.— Newton. 

'  Reduced  a  province  under  Roman  yoke. 
Judea  was  reduced  to  the  form  of  a  Roman  province  in  the  reign  of  Augustus,  by 
Cyrenius,  then  governor  of  Syria. — Newton. 
63 


498  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  m. 


Obeys  Tiberius ;  nor  is  always  ruled 

With  temperate  sway :  J  oft  have  they  violated 

The  temple,"  oft  the  law,  with  foul  affronts, 

Abominations  rather,  as  did  once 

Antiochus  :  and  think'st  thou  to  regain 

Thy  right,  by  sitting  still,  or  thus  retiring  ? 

So  did  not  Maccabeus  :  •  he  indeed 

Retired  into  the  desert,  but  with  arms ; 

And  o'er  a  mighty  king  so  oft  prevail'd. 

That  by  strong  hand  his  family  obtain'd. 

Though  priests,  the  crown,  and  David's  throne  usurp'd, 

With  Modin  and  her  suburbs  once  content 

If  kingdom  move  thee  not,"  let  move  thee  zeal 

And  duty;  zeal  and  duty  are  not  slow, 

But  on  occasion's  forelock  watchful  wait:» 

They  themselves  rather  are  occasion  best; 

Zeal  of  thy  father's  house,"  duty  to  free 

Thy  country  from  her  heathen  servitude. 

So  shalt  thou  best  fulfil,  best  verify 

The  prophets  old,  who  sung  thy  endless  reign ; 

The  happier  reign,  the  sooner  it  begins : 

Reign  then ;  what  canst  thou  better  do  the  while  ? 

To  whom  our  Saviour  answer  thus  return'd : 
All  things  are  best  fulfiU'd  in  their  due  time; 

J  Nor  is  always  ruled 
With  temperate  sway. 
Thp  Roman  government  indeed  was  not  always  the  most  temperate :  at  this  time 
Pontius  Pilate  was  procurator  of  Judea ;   and,  it  appears  from  history,  was  a  most 
corrupt  and  flagitious  governor. — Newton. 

k  Oft  have  they  violated 
TTie  temple,  <tc. 
Pompey,  with  several  of  his  officers,  entered  not  only  into  the  holy  place,  but  alsi 
penetrated  into  the  holy  of  holies,  where  none  were  permitted  by  the  law  to  enter 
except  the  high-priesi  alone,  once  in  a  year,  on  the  great  day  of  expiation.  Antiochus 
Epiphanes  had  before  been  guilty  of  a  similar  profanation.  See  2  Maccab.  ch.  v. — 
Newton. 

'  So  did  not  Maccabeus,  Ac. 
The  tempter  had  noticed  the  profanation  of  the  temple  by  the  Romans  as  well  as  that 
by  Antiochu3  Epiphanes,  king  of  Syria;  and  now  he  would  infer,  that  Jesus  was  to 
blam"  for  not  vindicating  his  country  against  the  on?,  as  Judas  Maccabeus  had  done 
against  the  other. — Newton. 

m  1/  kingdom  move  thee  not, 
"  Kingdom"  here,  like  regnum  in  Latin,  signifies  kingly  state,  the  circumstancei  of 
regal  power;  or,  as  our  author  in  his  political  works  writes,  kingship. — Dunstbk. 

■>  But  on  occasion's  forelock  watchful  trait. 
Spenser  personifies  Occasion,  as  an  old  hag,  with  a  gray  forelock,  "Faer.  Qu."  iL  iv. 
4.     Spenser  likewise.  Sonnet  70,  gives  Time  the  same  forelock.    Shakspeare,  in  his 
"Othello,"'  has  "to  take  the  safest  occasion  by  the  front."     The  Greek  and  Latin  poets 
also  describe  occasion,  1.  e.  time  or  opportunity,  with  a  forelock. — Dcnster. 

0  Zeal  of  thy  father's  house. 
Psalm  Ixix.  9:  "For  the  zeal  of  thine  house  hath  eaten  me  up;"  which  passage  is 
applied  in  the  New  Testament,  John  ii.  17,  to  the  zeal  of  our  Lord  for  the  honour  of 
his  Father's  house,  when  he  drove  the  buyers  and  sellers  out  of  the  temple. — Dun- 

STER. 


BOOK  III]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  499 

And  time  there  is  for  all  things,  Truth  hath  said.' 
If  of  my  reign  Prophetiek  Writ  hath  told, 
That  it  shall  never  end ;  so,  when  begin, 
The  Father  in  his  purpose  hath  decreed ; 
He,  in  whose  hand  all  times  and  seasons  roll.' 
What  if  he  hath  decreed  that  I  shall  first 
Be  tried  in  humble  state,  and  things  adverse,' 
By  tribulations,  injuries,  insults. 
Contempts,  and  scorns,  and  snares,  and  violence, 
Suffering,  abstaining,  quietly  expecting. 
Without  distrust  or  doubt,  that  he  may  know 
What  I  can  suffer,  how  obey  ?     Who  best 
Can  suffer,  best  can  do ;  best  reign,  who  first 
Well  hath  obey'd;»  just  trial,  ere  1  merit 
My  exaltation  without  change  or  end. 
But  what  concerns  it  thee,  when  I  begin 
My  everlasting  kingdom  ?     Why  art  thou 
.   Solicitous  ?     What  moves  thy  inquisition  ? 
Know'st  thou  not  that  my  rising  is  thy  fall,* 
And  my  promotion  will  be  thy  destruction  ? 

To  whom  the  tempter,  inly  rack'd,  replied : 
Let  that  come  when  it  comes ;  all  hope  is  lost 
Of  my  reception  into  grace  :  what  worse  ? 
For  where  no  hope  is  left,  ^s  left  no  fear :  ■ 


Ecoles.  iii.  1. 
Acts  L  7. 


P  And  time  there  is  for  all  things,  Truth  hath  said. 
1  He,  in  whose  hand  all  times  and  seasons  roll. 


r  Be  tried  in  humble  state,  and  things  adverse. 
SiL  Ital.  iv.  605  :  "  Explorant  adversa  viros." — Dunsteh. 

•  Best  reign,  who  first 
Well  hath  obey'd. 
Hero  probably  the  author  remembered  Cicero : — "  Qui  bene  imperat,  pamorit  ali- 
quando  necesse  est;  et  qui  modeste  paret,  videtur,  qui  aliquando  imperet,  dignu^  esse." 
De  Leg.  iii.  2.     The  same  sentiment  occurs  in  Aristotle,  "  Polit."  iii.  4,  viL  14 ;  and  in 
Plato,  "  De  Leg."  vi. — Newton. 

t  Know'st  thou  not  that  my  rising  is  thy  fall. 
Alluding  to  the  rising  and  setting  of  opposite  stars.     Milton,  in  the  first  book  of  this 
poem,  terms  our  Lord  "our  Morning-star,  then  in  his  rise." — Dunster. 

0  For  where  no  hope  is  left,  is  left  no  fear. 
Milton  here,  and  in  some  of  the  following  verses,  plainly  alludes  to  part  of  Satan's 
fine  soliloquy,  in  the  beginning  of  the  fourth  book  of  the  "  Paradise  Lost :" 

So  farewell,  hope;  and,  with  hope,  farewell,  fear! 
Fare-well,  remorse  !  All  good  to  me  is  lost: 
Evil,  be  thou  my  good  ! — Thykb. 

The  reasoning  of  the  tempter,  in  this  passage,  closely  resembles  that  of  Edgar,  in 
"King  Lear;"  one  of  those  tragedies,  "though  rare,"  which,  in  Milton's  judgment, 
"ennobled  hath  the  buskin'd  stage." 
Edgar  thus  comments  upon  his  lot : — 

To  be  worst. 
The  lowest,  and  most  dejected  thing  of  fortuno, 
Stnnds  still  in  esperaiice,  lives  not  in  fear: 
The  lamentable  change  is  from  tlie  best; 
The  worst  retiirns  to  laughter.    Welcome,  then, 
Thou  unsubstantial  air  that  I  embrace ! 
The  wretch  that  thou  liast  blown  unto  the  worst, 
Owei  nothing  to  thy  blasts 


500  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  til 


If  there  be  worse,  the  expectation  more 

Of  worse  torments  me  than  the  feeling  can. 

I  would  be  at  the  worst :  worst  is  ray  port, 

My  harbour,  and  my  ultimate  repose  : 

The  end  I  would  attain,  my  final  good 

My  errour  was  my  errour,  and  my  crime 

My  crime ;  whatever,  for  itself  condemn'd ; 

And  will  alike  be  punish'd,  whether  thou 

Reign  or  reign  not ;  though  to  that  gentle  brow 

Willingly  I  could  fly,  and  hope  thy  reign. 

From  that  placid  aspect "  and  meek  regard. 

Rather  than  aggravate  my  evil  state, 

Would  stand  between  me  and  thy  Father's  ire,'' 

(Whoise  ire  I  dread  more  than  the  fire  of  hell) 

A  shelter,  and  a  kind  of  shading  cool 

Interposition,  as  a  summer's  cloud.* 

If  I  then  to  the  worst  that  can  be  haste. 

Why  move  thy  feet  so  slow  to  what  is  best. 

Happiest,  both  to  thyself  and  all  the  world. 

That  thou,  who  worthiest  art,  shouldst  be  their  king  7 

Perhaps  thou  linger' st,  in  deep  thoughts  detain'd 

Of  the  enterprise  so  hazardous  and  high  ! 

No  wonder ;  for,  though  in  thee  be  united 

What  of  perfection  can  in  man  be  found. 

Or  human  nature  can  receive,  consider. 

Thy  life  hath  yet  been  private,  most  part  spent 

At  home,  scarce  view'd  the  Galilean  towns. 

And  once  a  year  Jerusalem,^  few  days' 

Short  sojourn ;  and  what  thence  couldst  thou  observe  ? 

The  world  thou  hast  not  seen,  much  less  her  glory, 

Empires,  and  monarchs,  and  their  radiant  courts, 

Best  school  of  best  experience,  quickest  insight 

V  From  that  placid  aspect. 
Spenser,  Shakgpeare,  and  the  poets  of  that  time,  I  believe,  uniformly  wrote  "  aspect," 
thus  accented  on  the  second  syllable ;  as  Milton  has  likewise  always  done  in  his  "  Para- 
dise Lost" — DCNSTER. 

w  Would  stand  between  me  and  thy  father's  ire, 
Milton,  in  his  Ode  "  On  the  Death  of  a  fair  Infant,"  has  a  similar  expression,  st.  x. : 

"  To  stand  'twixt  us  and  our  deserved  smart." — Dhnster. 

In  both  instances  the  poet  alludes  to  the  Sacred  Writings.     See  Numb.  xvi.  48,  PsaL 

cvi.  23,  Wisdom  of  Sol.  xviii.  23.— Todd. 

»  A  kind  of  shading  cool 
Interposition,  as  a  summer's  cloud. 

In  the  twenty-fifth  chapter  of  Isaiah,  as  Mr.  Dunster  also  observes,  the  prophet, 
addressing  God,  terms  him  "a  strength  to  the  poor,  a  strength  to  the  needy  from  his 
distress,  a  refuge  from  the  storm,  a  shadow  from  the  heat:"  and,  in  the  next  verse,  the 
interposition  of  God  is  illustrated  by  the  simile  which  the  poet  uses  :  "  Thou  shalt  bring 
down  the  noise  of  strangers,  as  the  heat  in  a  dry  place ;  even  the  heat  with  the  shadow 
of  a  cloud." — Todd. 

The  whole  of  this  passage,  with  the  appeal  to  our  Saviour's  goodness,  though  meant 
as  artful  flattery,  is  in  the  highest  degree  l)eautiful,  affecting,  and  eloquent.  The  simile 
with  which  it  ends  is  exquisitely  poetical. 

J  And  once  a  year  Jerusalem, 
At  the  feast  of  the  passover.    Luke  ii.  41.—  Newtoh 


BOOK  III.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  501 

In  all  things  that  to  greatest  actions  lead. 

The  wisest,  unexperienced,  will  be  ever 

Timorous  and  loth,  with  novice  modesty, 

(As  he  who,  seeking  asses,  found  a  kingdom*) 

Irresolute,  unhardy,  unadventurous  : 

But  I  will  bring  thee"  where  thou  soon  shalt  quit 

Those  rudiments,  and  see  before  thine  eyes 

The  monarchies  of  the  earth,  their  pomp  and  state  j 

Sufficient  introduction  to  inform 

Thee,  of  thyself  so  apt,  in  regal  arts 

And  regal  mysteries ;  that  thou  mayst  know 

How  best  their  opposition  to  withstand. 

With  that,  (such  power  was  given  him  then)  he  took* 
The  Son  of  God  up  to  a  mountain  high. 
It  was  a  mountain,*'  at  whose  verdant  feet 

»  As  he  toko,  seeking  asses,  found  a  kingdom. 
Saul.     See  1  Sam.  ix.  20,  21. — Newton. 

»  But  I  will  bring  thee. 

The  artifice  of  this  turn  is  sublime. 

b  He  took. 

The  poet  now  quits  mere  dialogue  for  that  "union  of  the  narrative  and  dramatic 
powers,"  which  Dr.  Johnson,  speaking  of  this  poem,  observes,  "must  ever  be  more 
pleasing  than  a  dialogue  without  action."  The  description  of  the  "specular  mount," 
where  our  Lord  is  placed  to  view  at  once^the  whole  Parthian  empire,  at  the  same  time 
that  it  is  truly  poetical,  is  so  accurately  given,  that  we  are  enabled  to  ascertain  the  exact 
part  of  Mount  Taurus,  which  the  poet  had  in  his  mind.  The  geographical  scene  from 
ver.  268  to  292,  is  delineated  with  a  precision  that  brings  each  place  immediately  before 
our  eyes,  and,  as  Dr.  Newton  remarks,  far  surpasses  the  prospect  of  the  kingdoms  of 
the  world  from  "  the  mount  of  vision,"  in  the  eleventh  book  of  the  "  Paradise  Lost." 
The  military  expedition  of  the  Parthlans,  from  ver.  300  to  3H6,  is  a  picture  in  the  boldest 
and  most  masterly  style.  It  is  so  perfectly  unique  in  its  kind,  that  I  know  not  where  in 
poetry,  ancient  or  modern,  to  go  for  anything  materially  resembling  it.  The  fifteenth 
book  of  Tasso's  "  Jerusalem,"  Ac.  (where  the  two  Christian  knights  who  are  sent  in 
search  of  Rinaldo  see  a  great  part  of  the  habitable  world,  and  are  shown  a  numerous 
camp  of  their  enemies),  does  not  appear  to  have  furnished  a  single  idea  to  our  author, 
either  in  his  geographical  or  his  military  scene. — Dunster. 

c  It  was  a  mountain,  &e. 
The  part  of  Mount  Taurus,  which  bounds  Mesopotamia  on  the  north,  we  loam  from 
Strabo,  was  sometimes  called  simply  Mount  Taurus,  and  sometimes  the  Gordysean  moun- 
tains ;  in  the  middle  of  which,  nearly  above  Nisibis,  stood  Mount  Masius :  but  this 
mountainous  range  does  not  contain  the  sources  either  of  the  Euphrates  or  Tigris; 
although  from  every  part  of  it  lesser  contributary  streams  flow  into  each  of  these  rivera. 
In  the  passage  cited  by  Dr.  Newton  from  Strabo,  piovaiv  signifies  only  that  the  two 
rivers  flow  through,  or  amongst,  these  mountains;  and  not  that  they  spring,  or  have 
their  sources,  in  them.  That  such  is  here  the  sense  of  jiiovaiv,  appears  from  another 
passage  of  the  same  ancient  geographer  in  this  part  of  his  work  ;  where,  having  tiaced 
the  course  of  Mount  Taurus  eastward  to  the  Euphrates,  he  speaks  of  the  continuity  of 
these  mountains  being  no  farther  interrupted  than  by  the  course  of  the  river  as  it  flows 
tlirough  the  middle  of  them.  Indeed  Strabo  is  very  particular  in  pointing  out  the  ori- 
ginal sources  of  these  two  rivers.  The  springs  of  the  Tigris  he  fixes  in  the  southern  side 
of  Mount  Niphates,  which  is  considerably  north-east  of  Mount  Masius  and  the  Gordyajan 
mountains;  and  the  prime  source  of  the  Euphrates  he  carries  very  far  north,  as  Ptolemy 
had  also  done ;  and  afiirms  that  the  springs  of  the  two  rivers  are  two  thousand  five 
hundred  s«^a.dia,  which  is  above  four  hundred  miles,  distant  from  each  other.  Possibly 
there  is  some  error  here;  as  Eustathius  (on  Dionysius,  v.  985)  says  they  are  only  one 
thousand  five  hundred  stadia  apart.  As  the  mountains  which  constitute  the  head  cr 
northern  boundary  of  Mesopotamia  incline  to  the  south,  and  are  absolutely  the  most 
southern  part  of  the  whole  ancient  Taurus,  the  lower  end  of  Mount  Ani.anus  alone 
excepted ;  they  are  justly  described  by  Strabo,  voTiiararov ;  and  why  Dr.  Newton  should 


502  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  iil 


A  spacious  plain,  outstretch'd  in  circuit  wide, 
Lay  pleasant :  from  his  side  two  rivers  flow'd. 
The  one  winding,  the  other  straight,*"  and  left  between 

give  ffofitiSrarov  as  an  hypothetical  emendation  in  a  parenthesis,  or  why  Xylander  should 
render  the  passage  "maxime  ad  septentriones  accedens,"I  do  not  comprehend.  Mount 
Masius,  or  any  projecting  elevation  of  that  ridge,  would  have  been  no  improper  point 
for  viewing  a  great  part  of  this  geographical  scene.  Milton  might  therefore,  not  with- 
out reason,  be  supposed  to  have  followed  Strabo,  as  cited  by  Dr.  Newton  :  and  indeed 
"frOiii  his  side  two  rivers  flow'd"  seems  almost  an  exact  translation  of  ivrtvBtv  ol 
in<j>6Tspoi  {liovpiv,  Ac.  But  still,  all  circumstances  considered,  I  conceive  this  was  not 
the  exact  spot  which  he  had  selected  in  his  mind  for  his  "specular  mount."  We  must 
recollect  that,  at  the  conclusion  of  the  third  book  of  his  "  Paradise  Lost,"  he  makes 
Batan,  in  his  way  to  Paradise,  alight  on  the  top  of  Mount  Niphates ;  and,  while  he  is 
there,  it  is  said  that  Edeij  "  in  his  view  lay  pleasant." 

That  he  fixed  upon  Mount  Niphates  in  that  place  for  Satan  to  light  upon,  and  from 
thence  to  survey  Eden,  was  certainly  owing  to  his  considering  it  as  the  most  elevated 
range  of  this  part  of  Mount  Taurus;  and  thj,t  it  was  so,  he  collected  from  Strabo;  who, 
having  traced  the  course  of  the  mountain  from  the  Euphrates  eastward,  or  rather  north- 
east; and  having  described  the  Gordyaean  mountains  as  being  higher  than  any  parts 
which  he  had  before  considered;  says,  "from  thence  it  rises  still  higher,  and  is  distin- 
guished by  the  name  of  Niphates."  The  object  of  the  poet  in  this  part  of  the  "Para- 
dise Regained,"  certainly  was  to  select  a  point  of  Mount  Taurus  inclining  to  the  south- 
east, but  sufficiently  central  and  elevated  to  command  the  Caspian  sea,  Artaxata,  and 
other  places  specified,  that  lay  directly,  or  nearly  north.  Mount  Niphates  most  particu- 
larly suited  his  purpose,  and  will,  I  imagine,  be  found  to  agree  perfectly  with  all  his 
descriptions ;  it  may  be  observed,  also  that  it  rises  immediately  above  Assyria,  which  is 
the  first  country  showed  to  our  Lord.  As  to  what  is  said,  that  "  from  his  side  two  rivers 
flow'd:"  the  sources  of  the  Tigris,  it  is  agreed,  were  in  the  southern  side  of  this  moun- 
tain  ;  and  several  ancient  authors  have  supposed  the  Euphrates  and  Tigris  to  spring 
from  the  same  source.  Sallust  affirms  this  in  a  fragment  preserved  by  Seneca :  "  Sal- 
lustius,  auctor  certissimus,  asserit  Tigrin  et  Euphratem  uno  fonte  manare  in  Armenia, 
qui  per  diversa  euntes  longius  dividantur,  spatio  medio  relicto  multorum  millium  ;  quoe 
tamen  terra,  quae  ab  ipsis  ambitur,  Mesopotamia  dicitur."  Boethius  likewise,  "  Cons. 
Philosoph."  1.  v.,  says  positively, 

Tigris  et  Euphrates  uno  se  fonte  resolvunt ; 

And  Lucan,  1.  iii.  256 : — 

Quaque  caput  rapido  toUit  cum  Tigride  magnus 
Euphrates,  quos  non  diversis  fontibus  edit 
Persis; 

on  which  passage  Grotius  observes,  that  "  non  diversis"  means  "parum  distantibus ;" 
but  adds,  "  vulgo  tamen  credituni  unum  habuisse  fontem."  It  is  also  observable,  that 
one  principal  source  of  the  Euphrates,  according  to  Strabo,  was  in  Mount  Abus,  at  no 
considerable  distance  north  of  Mount  Niphates.  Neither  has  the  prime  source  of  this 
river  been  carried  by  other  geographers  so  far  north  as  Strabo  and  Ptolemy  have  inclined 
to  place  it.  It  may  be  further  remarked,  that  the  descriptions  of  the  poet  in  other 
respects  point  out  Niphates  as  the  "specular  mount,"  in  preference  to  Mount  Masius  or 
any  point  of  the  Taurus  between  that  mountain  and  the  Euphrates;  as  in  such  a 
station,  the  verse  describing  the  extent  of  the  Assyrian  empire, 

As  far  as  Indus  east,  Euphrates  west, 
seems  highly  improper,  when  the  speaker  was  standing  so  near  the  very  bank  of  the 
vast  river.  Besides,  had  the  spectators  of  this  geographical  scene  been  placed  on 
Mount  Musius,  or  any  point  of  the  mountains  immediately  at  the  head  of  Mesopotamia, 
the  plain  "  at  the  leec  of  these  mountains"  would  have  been  only  Mesopotamia.  But 
the  poet  positively  distinguishes  between  Mesopotamia  and  his  great  plain,  that  lay  at 
the  foot  of  that  vast  range  of  Mount  Taurus,  of  which  Mount  Niphates  may  be  con- 
sidered as  the  highest  and  most  central  point.  The  latter  he  describes  "a  spacious 
plain  outstretch'd  in  circuit  wide  ;"  while  the  former  he  places  between  its  two  rivers 
and  terms  it  "  fair  champain  with  less  rivers  intervein'd." — Dunster.  ' 

<J  The  one  winding,  the  other  straight 

Dr.  Newton  and  Mr.  Dunster  observe,  that  Strabo  describes  the  Euphrates  passing 

throogh  the  country  with  a  winding  stream,  lib.  xi.  p.  521 ;  and  hence  it  is  called  "vagus 

Euphrates"  by  Statins,  and  "  flexuosus"  by  Martianus  Capella.     With  the  same  accuracy, 

the  Tigris  is  here  termed  straight,  being  described  as  swift  in  its  course  as  an  arrow  ; 


BOOK  III.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  503 

Fair  champain  with  less  rivers  intervein'd,' 

Then  meeting  join'd  their  tribute  to  ths  sea :' 

Fertile  of  corn  the  glebe,  of  oil,  and  wine ; « 

With  herds  the  pastures  throng'd,  with  flocks  the  hills  ) 

Huge  cities  and  high-tower'd,''  that  well  might  seem 

The  seats  of  mightiest  monarchs ;  and  so  large 

The  prospect  was,  that  here  and  there  was  room 

For  barren  desert,  fountainless  and  dry. 

To  this  high  mountain  too  the  tempter  brought 

Our  Saviour,  and  new  train  of  words  began : 

Well  have  we  speeded,  and  o'er  hill  and  dale,' 
Forest  and  field  and  flood,  temples  and  towers, 
Cut  shorter  many  a  league  :  here  thou  behold'st 
Assyria,  and  her  empire's  ancient  bounds,-' 
Araxes  and  the  Caspian  lake ;  thence  on 
As  far  as  Indus  east,  Euphrates  west. 
And  oft  beyond  :  to  south  the  Persian  bay, 
And,  inaccessible,"  the  Arabian  drouth  : ' 

*'  Unde  concitatur,  a  celeritate  Tigris  incipit  vocari :  ita  appellanf  Medi  sagittam,"  Plin. 
"  Nat.  Hist."  lib.  vi.  c.  27.— Todd. 

«  With  less  rivers  intervein'd. 
Quintus  Curtius,  having  spoken  of  the  great  fertility  of  the  country  between  the 
Euphrates  and  the  Tigris,  adds, — "  Causa  fertilitatis  est  humor,  qui  ex  utroque  amue 
manat,  toto  fere  solo  propter  venas  aquarum  resudante,"  1.  v.  c.  1. — Dunsteb. 

f  Then  meeting  join'd  their  tribute  to  the  sea. 
Strabo  describes  these  two  rivers,  after  having  encircled  Mesopotamia,  joining  their 
streams  near  Babylon,  and  flowing  into  the  Persian  Gulf,  1.  xi.  p.  621. — Dunster. 

S  Fertile  of  corn  the  glebe,  of  oil,  and  wine. 
See  "Paradise  Lost,"  b.  xii.  18,  and  Ovid.  "Amor."  ii.  xvi.  19.  Dr.  Newton,  con- 
ceiving this  description  of  the  fertility  of  the  country  to  refer  only  or  principally  to 
Mesopotamia,  cites  a  passage  from  Dionysius  as  copied  here  by  Milton.  Quintus  Curtius 
likewise  notices  the  peculiar  fertility  of  the  "fair  champain"  between  the  two  rivers, 
1.  V.  1 :  and  Strabo  terms  Mesopotamia,  "a  country  abounding  in  pastures  and  rich 
vegetation,"  1.  xvi.  p.  747.  But  the  greater  part  of  this  "large  prospect,"  at  least  cf 
those  countries  which  lay  east  of  Mesopotamia  as  far  as  India,  is  well  entitled  to  this 
description  of  fertility  either  considered  figurative  or  literal :  as  both  ancient  and  modem 
accounts  combine  to  show. — Dunster. 

h  Huye  cities  <\nd  high  toicer'd. 
So  also  in  the  "Allegro,"  v.  117  : — "  Tower'd  cities  please  us  then." — Thteb. 

'  O'er  hill  and  dale,  Ac. 
Milton,  for  the  most  part,  is  fond  of  the  singular  number  in  combination. — T.  Wartom 

J  Here  thou  behold'st 
Assyria,  and  her  empire's  ancient  bounds. 
The  situation  of  Mount  Niphates,  it  has  been  already  observed,  was  particularly 
adapted  for  this  view.  The  poet  here  traces  accurately  the  bounds  of  the  Assyrian 
empire  in  its  greatest  extent;  the  river  Araxes  and  the  Caspian  lake  to  the  north  ;  the 
river  Indus  to  the  east;  the  river  Euphrates  to  the  west,  and  "oft  beyond"  as  fnr  as 
the  Mediterranean;  and  the  Persian  bay  and  the  deserts  of  Arabia  to  the  south.— 
Dunster. 

k  Inaccessible. 
Solinus  describes  in  a  similar  manner  the  most  desert  parts  of  Africa.     Speaking  of 
fre   boundaries  of  the  province   of  Cyrene,  he   says, — "  A    tergo   barbarorum  variiie 
«ationes,  et  solitudo  inaccessa,"  c.  30. — Dunster. 

'  Thn  Arabian  drouth. 
This  figure  of  speech  is  equally  bold  and  of  fine  effect. 


504  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  m. 

Here  Nineveh,"  of  length  within  her  wall 
Several  days'  journey,  built  by  Ninus  old, 
Of  that  first  golden  monarchy  "  the  seat, 
And  seat  of  Sahnanassar,  whose  success 
Israel  in  long  captivity  still  mourns : 
There  Babylon,"  the  wonder  of  all  tongues. 
As  ancient,  but  rebuilt  by  him  who  twice 
Judah  and  all  thy  father  David's  house 
Led  captive,  and  Jerusalem  laid  waste, 
Till  Cyrus  set  them  free ;  Persepolis, 
His  city,'  there  thou  seest,  and  Bactra  there ; 

I  cannot  forbear  inserting  here  a  citation  from  a  poet  of  our  own  country,  con- 
temporary with  Milton,  where  a  deseri*ption  of  the  "sandy  desert"  is  given  in  the  same 
bold  style.  I  cite  the  passage  more  at  large  thau  is  necessary,  from  an  opinion  that  the 
whole  of  it  must  be  acceptable  to  the  reader  of  t'tste.  It  is  taken  from  the  "  Address  to 
the  Deity,"  which  concludes  the  poems  of  George  Sandys,  printed  in  1638,  under  the 
title  of  "A  Paraphrase  on  Divine  Poems:" — 

O,  who  hath  tasted  of  thy  clemency 

In  greater  mensure,  or  more  oft,  than  I  ? 

My  gniteful  verse  thy  goodness  shall  display, 

O  thou  that  went'st  iilone  in  uU  my  way. 

To  where  the  morning  with  perfumed  wings 

From  the  high  mountains  of  Panchrea  springs; 

To  that  new-f(>und-f)ut  world,  where  sober  night 

Takes  from  the  Antipodes  her  silent  flight ; 

To  those  dark  seas,  where  horrid  winter  reigns, 

And  binds  the  stubborn  floods  in  icy  chains  ; 

To  Libyan  wastes,  whose  thirst  no  showers  assuage, 

And  where  swoln  Nilus  cools  the  lion's  rage. 

Sandys  was  the  translator  of  Ovid.  Part  of  this  volume  of  poems  consists  of  a  "  Para- 
phrase of  the  Psalms;"  which  Mr.  Warton  justly  terms  admirable.  There  is  also  a 
"  Paraphrase  of  the  Book  of  Job,"  in  so  masterly  a  style,  that  it  may  be  well  doubted 
if  any  poet  of  the  succeeding  century  has  surpassed  it  in  a  similar  attempt — Dunsteb. 

>«•  Here  Nineveh,  Ac. 
This  city  was  situated  on  the  Tigris ;  "  of  length,"  i.  e.  of  circuit,  "  within  her  wall, 
several  days'  journey :"  according  to  Diodorus  Siculus,  lib.  ii.,  its  circuit  was  sixty  of 
our  miles ;  and  in  Jonah,  ii.  3,  it  is  said  to  be  "  an  exceeding  great  city  of  three  days' 
journey,"  twenty  miles  being  the  common  computation  of  a  day's  journey  for  a  foot- 
traveller  ;  "  built  by  Ninus  old,"  after  whom  the  city  is  said  to  be  called  "  Nineveh ;  of 
that  first  golden  monarchy  the  seat,"  a  capital  city  of  the  Assyrian  empire,  which  the 
poet  styles  "golden  monarchy,"  probably  in  allusion  to  the  golden  head  of  the  image 
in  Nebuchadnezzar's  dream  of  the  four  empires ;  "  and  seat  of  Sahnanassar,"  who  in  the 
reign  of  Hezekiah  king  of  Judah  carried  the  ten  trioes  captive  into  Assyria  seven  hun- 
dred and  twenty-one  years  before  Christ;  so  that  it  might  now  be  properly  called  "a 
long  captivity." — Newton. 

n  ThatJirBt  golden  monarchy. 
"Golden"  is  here  generally  descriptive  of  the  splendour  of  monarchy.  See  "Para- 
dise Lost,"  b.  ii.  4.  "  Golden"  might  also  have  a  political  reference  to  Milton's  appre- 
hensions of  the  great  expenses  of  monarchy ;  with  respect  to  which,  in  justifying  his 
republican  principles,  he  had  said  that  "the  trappings  of  a  monarchy  would  set  up  an 
ordinary  commonwealth." — Dunster. 

o  There  Babylon,  Ac. 
As  Nineveh  was  situated  on  the  river  Tigris,  so  was  Babylon  on  the  Euphrates;  "the 
wonder  of  all  tongues,"  for  it  is  reckoned  among  the  seven  wonders  of  the  world.— 
Newton. 

P  Pertepolit, 
Hit  city,  Ac. 

The  city  of  Cyrus ;  if  not  built  by  him,  yet  by  him  made  the  capitnl  city  of  the  Persian 
empire;  "and  Bactra  there,"  the  chief  city  of  Bactriana,  a  province  of  Persia,  famous 
for  its  fruitftilnesBj  mentioned  by  "\'irgil,  "Georg."  ii.  136.— Newton. 


BOOK  III.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  505 

Ecbatana  her  structure  vast  there  shows,' 
And  Hecatompylos  her  hundred  gates ; 
There  Susa  by  Choaspes/  amber  stream, 
The  drink  of  none  but  kings ; »  of  later  fame, 
Built  by  Emathian  or  by  Parthian  hands,* 

q  Ecbatana  her  structure  vast  there  shows. 
AncisTit  historians  speak  ot  Ecbatana,  the  metropolis  of  Media,  as  a  very  largo  city, 
— Newton. 

'  Susa  by  Choaspes. 
Susa,  the  Shushan  of  the  Holy  Scriptures,  and  the  royal  seat  of  the  kings  of  Persia, 
who  resided  here  in  the  winter  and  at  Ecbatana  in  the  summer,  was  situated  on  the 
river  Choaspes,  or  Eulseus,  or  Ulai,  as  it  is  called  in  Daniel ;  or  rather  on  the  confluence 
of  these  two  rivers,  which  meeting  at  Susa,  form  one  great  river,  sometimes  called  by 
one  name,  and  sometimes  by  the  other. — Newton. 

•  The  drink  of  none  but  kings. 
If  we  examine  it  as  an  historical  problem,  whether  the  kings  of  Persia  alone  drank 
of  ihe  river  Choaspes,  we  shall  find  great  reason  to  determine  in  the  negative.  We 
hav3  for  that  opinion  the  silence  of  many  authors,  by  whom  '«-e  might  have  expected 
to  have  found  it  confirmed,  had  they  known  of  any  such  custom.  Herodotus,  Strabo, 
TibuHus,  Ausonius,  Maximus  Tyrius,  Aristides,  Plutarch,  Pliny  the  Elder,  Athenjeus, 
Dionysius  Periegetes,  and  Eustathius,  have  mentioned  Choaspes,  or  Eulaeus,  as  tho 
drink  of  the  kings  of  Persia  or  Parthia,  or  have  called  it  ffaatXiKdv  viwp,  regia  lympha, 
but  have  not  said  that  they  alone  drank  of  it.  I  say  Choaspes  or  Eulaeus,  because  some 
make  them  the  same,  and  others  counted  them  different  rivers.  The  silence  of  Hero- 
dotus ought  to  be  of  great  weight,  because  he  is  so  particular  in  his  account  of  the  Per- 
sian affairs;  and,  next  to  his,  the  silence  of  Pliny,  who  had  read  so  many  authors,  ia 
considerable.  Though  it  can  hardly  be  expected  that  a  negative  should  be  proved  any 
other  way  than  from  the  silence  of  writers ;  yet  it  so  happens,  that  ^lian,  if  his  autho- 
rity be  admitted,  affords  us  a  full  proof  that  the  water  of  Choaspes  might  be  drunk  by 
the  subjects  of  the  kings  of  Persia: — "In  the  carriages  which  followed  Xerxes,  there 
were  abundance  of  things  which  served  only  for  pomp  and  ostentation  ;  there  was  also 
the  water  of  Choaspes.  The  army  being  oppressed  with  thirst  in  a  desert  place,  and 
the  carriages  being  not  yet  come  up ;  it  was  proclaimed  that  if  any  one  had  of  tho  water 
of  Choaspes,  he  should  give  it  Xerxes  to  drink.  One  was  found  who  had  a  little,  and 
that  not  sweet.  Xerxes  drank  it,  and  accounted  him  who  gave  it  him  a  benefactor, 
because  he  had  perished  with  thirst  if  that  little  had  not  been  found,"  Var.  Hist.  xiL 
40.  Mention  is  made  indeed  by  Agathocles  of  a  certain  water,  which  none  but  Persian 
kings  might  drink;  and  if  any  other  writers  mention  it,  they  take  it  from  Agathocles. 
We  find  it  in  Athenaeus : — "  Agathocles  says  that  there  is  in  Persia  a  water  called 
golden  ;  tna':;  it  consists  of  seventy  streams ;  that  none  drink  of  it  except  the  king  and 
his  eldest  son,  and  that  if  any  person  does,  death  is  the  punishment."  It  does  net  how- 
ever appear,  that  the  "golden  water"  and  "  Choaspes"  were  the  same.  Eustathius,  having 
transcribed  this  passage  from  Agathocles,  adds: — "  Qusere,  whether  the  water  of  Cho- 
aspes, which  the  Persian  king  drank  in  his  expeditions,  was  forbidden  to  all  others 
under  the  same  penalty,"  Eustathius  in  Homer.  "Iliad."  Y.  p.  1301,  ed.  Basil.  It 
may  bo  granted,  and  it  is -not  at  all  improbable,  that  none  besides  the  king  might  drink 
of  that  water  of  Choaspes,  which  was  boiled  and  barrelled  up  for  his  use  in  his  military 
expeditions.  Solinus.  indeed,  who  is  a  frivolous  writer,  says, — "  Choaspes  ita  dulcis  e'lt, 
ut  Persici  reges,  quamdiu  intra  ripas  Persidis  fluit,  solis  sibi  ex  eo  poeula  vindicarint." 
Milton,  therefore,  considered  as  a  poet,  with  whose  purpose  the  fabulous  suited  best,  is 
by  no  means  to  be  blamed  for  what  he  has  advanced ;  as  even  the  authority  of  Solinus 
is  sufficient  to  justify  him. — Jortin. 

*  Btiilt  by  Emathian  or  by  Parthian  hands,  Ac. 
Cities  of  later  date,  "built  by  Emathian  hands,"  that  is,  Macedonian  ;  by  the  suc- 
cessors of  Alexander  in  Asia.  "The  great  Seleucia,"  built  near  the  river  Tigris  by 
Beleueus  Nicator,  one  of  Alexander's  captains,  and  called  "  great,"  to  distinguish  it 
from  others  of  the  same  name.  Nisibis,  another  city  upon  the  Tigris,  called  also  Anti- 
ochia ;  "  Antioehia,  quam  Nisibin  vocant."  PHn.  vi.  16.  Artaxata,  the  chief  city  of 
Armenia,  seated  upon  the  river  Araxes :  "  juxta  Araxem  Artaxate."  Plin.  vi.  10.  Tero- 
don,  a  city  near  the  Persian  bay,  below  the  confluence  of  Euphrates  and  Tigris; 
"  Teredon  irira  confluentem  Euphratis  et  Tigris."  Plin.  vi.  28.  Ctesiphon,  near  Seleu- 
cia, the  winter  residence  of  the  Parthian  kings.  Strabo,  1.  xvi.  p.  743. — Newton. 
34 


606 


PARADISE  REGAINED. 


[book  III. 


The  great  Seleucia,  Nisibis,  and  there 
Artaxata,  Teredon,  Ctesiphon, 
Turning  with  easy  eye,  thou  mayst  behold 
All  these  the  Parthian"  (now  some  ages  past- 
By  great  Arsaces  led,  who  founded  first 
That  empire)  under  his  dominion  holds, 
From  the  luxurious  kings  of  Antioch^  won. 
And  just  in  time  thou  comest  to  have  a  view 
Of  his  great  power ;  ^  for  now  the  Parthian  king 
In  Ctesiphon  hath  gather'd  all  his  host* 
Against  the  Scythian,  whose  incursions  wild 
Have  wasted  Sogdiana ;  to  her  aid 

I 

o  All  these  the  Parthian,  Ac. 

All  these  cities,  which  before  belonged  to  the  Seleucidae  or  Syro-Macedonian  princes^ 
Bometimes  called  "kings  of  Antioch,"  from  their  usual  place  of  residence,  were  now 
nnder  the  dominion  of  the  Parthians,  whose  empire  was  founded  by  Arsaces,  whc 
revolted  from  Antiochus  Theus,  according  to  Prideaux,  two  hundred  and  fifty  yeart 
before  Christ.  This  view  of  the  Parthian  empire  is  much  more  agreeably  and  poeti- 
cally described  than  Adam's  prospect  of  the  kingdoms  of  the  world  from  the  mount  of 
vision  in  the  "Paradise  Lost,"  xi.  385 — 411:  but  still  the  anachronism  in  this  is  worse 
than  in  the  other:  in  the  former,  Adam  is  supposed  to  take  a  view  of  cities  many  yearc 
before  they  were  built ;  and  in  the  latter  our  Saviour  beholds  cities,  as  Nineveh,  Baby- 
lon, (fee,  in  this  flourishing  condition  many  years  after  they  were  laid  in  ruins ;  but  it 
was  the  design  of  the  former  vision  to  exhibit  what  was  future,  it  was  not  the  design 
of  the  latter  to  exhibit  what  was  past. — Newton. 

The  immediate  object  of  this  temptation  was  to  awaken  ambition  in  our  blessed  Lord, 
by  showing  him  "all  the  kingdoms  of  the  world  and  the  glory  of  them,"  that  is,  the 
splendour  of  the  great  empires  that  bad  been,  or  still  were  in  existence.  Whatever 
anachronism  therefore  there  may  be  in  this  place,  it  is  surely  not  introduced  uselessly 
and  unnecessarily,  as  Dr.  Newton  insinuates. — Dunster. 

"  The  luxurious  kings  of  Antioch. 

No  particular  luxury  seems  laid  by  history  to  the  charge  of  Antiochus  Theus ;  though 
it  was  the  profligate  conduct  of  Agathocles,  or  Andragoras,  then  governor  of  Parthia 
under  him,  that  incited  the  resentment  of  Arsaces,  and  was  the  cause  of  the  revolt,  and 
finally  of  the  creation  of  the  Parthian  empire.  See  Prideaux,  part  ii.  b.  2.  Milton  had 
probably  here  in  his  mind  the  descriptions  given  in  history  of  the  luxury  and  profli- 
gacy of  Antiochus  Epiphanes  ;  whose  abandoned  conduct  and  dissipation  was  such,  thai 
instead  of  Epiphanes,  or  the  Illustrious,  which  name  he  had  assumed,  he  was  generally 
known  by  that  of  Epimanes,  or  the  Madman.  See  "  Polyb.  apud  Athenseum,"  I.  v.— 
Ddnster. 

"  And  just  in  time  thou  comest  to  have  a  view 
Of  his  great  power,  &,c. 

Milton,  considering,  very  probably,  that  a  geographic  description  of  kingdoms,  how- 
ver  varied  in  the  manner  of  expression  and  diversifisd  with  little  circumstances,  must 
Boon  grow  tedious,  has  very  judiciously  thrown  in  this  digressive  picture  of  an  army 
mustering  for  an  expedition,  which  he  ha.8  executed  in  a  very  masterly  manner.  The 
same  conduct  he  has  observed  in  the  subsequent  description  of  the  Roman  empire,  by 
introducing  into  the  scene  praetors  and  proconsuls  marching  out  of  their  provinces  with 
troops,  lictors,  rods,  and  other  ensigns  of  power;  and  ambassadors  making  their 
euirance  into  that  imperial  city  from  all  parts  of  the  world.  There  is  great  art  and 
design  in  this  contrivance  of  our  author;  and  the  more,  as  there  is  no  appearance  of 
any,  so  naturally  are  the  parts  connected. — Thyer. 

»  For  now  the  Parthian  king 
In  Ctesiphon  hath  gathered  all  his  host,  <tc. 
Ctesiphon  seems  to  have  been  the  general  place  of  rendezvous  of  the  Parthian  army, 
wherever  their  destination  might  be.  Strabo  says  that  the  Parthian  kings,  who  had 
before  made  Seleucia  their  winter  residence,  removed  to  Ctesiphon,  because  it  was 
larger,  and  more  calculated  for  considerable  military  preparatians;  and  because  they 
wished  to  save  the  inhabitants  of  Seleucia  from  the  inconvenienaes  of  a  numerous  army 
in  a  place  not  sufficiently  large  to  receive  them. — Dunster 


BOOK  III.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  507 

He  marches  now  in  haste  :'  see,  though  from  far, 

His  thousands,  in  what  martial  equipage 

They  issue  forth,  steel  bows  and  shafts  their  arms,* 

Of  equal  dread  in  flight  or  in  pursuit ; 

All  horsemen,  in  which  fight  they  most  excel  :' 

See  how  in  warlike  muster  they  appear, 

In  rhombs,  and  wedges,  and  half-moons,  and  wings. 

He  look'd,  and  saw  what  numbers  numberless'" 
The  city  gates  out-pour'd,"  light-armed  troops, 
In  coats  of  mail  and  military  pride ; 
In  mail  their  horses  clad,''  yet  fleet  and  strong, 
Prauncing  their  riders  bore,  the  flower  and  choice 
Of  many  province-i  from  bound  to  bound;* 
From  Arachosia,  from  Candaor  east, 
And  Margiana  to  the  Hyrcanian  clifis 
Of  Caucasus,  and  dark  Iberian  dales;' 
From  Atropatia  and  the  neighbouring  plains 

y  To  her  aid 
He  marches  now  in  haste. 
In  the  "  Charon"  of  Lucian,  Mercury,  in  a  similar  manner,  shows,  and  deMribea  to 
Charon,  Cyrus  marching  on  his  expedition  against  Croesus. — Dunstee. 

*  Steel  hoics  and  shafts  their  arms. 
Catullus  terms  the  Parthians  "sagittiferosque  Parthos,"  Ep.  xi.  and  DionysiuB  die- 
ting iiished  them  as  "warlike,  and  artned  with  bows,"  Perieg.  v.  1040. — Dunster. 

»  0/  equal  dread  ill  flight  or  in  p"rsuit ; 
All  horsemen,  in  which  flght  they  most  excel. 
Lucan  notices  the  skill  of  the  Parthians  in  discharging  their  arrows  at  their  pursuers, 
while  they  fled  from  them,  lib.  i.  229,  "  missa  Parthi  post  terga  sagitta."    Ovid  refers  to 
tbe  same  circumstance,  "  De  Art.  Amand.,"  i.  209,  <fec. ;  and  Virgil  speaks  of  "  Fiden- 
temque  fuga  Parthum,"  Georg.  iii.  39. — Dunsteu. 

b  What  numbers  numberless. 
A  manner  of  expression,  though  much  censured  in  our  author,  very  familiar  with  the 
Greek  poets.     Thus  Lucretius,  iii.  799,  and  x.  1053,  "Innumero  numero."      And  B«e 
Tasso,  "  Gier.  Lib."  c.  xix.  121. — 

c  The  city  gates  outpour'd. 
So,  in  Virgil,  "^n."  xii.  121. 

Procedit  legio  Ausonidum,  pilataque  plenis 
Agmina  se  funduiit  portis,  &.C. — Dunster. 

d  In  coats  of  mail  and  military  pride  ; 
■■    In  mail  their  horses  clad,  &o. 
Plutarch,  in  his  account  of  the  defeat  of  Crassus,  says  that  the  Parthians,  on  a  sud- 
den throwing  off  the  covering  of  their  armour,  seemed  all  on  fire  from  the  glittering 
brightness  of  their  helmets  and  breastplates,  which  were  made  of  Margian  steel;  and 
from  the  brass  and  iron  trappings  of  their  horses. — 

e  In  many  provinces  from  bound  to  bound. 
He  had  before  mentioned  the  principal  cities  of  the  Parthians,  and  he  now  reeounts 
several  cf  their  provinces.  Arachosia,  near  the  river  Indus,  Strabo,  1.  xi.  p.  616, 
Candaor,  not  Gandaor,  as  in  some  editions:  I  suppose  the  Candari,  a  people  of  India, 
mentioned  by  Pliny,  1.  vi.  sect.  .18.  These  were  provinces  to  the  east;  and  to  the 
north  Margiana  and  Ilyreania,  Strabo,  1.  ii.  p.  72 ;  and  Mount  Caucasus,  and  Iberia, 
which  is  called  "  dark,"  as  the  country  abounded  with  forests.  See  Tacitus,  Annal,  vi, 
34.— 

f  77/e  Hyrcanian  cliff» 
Of  Caucasus,  and  dark  Iberian  dale«. 
Shirvan  and  Daghestan,  or  "  the  country  of  rocks,"  are  those  provinces  which  Milton 
calls  "the  Hyrcanian  cliffs  of  Caucasus,"  Ac — Sir  W.  Jomxs. 


508  PAEADISE  REGAINED.  [book  hi. 

Of  Adiabene,  Media,  and  the  south 

Of  Susiana,  to  Balsara's  haven.* 

He  saw  them  in  their  forms  of  battle  ranged, 

How  quick  they  wheel'd,  and  flying  behind  thqm  shot 

Sharp  sleet  of  arrowy  showers'"  against  the  face 

Of  their  pursuers,  and  overcame  by  flight : 

The  field  all  iron  cast  a  gleaming  brown  : ' 

Nor  wanted  clouds  of  foot,J  nor  on  each  horn 

Cuirassiers  all  in  steel  for  standing  fight," 

Chariots,  or  elephants  indorsed  with  towers ' 

Of  archers ;  nor  of  labouring  pioneers 

A  multitude,  with  spades  and  axes  arm'd 

(  From  Atropatia  and  the  neighbouring  plaint 
Of  Adiabene,  Media,  and  the  south 
Of  Suaiana,  to  Balnara's  haven. 

This  description  of  the  Parthian  provinces  moves  nearly  in  a  circle.  It  begins!  with 
Arachoeia  east;  then  advances  northward  to  Margiana;  and  from  thence,  turning  west- 
ward, proceeds  to  Hyrcania,  Iberia,  .and  the  Atropatian  or  northern  division  of  Media: 
here  it  turns  again  southward,  and  carries  us  to  Adiabene,  or  the  western  part  of 
Babylonia,  which,  as  Dr.  Newton  observes,  Strabo  (1.  xvi.  p.  746)  describes  as  a  plain 
country :  then,  passing  through  part  of  Media,  it  concludes  with  Susiana,  which  ex- 
tended southward  to  the  Persian  Gulf,  called  "Balsara's  haven,"  from  the  port  of 
Balscra,  Bassorah,  or  Bussora. — Dunster. 

To  the  west  of  Pars  is  the  province  of  Khuzistan,  which  the  Greeks  called  Susiana; 
it  has  no  mountain  in  it,  but  consists  wholly  of  large  plains  :  it  has  part  of  Persian  Irnk 
to  the  north,  the  gulf  to  the  south;  and  it  extends  westward  as  far  as  the  plains  of 
Wasset  and  the  port  of  Basra;  whence  Milton  says  "the  south  of  Susiana  to  Balsara's 
haven."  But  he  makes  a  considerable  mistake,  in  putting  into  the  mouth  of  the 
tempter  the  name  of  a  city  which  was  not  built  till  six  hundred  years  after  the  tempta- 
tion.— Sir  W.  Jones. 

h  Sharp  sleet  of  arrowy  showers, 

Mr.  Richardson  observes  that  this  is  not  unlike  Virgil's 

fundunt  simul  undique  tela 
Crobra  nivis  ritu.    ^n.  ii.  610. — Dunster. 

Gray  has  Imitated  this : 

Iron  sleet  of  arrowy  showrer. 

>  The  field  all  iron  cast  a  gleaming  brown. 

Dr.  Newton  observes  that  this  line  greatly  exceeds  Fairfax's  "  Tasso,"  c.  1.  st  64. 

Embattailed  in  viralls  of  iron  brown; 

and  even  a  very  fine  passage  in  Virgil,  which  has  certainly  much  resemblance  to  the 

"field  all  iron,"  Mn.  xi.  601, 

turn  late  ferreus  hastis 
Horrct  ager,  campique  armis  sublimibug  ardent. 

But  I  have  met  with  a  passage  more  immediately  parallel  in  Euripides,  who  literally 
describes  bis  field  "all  brass,"  in  the  " Phoenissse,"  ver.  298. — Dunster. 

J  Clotids  of  foot. 
Mr.  Dunster  observes,  that  by  horsemen  Milton  meant  only  skilled  in  the  management 
of  a  horse,  as  every  Parthian  was;  and  by  no  means  that  they  never  engaged  exctpt 
on  horseback:  and  by  chivalry  he  means,  as  I  have  already  remarked,  the  army  in 
general,  like  the  l:alian  eavalleria.     See  "  Par.  Lost,"  b.  i.  307.— Todd. 

k  Cuirassiers  all  in  steel  for  standing  fight. 
Sallust,   "Fragment"  1.   iv.  speaks   of  "equites    cataphracti    ferrea   omni  specie." 
Similar  to  the  cataphracts  of  the  Romans  were  the  K\t0itvapioi  of  the  Persians;  whom 
the  author  of  the  "  Glossarium  Nomicum"  describes  h\oai6ripui,  "  all  in  steel." — Dunsteb. 

'  Elephants  indorsed  with  towers. 
Ammianus  Marcellinus  speaks  of  elephants  in  the  Persian  army,  1.  24.     Pliny  men- 
tions them  bearing  towers  with  sixty  soldiers  on  them,  "  turriti  cum  sexagenis  propug- 
uatoribus,"  viii.  7. — Donstkb. 


BOOK  III.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  509 

To  lay  hills  plain,  fell  woods,  or  valleys  fill, 
Or  where  plain  was  raise  hill,  or  overlay 
With  bridges  rivers  proud,  as  with  a  yoke  :■ 
Mules  after  these,  camels  and  dromedaries, 
And  waggons,  fraught  with  utensils  of  war. 
Such  forces  met  not,  nor  so  wide  a  camp, 
When  Agrican  with  all  his  northern  powers 
Besieged  Albracca,"  as  romances  tell, 
The  city  of  Gallaphrone,  from  thence  to  win 
The  fairest  of  her  sex  Angelica," 
His  daughter,  sought  by  many  prowest  knights, 
Both  Paynim,  and  the  peers  of  Charlemain. 
Such  and  so  numerous  was  their  chivalry : 
At  sight  whereof  the  fiend  yet  more  presumed, 
And  to  our  Saviour  thus  his  words  renew'd  :  p 
That  thou  mayst  know  I  seek  not  to  engage 
Thy  virtue,  and  not  every  way  secure 
On  no  slight  grounds  thy  safety ;  hear,  and  mark, 
To  what  end  I  have  brought  thee  hither,  and  shown 
All  this  fair  sight :  thy  kingdom,  though  foretold 
By  prophet  or  by  angel,  unless  thou 
Endeavour  as  thy  father  David  did, 
Thou  never  shalt  obtain  ;  prediction  still 
In  all  things,  and  all  men,  supposes  means; 
Without  means  used,  what  it  predicts  revokes. 
But,  say  thou  wert  possess'd  of  David's  throne, 
By  free  consent  of  all,  none  opposite, 
Samaritan  or  Jew ;  how  couldst  thou  hope 
Long  to  enjoy  it,  quiet  and  secure, 
Between  two  such  enclosing  enemies, 

"»  Or  overlay 
With,  hridges  rivers  proud,  as  with  a  yoke. 

Alluding  probably  to  -lEschylus's  description  of  Xerxes's  bridge  over  the  Hellee- 
pont,  'Persae,'  71. — Thyeb. 

n  Such  forces  met  not,  vor  so  wide  a  camp 
When  Agriaan  with  all  his  northern  powers 
Besieged  Albracca,  &c. 

"What  Milton  here  alludes  to,  is  related  in  Boiardo's  "  Orlando  Inamorato,"  1.  i.  c.  10. 
— Thyek. 

»  The  fairest  of  her  sex  Angelica. 

This  is  that  Angelica,  who  afterwards  made  her  appearance  in  the  same  character 
in  Ariosto's  "  Orlando  Fiirioso,"  which  was  intended  as  a  continuation  of  the  story 
which  Boiardo  had  begun.  As  Milton  fetches  his  simile  from  a  romance,  he  adopts 
the  terms  used  by  these  writers,  viz.  "  prowest"  and  "  Paynim." — Thyer. 

"  Prowest "  is  the  superlative  of  "  prov\^"  froui  the  old  Trench  preux,  "  valiant." 
— Ddnsteb. 

p  Thus  his  words  renewed. 

The  speech  of  Satan  (ver.  34t)),  professing  the  puroose  why  he  showed  all  this  to 
Jesus,  judiciously  reverts  to  the  immediate  subject  of  the  temptation ;  and  by  urging 
our  Lord  to  avail  liimself  of  the  Parthian  power,  that  he  might  gain  possession  of 
David's  throne,  and  free  his  countrymen  from  the  Roman  yoke,  it  applies  to  those  patri- 
otic feelings  which  he  had  expressed  in  the  first  Book  of  this  poem,  where  he  declares 
that  one  of  his  earliest  sentiments  of  virtue,  "  more  than  human,"  was  marked  with  a 
wish  "  to  rescue  Israel  from  the  lioman  yoke."  Our  Lord's  reply  is  close  and  pointed, 
and  serves  farther  to  unfold  the  character  of  our  great  pattern  of  every  virtue. — 

DUNSTEB. 


510  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  iil 

Roman  and  Parthian  ?     Therefore  one  of  these 

Thou  must  make  sure  thy  own ;  the  Parthian  first 

By  my  advice,  as  nearer  and  of  late 

Found  able  by  invasion  to  annoy 

Thy  country,  and  captive  lead  away  her  tings, 

Antigonus  and  old  Hyrcanus,  bound,"* 

Maugre  the  Roman  :  it  shall  be  my  task 

To  render  thee  the  Parthian  at  dispose ; 

Choose  which  thou  wilt,  by  conquest  or  by  league : 

By  him  thou  shalt  regain,  without  him  not. 

That  which  alone  can  truly  re-install  thee 

In  David's  royal  seat,  his  true  successour, 

Deliverance  of  thy  brethren,  those  ten  tribes, 

Whose  offspring  in  his  territory  yet  serve. 

In  Habor,  and  among  the  Medes  dispersed : ' 

Ten  sons  of  Jacob,  two  of  Joseph,'  lost 

Thus  long  from  Israel,  serving,  as  of  old 

Their  fathers  in  the  land  of  Egypt  served, 

This  offer  sets  before  thee  to  deliver. 

These  if  from  servitude  thou  shalt  restore 

To  their  inheritance ;  then,  nor  till  then. 

Thou  ou  the  throne  of  David  in  full  glory, 

q  And  captive  lead  away  her  kingt, 
Antigonus  and  old  Hyrcamis,  bound. 

Here  seems  to  be  a  slip  of  memory  in  our  author.  The  Parthians,  indeed,  led  Hyr- 
canna  away  captive  to  Seleucia,  after  his  eyes  were  put  out,  and  when  he  was  past  seventy 
years  of  age,  so  that  he  might  well  be  called  "old  Hyrcanus:"  but  instead  of  leading 
away  Antigonus  captive,  they  constituted  him  king  of  the  Jews,  and  he  was  afterwards 
deprived  of  his  kingdom  by  the  Romans.  See  Josephus,  "  Antiq."  lib.  xiv.  cap.  13: 
"De  Bel.  Jud."  lib.  i.  cap.  13.  But  it  should  be  considered  that  Milton  himself  was  old 
and  blind ;  and  composing  from  memory,  he  might  fall  into  such  a  mistake,  which  may 
be  pardoned  among  so  many  excellencies. — Newton. 

Dr.  Newton's  observation  on  the  mistake  of  our  "  old  blind"  poet,  is  here  rather 
unfortunate;  as  he  himself,  with  his  eyes  open,  seems  to  have  fallen  into  a  considera- 
ble mistake  in  this  note,  by  describing  Hyrcanus  as  having  his  eyes  put  out,  which 
does  not  appear  to  have  been  the  case.  His  ears  were  cut  off  by  his  rival  Antigonus 
(see  Joseph.  "Antiq.  Jud."  xiv.  13),  to  render  him  incapable,  when  maimed  in  person, 
of  filling  the  oflice  of  high  priest;  but  (1.  xv.  c.  6,  sect.  14,  where  the  various  misfor- 
tunes that  befell  Hyrcanus  are  particularly  recited)  nothing  is  said  of  his  eyes  being  put 

out. — DUNSTER. 

»•  Tltoie  ten  tribes, 
Whose  offspring  in  his  territory  yet  serve, 
In  Habor,  and  among  the  Medes  dispersed. 
These  were  the  ten  tribes,  whom  Shalmaneser,  king  of  Assyria,  carried  captive  into 
Assyria,  2  Kings,  xviii.  11;  which  cities  were  now  under  the  dominion  of  the  Parthiang. 
— Newton. 

•  Ten  sons  of  Jacob,  two  of  Joseph. 
The  ten  captive  tribes  of  the  Israelites  were  those  of  Reuben,  Simeon,  Zebulon,  Issa- 
char,  Dan,  Gad,  Asher,  Naphtali,  Ephraim,  and  Manasses.     Only  eight  of  these  were 
eons  of  Jacob ;  the  two  others  were  the  sons  of  Joseph.     I  would  suppose  therefore  that 
the  poet  meant  to  give  it, 

Eight  sons  of  Jacob,  two  of  Joseph  lost. 
Otherwise  he  must  have  included,  in  the  ten  sons  of  Jacob,  both  Levi  and  Joseph.  The 
Levites,  it  \t  true,  did  not  form  a  distinct  tribe,  nor  had  any  possessions  allotted  them ; 
but,  being  carried  into  captivity  with  the  other  tribes,  amongst  whom  thej  were  scat- 
tered, Levi  might  be  referred  to  among  the  lost  sons  of  Jacob.  It  seems,  however, 
quite  incorrect  to  refer  to  Joseph  as  the  head  of  a  tribe,  when  ho  was  really  merged  in 
the  tribes  of  his  two  sons,  Ephraim  and  Manasses. — Diinstjbb. 


BOOK  III.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  511 

» ■ 

From  Egypt  to  Euphrates,*  and  beyond, 
Shalt  reign,  and  Rome  or  Caesar  not  nsed  fear. 

To  whom  our  Saviour  answer'd  thus,  unmov'd : 
Much  ostentation  vain  of  fleshly  arm" 
And  fragile  arms,  much  instrument  of  war. 
Long  in  preparing,^  soon  to  nothing  brought; 
Before  mine  eyes  thou  hast  set ;  and  in  my  ear 
Vented  much  policy,  and  projects  deep 
Of  enemies,  of  aids,  battels,  and  leagues, 
Plausible  to  the  world,  to  me  worth  naught. 
Means  I  must  use,  thou  say'st;  prediction  else 
Will  unpredict,^  and  fail  me  of  the  throne. 
My  time,*  I  told  thee,  (and  that  time  for  thee 
Were  better  farthest  off )  is  not  yet  come : 
When  that  comes,  think  not  thou  to  find  me  slack 
On  my  part  aught  endeavouring,  or  to  need 
Thy  politick  maxims,  or  that  cumbersome 
Luggage  of  war  there  shown  me,  argument 
Of  human  weakness  rather  than  of  strength. ^ 
My  brethren,  as  thou  call'st  them,  those  ten  tribes, 
I  must  deliver,  if  I  mean  to  reign 
David's  true  heir,  and  his  full  sceptre  sway 
To  just  extent  over  all  Israel's  sons. 
But  whence  to  thee  thi^  zeal  ?  where  was  it  then 
For  Israel,  or  for  David,  or  his  throne. 
When  thou  stood' st  up  his  tempter*  to  the  pride 

•  From  Egypt  to  Euphrates. 
That  is,  the  kingdom  of  Israel  in  its  utmost  extent :  for  thus  the  land  was  promised 
to  Abraham,  Gen.  xv.  18 ;  and  the  extent  of  Solomon's  kingdom  is  thus  described,  1 
Kings,  iv.  21. — Newton. 

»  Much  ostentation  vain  of  fleshly  arm. 
"  Fleshly  arm"  is  scriptural : — 2  Chron.  xxxii.  8,  and  see  Jer.  xvii.  6. — DxnrSTKB. 

»  Much  instrument  of  war, 
Long  in  preparing. 
*'  Totius  belli  instrumento  et  apparatu,"  Ciceron.  Academic,  ii.  1. — Dunster. 

w  Prediction  ehe 
Will  unpredict. 
This  refers  to  what  the  tempter  had  said  before,  rer.  354,  where  he  had  fallaciously 
applied  the  argument,  that  the  requisite  reliance  on  Divine  Providence  does  not  by  any 
means  countenance  a  supine  negligence,  and  a  dereliction  of  all  personal  exertions. 
Mr.  Thj-er  censures  the  manner  of  speaking  here,  ns  too  light  and  familiar  for  the  dig- 
nity of  the  speaker;  but  it  strikes  me  as  censurable,  not  so  much  for  the  lightness  a& 
for  the  quaintness  of  the  expression,  and  somewhat  of  that  jingling  play  upon  words, 
of  which  our  author  was  certainly  too  fond.  To  "  unpredict"  is  something  like  to 
"  uncreate."     See  "  Par.  Lost,"  K  v.  895,  and  b.  ix.  943. — Dunster. 

*  My  time,  Ac. 
John  vii.  6. 

y  Argument 
Of  human  weakness  rather  than  of  strength. 
It  is  a  proof  of  human  weakness,  as  it  shows  that  man  is  obliged  to  depend  upon 
something  extrinsical  to  himself,  whether  he  would  attack  his  enemy  or  defend  himself, 
It  alludes  to  the  common  observation,  that  nature  has  furnished  all  creatures  with  wea- 
pons of  defence,  except  man.     See  Anacreon's  Ode  on  this  thought. — Thter. 

»  When  thou  stood'st  up  his  tempter,  Ac. 
Alluding  to  1  Chron.  xxi.  1.    "  And  Satan  stood  up  against  Isi»el  and  proToked  David 


512  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  hl 

Of  numbering  Israel,  which  cost  the  lives 
Of  threescore  and  ten  thousand  Israelites 
By  three  days'  pestilence  ?     Such  was  thy  zeal 
To  Israel  then  ;  the  same  that  now  to  me  ! 
As  for  those  captive  tribes,"  themselves  were  they 
Who  wrought  their  own  captivity,  fell  off 
From  God  to  worship  calves,  the  deities 
Of  Egypt,  Baal  next  and  Ashtaroth, 
And  all  the  idolatries  of  heathen  round. 
Besides  their  other  worse  than  heathenish  crimes; 
Nor  in  the  land  of  their  captivity 
Humbled  themselves,  or  penitent  besought 
The  God  of  their  forefathers ;  but  so  died 
/  Impenitent,  and  left  a  race  behind 
Like  to  themselves,  distinguishable  scarce 
From  Gentiles,  but  by  circumcision  vain ; 
And  God  with  idols  in  their  worship  join'd; 
Should  I  of  these  the  liberty  regard. 
Who,  freed,  as  to  their  ancient  patrimony, 
Unhumbled,  unrepentant,  unreform'd, 
Headlong  would  follow  :  and  to  their  gods  perhaps 
Of  Bethel  and  of  Dan  ? "  No  ;  let  them  serve 

to  number  Israel."  Milton,  we  see,  considers  it  not  as  the  advice  of  any  evil  counsellor, 
as  some  understand  the  word  Satan;  but  as  the  suggestion  of  the  first  author  of  evil: 
and  he  expresses  it  very  properly  by  "the  pride  of  numbering  Israel ;"  for  the  best  com- 
mentators suppose  the  nature  of  David's  offence  to  consist  in  pride  and  vanity,  in  making 
flesh  his  arm,  and  confiding  in  the  number  of  his  people. — Newton. 

»  A»  for  those  captive  tribes,  Ac. 
The  captivity  of  the  ten  tribes  was  a  punishment  owing  to  their  own  id.latry  and 
wickedness.     See  2  Kings,  xvii.,and  the  prophets  in  several  places. — Newtom. 

b  }Vho,  freed,  an  to  their  ancient  patrimony, 
Unhumbled,  unrepentant,  unreform'd, 
Headlong  would  follow  :  atid  to  their  goda  perhaps 
Of  Bethel  and  of  Dan? 
There  is  some  difficulty  and  obscurity  in  this  passage;  and  several  conjectures  and 
emendations  have  been  offered  to  clear  it;  but  none,  I  think,  entirely  to  satisfaction. 
Mr.  Syrapson  would  read  "  Headlong  would  fall  off,  and,"  Ac,  or  "  Headlong  would 
fall,"  Ac,  hut  Mr.  Calton  seems  to  come  nearer  the  poet's  meaning.     Whom  or  what 
would  they  follow?  says  he.     There  wants  an  accusative  case;  and  what  must  be  under- 
stood to  complete  the  sense  can  never  be  accounted  for  by  an  ellipsis,  that  any  rules  or 
use  of  language  will  justify.     He  therefore  suspects  by  some  accident  a  whole  line 
may  have  been  lost;  and  proposes  one,  which  he  says  may  servo  at  least  for  a  com- 
mentary to  explain  the  sense,  if  it  cannot  be  allowed  for  an  emendation : 

Their  fathers  in  their  old  iniquities 
Hoadiong  w^ould  follow,  &c. 

Or  is  not  the  construction  thus? — "  Headlong  would  follow  as  to  their  ancient  patrimony, 
and  to  their  gods  perhaps,"  Ac. — Newton. 

There  is  somewhat  of  obscurity  here,  it  must  be  allowed;  but  I  conceive  our  author 
to  have  many  passages  that  are  more  implicate.  The  sense  seems  to  be  this  :  "  Who, 
if  they  were  freed  from  that  captivity,  which  was  inflicted  on  them  as  a  punishment 
for  their  disobedience,  idolatry,  and  other  vices,  would  return  to  take  possession  of 
their  country,  as  something  to  which  they  were  justly  entitled,  and  of  which  they  had 
been  long  unjustly  deprived;  without  showing  the  least  sense  either  of  their  former 
abandoned  conduct,  or  of  God's  goodness  in  pardoning  and  restoring  tli^m.  This 
change  in  their  situation  would  produce  none  whatever  in  their  conduct;  but  they  would 
retain  the  same  liardened  hearts,  and  the  same  wicked  dispositions  as  before  and  most 
probably  would  betako  themselves  to  their  old  idolatries  and  other  abominations."     The 


BOOK  m.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  513 

Their  enemies,"  who  serve  idols  with  God. 
Yet  he  at  length,  (time  to  himself  best  known) 
Remembering  Abraham,  by  some  wondrous  call 
May  bring  them  back,  repentant  and  sincere, 
And  at  their  passing  cleave  the  Assyrian  flood,* 
While  to  their  native  land  with  joy  they  haste ; 
As  the  Red  Sea  and  Jordan  once  he  cleft. 
When  to  the  Promised  Land  their  fathers  pass'd : 
To  his  due  time  and  providence  I  leave  them. 

So  spake  Israel's  true  King,  and  to  the  fiend 
Made  answer  meet,  that  made  void  all  his  wiles." 
So  fares  it,  when  with  truth  falsehood  contends.' 

expression  '•  headlong  would  follow"  seems  allusive  to  brute  animals  hurrying  in  a 
gregarious  manner  to  any  new  and  better  pasture;  and  "headlong"  might  be  particu- 
larly suggested  by  Sallust's  description  of  irrational  animals,  "  pecora,  quae  natura 
prona,  atque  ventri  obedientia  finxit."  If  a  correction  of  the  text  be  thought  necessaryi 
I  should  prefer, 

Who,  freed  as  to  their  ancient  patrimony, 

Unhumbled,  unrepentant,  unreform'd, 

Heudlong  would  fall  unto  their  gods,  perhaps 

Of  Bethel  and  of  Dan 

in  recommendation  of  which  it  may  be  observed,  that  "  fall  to  idols"  is  Miltonic ;  as  it  is 
said  of  Solomon,  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  i.  444,  that  his  heart. 

Beguiled  by  fair  idolntrosses,  fell 

To  idols  foul. — ^Ddnster. 

Is  there  not  some  distant  allusion  here  to  the  effect  of  the  restoration  of  Charles  ILi 
whom  and  whose  followers  their  mislbrtunes  had  not  taught  virtue  and  humility  ? 

<!  No  ;  let  them  serve 
Their  enemies,  &o. 
"Like  as  ye  havd  forsaken  me,  and  served  strange  gods  in  your  land,  so  shall  yo 
serve  strangers  in  a  land  that  is  not  yours,"  Jer.  v.  19. — Dunsteb. 

<•  And  at  their  passing  cleave  the  Assyrian  flood,  Ac. 

There  are  several  prophecies  of  the  restoration  of  Israel ;  but  in  saying  that  the 

Lord  would  "  cleave  the  Assyrian  flood,"  that  is,  the  river  Euphrates,  at  their  return 

from  Assyria,  as  he  cleft  the  Red  Sea  and  the  river  Jordan  at  their  coming  from  Egypt, 

the  poet  seems  particularly  to  allude  to  Rev.  xvi.  12,  and  to  Isa.  xi.  15,  16. — Newton. 

s  And  to  the  fiend 
Made  answer  meet,  that  made  void  all  his  wiles. 
We  may  compare  the  passage  of  Vida,  where  Satan,  in  his  speech  to  the  devils  in 
Pandaemonium,  relates  how  he  had  been  foiled  in  the  temptation  of  our  blessed  Lord, 
"  Christiad."  i.  198. — Dunster. 

So  in  G.  Fletcher's  "  Christ's  Victory,"  the  sorceress  is  thus  foiled  in  the  temptation 
of  our  Lord : — 

But  he  her  charms  dispersed  into  wind, 
And  her  of  insolence  admonished. — Todd. 

f  <Sb  fares  it,  when  with  truth  falsehood  contends. 
The  same  objection  still  lies  against  the  conclusion  of  this  book,  as  against  that  of 
the  preceding  one; — by  coming  immediately  after  a  part  so  highly  finished,  as  the  view 
of  the  Parthian  power  in  all  the  splendour  of  a  military  expedition,  it  has  not  the 
effect  it  would  otherwise  have.  It  is,  however,  a  necessary  conclusion,  and  one  that 
materially  carries  on  the  business  of  the  poem.  An  essential  test  of  its  merit  is,  that 
however  we  might  wish  it  shortened,  it  would  scarcely  have  been  possible  to  compress 
the  matter  it  contains. — Ddhstbb. 


65 


514  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  it. 


BOOK  IV. 

INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 

DiTNSTEB  obscrres,  that  great  poems  have  generally  fallen  off,  and  grown  laognid,  at 
the  close  ;  but  that  this  is  not  the  case  with  the  "  Paradise  Regained."  The  greater 
part  of  this  fourth  book  is  still  dialogue  and  argument;  first  in  favour  of  the  military 
power  and  splendid  trophies  of  Rome ;  then  of  th«  intellectual  eminence  and  spiritual 
charms  of  Athens  :  but  it  is  accompanied  by  more  of  action  ;  as  the  storm  in  the  wil- 
derness raised  by  Satan,  which  is  one  of  the  grandest  descriptions  in  all  poetry;  and 
the  carrying  off  our  Saviour  by  force  to  the  temple  of  Jerusalem,  and  placing  him  on 
the  top  of  a  pinnacle.  This  is  the  last  trial,  and  here  Satan  gives  himself  up  as  com- 
pletely overcome. 

The  dialogues  are  always  supported  with  surprising  knowledge  and  power  on  both 
Bides,  though  of  course  with  an  overcoming  superiority  on  the  part  of  Christ  The 
reasonings  or  the  pleadings  on  the  part  of  Satan  are  often  so  plausible,  that  the  reader 
is  kept  on  the  anxious  ftretch  how  they  are  to  be  answered;  and  feels  an  electric  glow 
aX  the  unexpected  force  with  which  the  ready  answer  is  supplied.  This  never  allows 
these  argumentative  parts  to  languish,  but  keeps  the  mind  in  full  exercise  and  constant 
emotion.  It  is  true,  that  the  learning  is  so  immense,  that  few  can,  in  the  perusal,  follow 
the  allusions ;  but  the  epithets  are  so  picturesque  or  striking,  that  they  rouse  the  mind 
with  a  general  and  strong,  though  indefinable  activity  and  pleasure :  we  feel  a  master- 
spirit instructing  «-ud  overawing  us,  and  we  believe  :  we  do  not  take  it  as  the  flourish 
of  rhetoric,  but  acknowledge  its  sincerity  and  predominance  of  thought.  A  divine 
intelligence  is  enlightening  us,  on  the  grandeur  of  creation,  on  the  mysteries  of  our 
being,  and  on  the  purposes,  vanities,  and  delusions  of  this  terrestrial  world. 

Perhaps  it  may  be  urged,  that  this  may  be  useful  doctrine,  but  not  poetry.  Poetry 
must  represent  truths  through  the  medium  of  imagination.  Are  not  Rome  and  Athens 
BO  delineated  by  Milton,  that  we  have  both  lively  imagery  and  accurate  comments? 
We  are  taught  to  view  them  in  their  proper  and  undisguised  characters. 

Speaking  of  the  wise  men  of  Athens,  and  their  different  sects,  the  heathen  philoso- 
phers, Milton  says, 

who  therefore  soekB  in  these 

True  wisdom,  finds  her  not,;  or,  by  delusion, 

Far  worse,  her  false  resemblance  only  meets, 

Anempty  cloud.    However,  many  books, 

Wise  men  have  said,  are  wearisome :  who  reads 

Incessantly,  and  to  his  reading  brings  not 

A  spirit  and  judgment  equal  or  superiour, 

(And  what  he  brings  what  needs  he  elsewhere  seek?) 

Uncertain  and  unsettled  still  remains. 

Deep  versed  in  books,  and  shallow  in  himself; 

Crude  or  intoxicate,  collecting  toys 

And  trifles  for  choice  matters,  worth  a  sponge; 

As  children  gathering  pebbles  on  the  shore. 
The  praise  of  such  a  passage  as  this  would  be  like  an  attempt  to  gild  the  sunbeam. 
When  Satan  was  thus  silenced,  in  his  attempt  to  seduce  our  Savidur  by  the  splea- 
dours  of  Athenian  Literature,  there  follows,  at  verse  368,  an  outbuiut  of  tremendous 
force,  beginning. 

Since  neither  wealth  nor  honour,  arms  nor  arts, 
and  continuing  for  twenty-five  lines. 

Satan,  in  a  rage  at  his  defeat,  thus  resorts  to  threats  : — 

So  saying,  he  took,  (for  still  he  knew  his  power 

Not  yet  expired)  and  to  the  wilderness 

Brought  bask  the  Son  of  God,  and  left  him  there, 

Feigning  to  disappear.    Darkness  now  rose,  &o 


BOOK  IV.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  515 

Then  follows  the  frightful  storm,  when  "  either  tropic  hegan  thunder,  and  both  ends  of 
heaven;"  and  the  "winds  rush'd  abroad  from  the  four  hinges  of  the  world."  This  is 
followed  by  a  bright  morning,  which,  Joseph  Warton  says,  "  exhibits  some  of  the  finest 
Iine«  which  Milton  has  written  in  all  his  poems."  Yet  perhaps  the  storm  is  still  finer: 
the  contrast  between  the  two  is  enchanting  and  most  glorious.  This  intermixture  of 
the  intellectual,  the  speculative,  and  the  descriptive,  makes  the  perfect  charm,  that 
renders  poetry  divine. 

Man  is  nothing,  but  as  his  mind  operates  upon  matter;  and  matter  is  nothing,  but  at 
it  is  associated  in  its  eflFects  upon  mind.  Mere  description  is  but  imperfect  poetry :  bat 
the  spell  is  not  confined  to  what  is  said  and  thought;  much  depends  upon  the  character 
whence  it  comes.  Every  word  assigned  by  Milton  to  Satan  belongs  to  his  proper  r ha- 
racter :  thus  his  outlet  of  ungovernable  anger  at  being  confuted,  and  his  consequent 
threats  and  evil  prophecies,  succeed  to  his  winning  and  profuse  flatteries.  The  sudden 
turn  is  conceived  and  expressed  with  that  power  of  imagination  and  sagacity  which 
fills  us  with  admiration.  Satan  seems  to  say  in  a  taunt ; — "  You  refuse  all  my  splendid 
ofiers;  but  I  dare  to  hope  that  you  can  so  little  finally  resist  them,  that  I  will  now 
impose  upon  you  the  condition  of  falling  down  to  worship  me,  or  I  will  leave  you  to 
your  fate."  Thus  the  arch-fiend  in  his  passion  defeated  himself  at  once  :  he  now  has 
recourse  to  bodily  violence ;  and  there  also  is  finally  foiled,  and  is  obliged  to  leave  the 
field,  and  give  up  the  attempt,  conquered  and  abased. 

Thus  the  poet  rises  to  the  last :  then  break  forth  the  hymns  and  songs  of  angels  and 
archangels  to  celebrate  the  victory  of  our  Saviour;  and  thus  the  poem  concludes.  I  do 
not  think  that  it  would  have  been  advisable  to  carry  this  subject  farther :  it  is  a  perfect 
whole  in  itself.  Our  Saviour's  death  and  resurrection  might  have  formed  the  subject 
of  another  poem. 

It  always  seems  to  me  injudicious  to  attempt  to  weigh  the  comparative  excellence  of 
two  compositions  of  a  different  nature*  Certainly,  the  "  Paradise  Regained"  does  not 
allow  scope  for  so  much  inventive  imagination  as  the  "  Paradise  Lost."  Adam  and 
Eve  were  human  beings,  and  of  them  the  holiest  poet  may  create  a  thousand  visions; 
but  of  Christ  his  contemplations  are  more  controlled  by  awe. 

As  one  of  the  most  marked  qualities  of  this  poem  is  its  extraordinary  plainness  of 
style,  which  many  have  deemed  to  be  too  prosaic;  it  is  the  more  necessary  to  set  this 
subject  in  its  true  light.  This  plainness  is  the  result  of  the  loftiness  of  the  theme,  and 
of  the  thoughts  and  images  of  which  it  consists :  these  support  themselves,  and  require 
not  to  be  elevated  by  language :  the  simplest  words  do  best,  provided  they  are  not 
vulgar.  Perhaps  no  one  else  would  have  undertaken  so  grand  a  topic ;  and  if  any  one 
had,  he  would  have  failed:  he  would  have  failed  by  false  eflfort,  and  extravagant 
bigness  of  phrase. 

Still  it  is  probable,  that  one  of  the  causes  why  this  poem  has  not  been  as  popular  as 
it  ought,  is  this  very  plainness.  The  world  cannot  be  brought  to  think  that  there  is 
poetry  where  there  is  not  gaudy  language :  and  I  am  afraid  that  almost  all  secondary 
poets  think  the  same,  and  are  not  misled  merely  by  a  desire  to  conform'  to  the  bad 
models  which  they  observe  to  be  the  common  taste.  i 

Whoever  is  endowed  with  a  particular  power,  will  follow  that  power;  he  will  not  be 
restrained  by  attempting  what  he  cannot  do,  and  neglecting  what  he  can :  but  this-  is 
only  true  of  power  which  is  quite  original  and  decided ;  it  is  not  true  of  any  faculties 
which  are  feeble  or  imitative :  even  in  the  first  case,  the  proposition  is  not  without 
exceptions ;  there  may  be  a  meek  and  timid  heart,  with  a  great  genius. 

Bad  critics,  the  advocates  and  defenders  of  that  bad  judgment  in  literature  which  the 
multitude  are  so  apt  to  indulge,  do  sometimes  nip  genius  in  the  bud,  and  warm  nauseous 
and  hurtful  fruit  into  birth  and  maturity:  it  is  of  essential  service  therefore  to  give  to 
excellence  its  due  praise,  and  to  endeavour  to  impress  the  people  with  those  extraor* 
dinary  merits  to  which  they  have  been  hitherto  blind. 

The  mass  of  mankind  cannot  easily  be  brought  to  believe  that  one  man  has  been  bom 
■with  gifts  so  pre-eminent  over  others  :  they  suspect  therefore  the  worth  of  that  superiority 
■which  is  claimed  for  him.  Dryden  and  Pope  did  not  follow  a  different  track  from  Mil- 
ton in  obedience  to  the  public  taste,  but  in  obedience  to  the  nature  of  their  own  inbora 
faculties  :  neither  in  fable,  thought,  nor  style,  could  they  hare  erer  followed  Milton. 


51G  •  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  iv. 

Of  almost  all  poets  but  Milton,  it  may  be  said,  as  be  himsell  says  of  the  Athenians,— 
Remove  their  swelling  epithets,  thick  laic 
As  varnish  on  a  harlot's  cheek,  the  rest, 
Thin  sown  with  aught  of  profit  or  delight, 

trill  be  found  bare  and  fruitless ;  at  least,  it  will  seem  so,  when  we  compare  it  with 
ihe  celestial  feast  of  the  mighty  author  of  "  Paradise  Lost"  and  "  Paradise  Regained." 
With  him  we  rise  to  the  stern  simplicity  of  inspired  wisdom :  he  leaves  us  in  no  state 
of  factitious  heat,  to  fall  again,  like  Icarus,  after  having  mounted  on  false  wings :  we 
find  breathed  into  us  a  jualm  fortitude ;  we  expect  sorrows,  and  wrongs,  and  dangers, 
and  are  prepared  for  them ;  we  covet  no  inebriate  visions,  and  thus  expose  ourselves  to 
no  blights  on  a  diseased  susceptiuility.  The  elevation  is  sublime ;  yet  by  its  sublimity 
gives  us  mastery  to  grapple  with  earth. 


ARGUMENT. 

SikTAN,  persisting  in  the  temptation  of  our  Lord,  shows  him  Imperial  Rome  in  its  greatest  pomp 
and  splendour,  as  a  power  which  he  probably  would  prefer  before  that  of  the  Parthians; 
and  tells  him  that  he  might  with  the  greatest  ease  expel  Tiberius,  restore  the  Romans  to 
their  liberty,  and  make  himself  master  not  only  of  the  Roman  empire,  but,  by  so  doing, 
of  the  whole  world,  and  inclusively  of  the  throne  of  David.  Our  Lord,  in  reply,  expresses 
his  contempt  of  grandeur  and  worldly  power ;  notices  the  luxury,  vanity,  and  profligacy  of 
the  Romans,  declaring  how  little  they  merited  to  be  restored  to  that  liberty,  which  they  had 
lost  by  their  misconduct ;  and  briefly  refers  to  the  greatness  of  his  own  future  kingdom. 
Satan,  now  desperate,  to  enhance  the  value  of  his  proffered  gifts,  professes  that  the  only 
terms  on  which  he  will  bestow  them  are  our  Saviour's  falling  down  and  worsliipping  him. 
Our  Lord  expresses  a  firm  but  temperate  indignation  at  such  a  proposition,  and  rebukes  the 
tempter  by  the  titleof  "  Satan  for  ever  damn'd."  Satan,  abashed,  attempts  to  justify  himself: 
he  then  assumes  a  new  ground  of  temptation  j  and  proposing  to  Jesus  the  intellectual 
gratifications  of  wisdom  and  knowledge,  points  out  to  him  the  celebrated  seat  of  ancient 
learning,  Athens,  its  schools,  and  other  various  resorts  of  learned  teachers  and  their  dis- 
ciples; accompanying  the  view  with  a  highly-finished  panegyric  on  the  Grecian  musicians, 
poeta,  orators,  and  philosophers  of  the  difllerent  sects.  Jesus  replies,  by  showing  the  vanity 
and  insufficiency  of  the  boasted  heathen  philosophy ;  and  prefers  to  the  music,  poetry 
eloquence,  and  didactic  policy  of  the  Greeks,  those  of  the  inspired  Hebrew  writers.  Satan, 
irritated  at  the  failure  of  all  hisattempts,  upbraids  the  indiscretion  of  our  Saviour  in  rejecting 
his  offers;  and,  having,  in  ridicule  of  his  expected  kingdom,  foretold  the  sufferings  that 
onr  Lord  was  to  undergo,  carries  him  back  into  tho  wilderness,  and  leaves  him  there.  Nighl 
comes  on :  Satan  raises  a  tremendous  storm,  and  attempts  farther  to  alarm  Jesus  with 
frightful  dreams,  and  terrific  threatening  spectres;  which  however  have  no  effect  upon  him. 
A  calm,  bright,  beautiful  morning  succeeds  to  the  horrors  of  the  night.  Satan  again  presents 
himself  to  our  blessed  Lord  ;  and,  from  noticing  the  storm  of  the  preceding  night  as  pointed 
chiefly  at  him,  takes  occasion  once  more  to  insult  him  with  an  account  of  the  sufferings 
which  he  was  certainly  to  undergo.  This  only  draws  from  our  Lord  a  brief  rebuke.  Satan, 
now  at  the  highth  of  his  desperation,  confesses  that  he  had  frequently  watched  Jesus  from 
his  birth,  purposely  to  discover  if  he  was  the  true  Messiah ;  and,  collecting  from  what 
passed  at  the  river  Jordan  that  he  most  probably  was  so,  he  had  from  that  time  more 
assiduously  followed  him,  in  hopes  of  gaining  some  advantage  over  him,  which  would  most 
effectually  prove  that  he  was  not  really  that  Divine  Person  destined  to  be  his  "fatal  enemy." 
In  this  he  acknowledges  that  he  has  hitherto  completely  failed  ;  but  still  determines  to  make 
one  more  trial  of  him.  Accordingly,  he  conveys  him  to  the  temple  at  Jerusalem  ;  and, 
placing  him  on  a  pointed  eminence,  requires  him  to  prove  his  divinity  either  by  standing 
there,  or  casting  himself  down  with  safety.  Our  Lord  reproves  the  tempter,  and  at  the 
same  time  manifests  his  own  divinity  by  standing  on  this  dangerous  point.  Satan  amnzed 
and  terrified,  instantly  falls;  and  repairs  to  his  infernal  compeers,  to  relate  the  bad  suc- 
ce.«s  of  his  enterprise.  Angels,  in  the  mean  time,  convey  our  blessed  Lord  to  a  beautiful 
valley ;  and,  while  they  minister  to  him  a  repast  of  celestial  food,  celebrate  his  victory  in 
a  triumphant  hymn. 

Perplex'd  and  troubled  at  his  bad  success 
The  tempter  stood,  nor  had  what  to  reply, 
Discover'd  in  his  fraud,  thrown  from  his  hope 
So  oft,  and  the  persuasive  rhetoick 


BOOK  IV.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  511 

That  sleek'd  his  tongue,*  and  won  so  much  on  Eve, 

So  little  here,  nay,  lost :  but  Eve  was  Eve  j 

This  far  his  over-match,  who,  self-deceived 

And  rash,  beforehand  had  no  better  weigh'd 

The  strength  he  was  to  cope  with,  or  his  own 

But  as  a  man,*  who  had  been  matchless  held 

In  cunning,  over-reach'd  where  least  he  thought, 

To  salve  his  credit,  and  for  very  spite. 

Still  will  be  tempting  him  who  foils  him  still, 

And  never  cease,  though  to  his  shame  the  more; 

Or  as  a  swarm  of  flies  "=  in  vintage  time, 

About  the  wine-press  where  sweet  moust  is  pour'd, 

Beat  off,  returns  as  oft  with  humming  sound; 

Or  surging  waves  against  a  solid  rock, 

Though  all  to  shivers  dash'd,  the  assault  renew,* 

(Vain  battery  !)  and  in  froth  or  bubbles  end; 

So  Satan,  whom  repulse  upon  repulse 

Met  ever,  and  to  shameful  silence  brought, 

Yet  gives  not  o'er,  though  desperate  of  success, 

And  his  vain  importunity  pursues. 

He  brought  our  Saviour  to  the  western  side 

Of  that  high  mountain,  whence  he  might  behold 

Another  plain,*  long,  but  in  breadth  not  wide, 

»  That  sleek'd  hta  tongue. 
So  Quarles  in  his  "  Elegy  on  Dr.  Wilson,"  st.  iii. : — 

No  far-fetch'd  metaphor  shall  smoothe  or  sleek 
My  ruffled  strain. — Punster. 

*>  But  aa  a  man,  <fec. 
tt  is  the  method  of  Homer  to  illustrate  and  adorn  the  same  subject  with  several  simi- 
litudes: our  author  here  follows  his  example,  and  presents  us  with  a  string  of  similes 
together.  This  fecundity  and  variety  of  the  two  poets  can  never  be  suiBciently  admired ; 
but  Milton,  I  think,  has  the  advantage  in  this  respect;  that  in  Homer  the  lowest  com- 
parison is  sometimes  the  last,  whereas  here  they  rise  one  upon  another.  The  first  haa 
too  much  sameness  with  the  subject  that  it  would  illustrate,  and  give  us  no  new  ideas: 
the  second  is  low,  but  it  is  the  lowness  of  Homer,  and  at  the  same  time  is  very  natural: 
the  third  is  free  from  the  defects  of  the  other  two,  and  rises  up  to  Milton's  usual  dignity 
and  majesty.  Mr.  Thyer  also  observes,  that  Milton,  as  if  conscious  of  the  defects  of 
his  first  two  comparisons,  rises  in  the  third  to  his  usual  sublimity. — Newton.  .^ 

«  Or  at  a  swarm  of  Jliea,  Ac. 
This  comparison,  Dr.  Jortin  observes,  is  very  just;  and  in  the  manner  of  Homer, 
"  II,"  xvi.  641.     See  also  "  II."  xvii.  570,  <fcc.     Mr.  Thyer  notices  likewise  the  simile  of 
the  flies  in  the  second  book  of  the  "  Iliad,"  469. — Dunster. 

d  Or  surging  waves  against  a  solid  rock, 
Though  all  to  shivers  dash'd,  the  assault  renew. 
There  can  be  but  one  opinion  respecting  this  simile.     "  It  presents,"  says  Mr.  Thyer, 
*  to  the  reader's  mind  an  image,  which  not  only  fills  and  satisfies  the  imagination,  but 
also  perfectly  expresses  both  the  unmoved  steadfastness  of  our  Saviour,  and  the  fins, 
crated  baflSed  attempts  of  Satan." — Donster. 

e  Another  plain,  &c. 

The  learned  reader  need  not  be  informed  that  the  country  here  meant  is  Italy,  which 
indeed  is  long  but  not  broad,  and  is  washed  by  the  Mediterranean  on  the  south,  and 
screened  by  the  Alps  on  the  north,  and  divided  in  the  midst  by  the  river  Tiber. — 
Newton. 

The  ridge  of  hills  here  does  not  mean  the  Alps,  but  the  Apennines,  which  divide  the 
south-west  part  of  Italy  from  the  north-west,  and  in  whicb  the  river  Tiber  ha&  its 
source.     The  plain,  contained  between  these  hills  and  the  Mediterranean  sea,  oonsisls 


518  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  it. 


g 


Wash'd  by  the  southern  sea;  and,  on  the  northj 

To  equal  length  back'd  with  a  ridge  of  hills, 

That  screen'd  the  fruits  of  the  earth,  and  seats  of  men. 

From  cold  Septentrion  blasts ;  thence  in  the  midst 

Divided  by  a  river,  of  whose  banks 

On  each  side  an  imperial  city  stood, 

With  towers  and  temples  proudly  elevate  ' 

On  seven  small  hills,s  with  palaces  adorn'd, 

Porches,  and  theatres,  baths,  aqueducts. 

Statues,  and  trophies,  and  triumphal  arcs,"* 

Gardens,  and  groves,'  presented  to  his  eyes, 

Above  the  highth  of  mountains  interposed  : 

By  what  strange  parallax,  or  optick  skill 

f  vision,  multiplied  through  air,  or  glass 
Of  telescope,  J  were  curious -to  inquire) 
And  now  the  tempter  thus  his  silence  broke : — 
The  city,  which  thou  seest,  no  other  deem 

of  the  old  Etruria,  Latium,  and  Campania  ;  the  two  latter  being  divided  from  the  for- 
mer by  the  course  of  the  Tiber. — Dunsteb. 

f  With  towers  and  temples  proudly  elevate,  &c. 

Thus  Spenser,  in  his  "  Ruins  of  Time,"  where  Verulam,  comparing  herself  with 
Rome,  describes  "the  beauty  of  her  buildings  fair:" — 

High  towers,  fair  temples,  goodly  theatres, 
Strong  walls,  rich  porches,  princely  palaces, 
Large  streets,  brave  houses,  sacred  sepulchres, 
Sure  gates,  sweet  gardens,  &c.— Dunster. 

g  On  seven  small  Mils. 
Thus  Virgil,  "Georg."  ii.  535,  speaking  of  Rome,  "Septemque  una  sibi  mura  cir- 
cumdedit  arces." — Newton 

>>  With  palaces  adorn'd. 
Porches,  and  theatres,  baths,  aqueducts. 
Statues,  and  trophies,  and  tiiumphal  arcs. 

All  these  articles  of  grandeur  and  expense,  both  public  and  private,  are  recorded 
and  minutely  illustrated,  by  Hake  will,  in  his  "Apologie  of  the  Power  and  Providence 
of  God,"  through  several  sections  of  a  chapter  entitled,  "  Of  the  Romans  excessiue 
luxurie  inbuildmg." — Todd. 

>  Gardens,  and  groves. 

The  extravaotince  of  the  Romans  in  these  articles  of  luxury  was  carried  to  a  ridicu- 
lous height.  They  planted  "  gardens  and  orchards  and  groues  upon  their  housa 
toppes ;  therein  like  Antipodes  running  a  contrary  course  to  nature,  as  Seneca  truly 
and  justly  taxes  them,  Epist.  122."  Hakewill's  "Apologie,"  &c.,  in  the  chapter  en- 
titled, "  Their  [the  Romans]  prodigall  sumptuousnesse  in  their  private  buildmgs,  in 
regard  of  the  largenesse  and  height  of  their  houses,  as  also  in  regard  of  their  marble 
pillars,  walls,  roofes,  beames,  and  pauement  full  of  art  and  cost,''  p.  404.  Compare 
ver.  58,  &c. — Todd. 

J  JBy  what  strange  parallax,  or  optick  skill 

Of  vision,  mmtiplied  through  air,  or  glass 

Of  telescope. 

The  learned  have  been  very  idly  busy  in  contriving  the  manner  in  which  Satan 
showed  to  our  Saviour  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  world.  Some  suppose  it  was  done  by 
vision  ;  others,  by  Satan's  creating  phantasms  or  species  of  ditferent  kingdoms,  and 
presenting  them  to  our  Saviour's  sight,  &c.  But  what  Milton  here  alludes  to  is  a 
fanciful  notion  which  I  find  imputed  to  our  famous  countryman  Hugh  Broughton. 
Cornelius  a  Lapide,  in  summing  up  the  various  opinions  upon  this  subject,  gives  it 
in  these  words : — "Alii  subtiliter  miaginantur.  quod  daemon  per  multa  specula  sibi 
invicem  objecta  species  regnorum  ex  uno  speculo  in  aliud  et  aliud  continuo  reflexerit, 
idque  fecent  usque  ad  oculos  Christi." — Thyee. 


BOOK  IV.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  519 

Than  great  and  glorious  Rome,  queen  of  the  earth,* 
So  far  renown'd,  and  with  the  spoils  enrich'd 
Of  nations  : '  there  the  Capitol  thou  seest, 
Ahove  the  rest  lifting  his  stately  head 
On  the  Tarpeian  rock,  her  citadel 
Impregnable :  and  there  Mount  Palatine, 
The  imperial  palace,  compass  huge,  and  high 
The  structure,"  skill  of  noblest  architects. 
With  gilded  battlements  conspicuous  far, 
Turrets,  and  terraces,"  and  glittering  spires : 
Many  a  fair  edifice  besides,  more  like 
Houses  of  gods,  (so  well  I  have  disposed 
My  aery  microscope)  thou  mayst  behold, 
Outside  and  inside  both,"  pillars  and  roofs, 
Carved  work,  the  hand  of  famed  artificers, 
In  cedar,  marble,  ivory,  or  gold. 
Thence  to  the  gates  cast  round  thine  eye,  and  see 
What  conflux  issuing  forth,  or  entering  in ; 
Praetors,  proconsuls  to  their  provinces 
Hasting,  or  on  return,  in  robes  of  state,' 
Lictors  and  rods,  the  ensigns  of  their  power. 
Legions  and  cohorts,  turms  «  of  horse  and  wings : 
Or  embassies  from  regions  far  remote. 
In  various  habits,  on  the  Appian  road, 

k  Great  and  glorious  Borne,  queen  of  the  earth. 
See  "  Par.  Lost,"  b.  xi.  405. — Dunsteb. 

1  With  the  spoih  enrich'd 
Of  nationt. 
This  refers  to  the  immense  sums  carried  to  Borne,  and  deposited  in  the  treasury  by 
their  generals;  and  to  what  was  amassed  by  the  fines  which  the  Romans  arbitrarily  set 
upon  other  states  and  kingdoms,  as  the  price  of  their  friendship. — Dunster. 
This  might  be  said  of  Paris  in  the  time  of  Napoleon. 

»>  There  Mount  Palatine, 
The  imperial  palace,  compaaa  huge,  and  high 
The  etrtceture. 
See  Claudian  "  De  vi.  Cons.  Hon."  35. — Duxster. 

"  Turrets,  and  terraces, 
Mr.  Dunster  remarks,  that  Milton  here  seems  to  have  blended  the  old  English  castle 
with  his  Roman  view :  and  Mr.  Warton  thinks  that  Milton  was  impressed  with  this 
idea  from  his  vicinity  to  Windsor  Castle.     See  "  Comus,"  ver.  934. — Todd. 

0  Outside  and  inside  both. 
So  Menippus,  in  Lucian's  "  Icaro-Menippus,"  could  see  clearly  and  distinctly,  fVom 
the  moon,  cities  and  men  upon  the  earth,  and  what  they  were  doing,  both  without  doors 
and  within,  where  they  thought  themselves  most  secret.     Luciani  0pp.  vol.  ii.  p.  11(7, 
edit.  QrsBV. — C  Alton. 

p  Prcetors,  proconsuls  to  their  provinces 
Hasting,  or  on  return,  in  robes  of  state,  Ac. 
The  rapacity  of  the  Roman  provincial  governors,  and  their  eagerness  to  take  posses 
sion  of  their  prey,  is  here  strongly  marked  by  the  word  "  hasting."     Their  pride  and 
vanity  were  not  less  than  their  rapacity,  and  were  displayed,  not  only  in  their  triumphs, 
but  in  their  magisterial  state  upon  all  occasions. — Dunster. 

q  Turms. 
Troops  of  horse;   a  word  coined  from  the  Latin,  turna.    Virg.  "^n."  v.  660; — 
"  eqnitum  turmse." — Newtok. 


620  PARADISE  REGAINED,  [book  iv. 

Or  on  the  Emilian  :  •■  some  from  farthest  south, 

Syene,'  and  where  the  shadow  both  way  falls, 

Meroe,  Nilotick  isle ;  and,  more  to  west, 

The  realm  of  Bocchus  to  the  Black-moor  sea ; 

From  the  Asian  kings,  and  Parthian  among  these ;  * 

"From  India  and  the  golden  Chersonese, 

And  utmost  Indian  isle  Taprobane, 

Dusk  faces  with  white  silken  turbans  wreathed;" 

From  Gallia,  Gades,""  and  the  British  west ; 

Germans,  and  Scythians,  and  Sarmatians,  north 

Beyond  Danubius  to  the  Taurick  pool.* 

All  nations  now  to  Rome  obedience  pay; 

To  Rome's  great  emporour,  whose  wide  domain, 

In  ample  territory,  wealth,  and  power, 

Civility  of  manners,  arts,  and  arms, 

And  long  renown,  thou  justly  mayst  prefer 

Before  the  Parthian.^     These  two  thrones  except,. 

'  On  the  Appian  road, 
Or  on  the  Emilian, 
The  Appian  road  from  Rome  led  towards  the  south  of  Italy,  and  the  Emilian  towards 
the  north.     The  nations  on  the  Appian  road  are  included  in  ver.  69 — 76,  those  on  th« 
Emilian  in  ver.  77 — 79. — Newton. 

•  Some  from /artkett  touth, 
Syene. 
Milton  had  in  view  what  he  read  in  Pliny  and  other  authors ;  that  Syene  wss  the 
limit  of  the  Roman  empire,  and  the  remotest  place  to  the  south  that  belonged  to  it.  0* 
It  may  be  said,  that  poets  have  not  scrupled  to  give  the  epithets  extremi,  ultimi,  tc  any 
people  that  lived  a  great  way  oflFj  and  that  possibly  Milton  intended  farthest  south  to 
be  so  applied  both  to  Syene  and  to  Meroe. — Jortin. 

*  And  Parthian  among  these. 
The  tempter  haying  failed  to  captivate  our  Lord  with  the  view  of  the  immense 
forces  of  the  Parthians  and  their  military  preparations  and  skillj  now  endeavours  to 
impress  upon  him  a  sense  of  the  great  power  of  the  Roman  empire.— Dunsteb. 

o  Dusk /aces  with  white  silken  turbans  wreathed, 
I  have  been  told,  that  a  truly  respectable  prelate,  whose  taste  and  literary  acquire* 
ments  are  of  the  first  eminence,  has  noticed  this  verse  as  one  of  the  most  picturesque 
lines  that  he  has  ever  met  with  in  poetry :  almost  every  word  conveys  a  distinct  idea, 
and  generally  one  of  great  effect. — Dunster. 

V  Gades, 
The  old  Roman  name  for  Cadiz  or  Cales,  a  principal  sea-port  of  Spain  without  the 
Straits  of  Gibraltar:  and  is  here  put  to  signify  the  part  of  Spain  most  distant  from 
Rome;    which  the   Romans   distinguished   by   the   name   of  ''Hispania  ulterior." — 

DUNSTXR. 

^  Germans,  and  Scythians,  and  Sarmatians,  r,orth 
Beyond  Danubius  to  the  Taurick  pool. 
The  Danube  was  the  southern  boundary  of  ancient  Germany.  From  the  mouth  of 
the  Danube  to  the  Palus  Maeotis,  all  along  the  shores  of  the  Euxine  sea,  lay  the 
European  Scythians ;  and  beyond  them  northward,  the  Sauromatffi,  Sarmat^e,  or  Sar. 
matians :  all  the  intermixed  nations  seem  at  the  time  of  the  Christian  sera  to  have 
ranked  under  the  general  head  of  Scythians  or  Sarmatians.  Milton  may  therefore  be 
understood,  in  this  description,  as  meaning  to  comprehend  all  the  European  nations 
from  the  banks  of  the  Danube,  and  the  shores  of  the  Euxine,  to  the  northern  ocean.— 

DUNSTSB. 

»  Thou  justly  mayst  prefer 
Before  the  Parthian, 
The  tempter  had  before  advised  our  Saviour  to  prefer  the  Parthian,  b.  iii.  363 :  but 
thiB  shuffling  and  inccnsistency  is  very  natural  and  agreeable  to  the  father  of  lies,  and 
by  these  touches  his  character  is  set  in  a  proper  light — Newton. 


BOOK  IV.] 


PARADISE  REGAINED. 


521 


The  rest  are  barbarous,  and  scarce  worth  the  Bight| 

Shared  among  petty  kings  too  far  removed. 

These  having  shown  thee,  I  have  shown  thee  all 

The  kingdoms  of  the  world,  and  all  their  glory.' 

This  emperour*  hath  no  son,  and  now  is  old, 

Old  and  lascivious,  and  from  Rome  retired 

To  Capreae,  an  island  small,  but  strong, 

On  the  Campanian  shore ;  with  purpose  there 

His  horrid  lusts  in  private  to  enjoy; 

Committing  to  a  wicked  favourite* 

All  publick  cares,  and  yet  of  him  suspicious ; 

Hated  of  all,  and  hating.     With  what  ease, 

Endued  with  regal  virtues,  as  thou  art, 

Appearing,  and  beginning  noble  deeds, 

Mightst  thou  expel  this  monster*  from  his  throne, 

Now  made  a  stye ;  and,  in  his  place  ascending, 

A  victor  people  free  from  servile  yoke ! 

And  with  my  help  thou  mayst;  to  me  the  power 

Is  given,  and  by  that  right  I  give  it  thee." 

Aim  therefore  at  no  less  than  all  the  world; 

Aim  at  the  highest :  without  the  highest  attained. 

Will  be  for  thee  no  sitting,  or  not  long. 

On  David's  throne,  be  prophesied  what  will. 

To  whom  the  Son  of  God,  unmoved,  replied : — 
Nor  doth  this  grandeur  and  majestick  show 
Of  luxury,  though  call'd  magnificence. 
More  than  of  arms  before,  allure  mine  eye. 
Much  less  my  mind;  though  thou  shouldst  add  to  tell 


There  appears  to  me  here  no  inconsistency  whatever.  What  is  here  said  rathei  marks 
the  great  and  accomplished  art  of  the  tempter,  than  indicates  a  "  shuffling."  Satan  only 
varies  the  attack,  by  changing  the  ground  on  which  it  had  not  been  successful.  His 
manner  of  doing  it  is  perfectly  plausible.  "You,"  says  he,  " may  very  possibly  prefer 
an  alliance  with  the  Romans,  whose  power  and  splendour  I  have  just  displayed,  to  one 
with  the  Parthiansj  and  you  judge  wisely  in  so  doing." — Dunstek. 

y  /  have  shoion  thee  all 
The  ktngdonu  o/the  world,  and  all  their  glory. 
The  poet,  in  the  preceding  book,  had  displayed  at  large  the  military  power  of  the 
Parthian  empire.  In  the  beginning  of  this  book  he  shows  and  describes  imperial 
Rome,  the  "  queen  of  the  earth,"  in  all  her  magnificence  of  splendour  and  pride  of 
power;  and  introduces  the  rest  of  the  world  as  subject  to  her,  doing  homage  to  hel 
groatneas,  and  suing  to  her  with  embassies. — Dcnster. 

*  This  emperor,  Ac. 
This  account  of  the  emperor  Tiberius  is  perfectly  agreeable  to  Suetonius  and  Tacitus, 
who  have  painted  this  monster,  as  Milton  calls  him,  in  such  colours  as  he  deserved  to 
be  described  in. — Newton. 

»  A  wicked  favourite. 
Our  poet,  I  dare  say,  read,  with  great  displeasure  and  disgust,  the  fulsome  praises 
of  Paterculus  on  Sejanus,  in  his  history. — Jos.  Wakton. 

b  Expel  this  monster. 
Thus  Cicero,  "  ri.  in  Catalin."  1. — Dunsteb. 
See  also  Juvenal,  Sat  iv.  2. 

'Tome  the  power 
h  given,  and  by  thai  right  I  give  it  thoe. 
Lnke  ir.  6. — Duitsteb. 
66 


522  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  iv, 

Their  sumptuous  gluttonies,  and  gorgeous  feasts* 
On  citron  tables  or  Atlantick  stone," 
(For  I  have  also  heard,  perhaps  have  read) 
Their  wines  of  Setia,  Cales,  and  Falerne, 
Chios,  and  Crete,'  and  how  they  quajff  in  gold. 
Crystal,  and  myrrhine  cups,  emboss'd  with  gems 
And  studs  of  pearl  j  s  to  me  shouldst  tell,  who  thirst 
And  hunger  still.     Then  embassies  thou  show'st 
From  nations  far  and  nigh  :  what  honour  that, 
But  tedious  waste  of  time,  to  sit  and  hear 
So  many  hollow  compliments  and  lies. 
Outlandish  flatteries  ?  •>     Then  proceed'st  to  talk 
Of  the  emperour,  how  easily  subdued, 
How  gloriously  :  I  shall,  thou  say'st,  expel 
A  brutish  monster  :  what  if  I  withal 
Expel  a  devil  who  first  made  him  such  ? 
Let  his  tormentor  conscience  find  him  out ;  • 
For  him  I  was  not  sent,  nor  yet  to  free 
That  people,  victor  once,  now  vile  and  base  ;J 
Deservedly  made  vassal;  who,  once  just, 

<•  Their  sumptuous  gluttonies,  and  gorgeous /easts. 
The  poet  had  here  perhaps  in  his  mind  the  account  given  by  Suetonius,  cap.  13,  of 
the  Buinptuous  gluttonies  of  Vitellius;  or  the  immense  sums  expended  in  this  way  by 
the  famous  Apicius;  of  which  see  Seneca,  "De  Consolat.  ad  Helv."  cap.  10. — Dunsteb. 

'  On  citron  tables  or  Atlantick  stone. 
Tables  made  of  citron  wood  were  in  such  requnst  among  the  Romans,  that  Pliny 
calls  it  mensarum  insania.  They  were  beautifully  veined  and  spotted.  See  his  account 
of  them,  lib.  xiii.  sect.  29.  I  do  not  find  that  the  "  Atlantick  stone"  or  marble  was  so 
celebrated :  the  Numidiciu  lapis  and  Numidicum  marmor  are  often  mentioned  in  Roman 
authors. — Newton. 

t  Their  wines  of  Setia,  Cales,  and  Falerne, 
Chios,  and  Crete, 
The  three  former  were  of  the  most  famous  Campanian  wines  among  the  Romans:  the 
Falemian  was  commonly  considered  as  their  prime  wine. — Dunster, 

e  How  they  quaff  in  gold. 
Crystal,  and  myrrhine  cups,  emboss'd  with  gems 
And  studs  of  pearl. 
"Crystal  and  myrrhine  cups"  are  often  joined  together  by  ancient  authors.     "Mur- 
rhina  et  crystallina  ex  eadem  terra  effodimus,  quibus  pretium  faceret  ipsa  fragilitas. 
Boo  argumentum  opum,  hsec  vera  luxuriae  gloria  existimata  est,  habere  quod  posset 
dtatim  totum  perire."     Plin.  lib.  xxxiii.  Proem. — Newton. 

•>  So  many  hollow  compliments  and  lie$, 

Outlandish /latteries  f  ' 

possibly  not  without  an  allusion  to  the  congratulatory  embassies  on  the  Rostonvtion. 
— Ddnster. 

'  Let  his  tormentor  conscience  Jind  him  out, 
Milton,  as  Dr.  Jortin  observes,  had  here  in  his  mind  Tacitus ;  who,  having  related 
the  extraordinary  letters  written  by  Tiberius  to  the  senate,  adds,  "  Adeo  facinora  atque 
flagitia  sua  ipsi  quoque  in  supplicium  verterant.  Neque  frustra  prsestantissimus  sapi- 
entiaa  firmare  solitus  est,  si  reeludantur  tyrannorum  mentes,  posse  aspici  laniatus  et 
ictus ;  quando  ut  corpora  verberibus,  ita  ssevitia,  libidine,  mails  consultis,  animus  dila- 
ceretur.  Quippe  Tiberium  non  fortuna,  non  solitudines  protegebant,  quin  tormenta 
pectoris  suasque  ipse  poenas  fateretur."    Annal.  vi.  6. — Dunsteb. 

i  That  people,  victor  once,  note  vile  and  base,  Ac. 
Thi«  description  of  the  corruption  and  decline  of  the  Roman  empire,  contained  in 
thifl  and  the  following  ten  lines,  is  at  once  concisely  fine,  and  accurately  just — Dunsteb. 


BOOK  lY.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  523 

Frugal,  and  mild,  and  temperate,  conquer'd  well ; 

But  govern  ill  the  nations  under  yoke, 

Peeling  their  provinces,  exhausted  all 

By  lust  and  rapine ;  first  ambitious  grown 

Of  triumph,  that  insulting  vanity ; 

Then  cruel,  by  their  sports  to  blood  inured" 

Of  fighting  beasts,  and  men  to  beasts  exposed  ;> 

Luxurious  by  their  wealth,  and  greedier  still ; 

And  from  the  daily  scene  effeminate. 

What  wise  and  valiant  man  would  seek  to  free 

These,  thus  degenerate,  by  themselves  enslaved? 

Or  could  of 'in  ward  slaves  make  outward  free?" 

Know,  therefore,  when  my  season  comes  to  sit 

On  David's  throne,"  it  shall  be  like  a  tree 

Spreading  and  overshadowing  all  the  earth; 

Or  as  a  "tone,  that  shall  to  pieces  dash 

All  monarchies  besides  throughout  the  world; 

And  of  my  kingdom  there  shall  be  no  end : 

Means  there  shall  be  to  this ;  but  what  the  means, 

Is  not  for  thee  to  know,  nor  me  to  tell. 

To  whom  the  tempter,  impudent,  replied : 
I  see  all  ofiFers  made  by  me  how  slight 
Thou  valuest,  because  offer'd,  and  reject' st: 
Nothing  will  please  the  difficult  and  nice, 
Or  nothing  more  than  still  to  contradict : 
On  the  other  side,  know  also  thou,  that  I 
On  what  I  ofi"er  set  at  high  esteem. 
Nor  what  I  part  with  mean  to  give  for  naught : 

k  Then  cruel,  by  their  aports  to  blood  inured,  &e. 
The  connexion  of  luxury,  cruelty,  and  eflfeminacy  has  been  often  remarked  in  all  ages, 

I  0/  fighting  beasts,  avd  men  to  beasts  exposed. 
Beast-fights  were  exhibited  among  the  Romans  with  great  variety :  sometimes,  by 
bringing  water  into  the  amphitheatre,  even  sea-monsters  were  introduced  for  the  pur- 
pose  of  combating  with  wild  beasts.  This  is  mentioned  by  Calphurnius,  Eel.  vii.  65. 
The  men  that  fought  with  wild  beasts  were  called  "  bestiarii :"  these  were  principally 
condemned  persons;  although  there  were  some  who  hired  themselves  like  gladiators. — 

DUNSTEB. 

m  Or  could  of  inward  slaves  make  outward  free  f 
This  noble  sentiment  Milton  explains  more  fully,  and  expresses  more  diffusely,  in  his 
"  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  xii.  90. 

therefore  since  he  permits 
Within  himself  unworthy  powers  to  reign 
Over  free  reason,  God  in  judgment  just 
Subjects  him  from  without  to  violent  lords. 

So  also  again,  in  his  xiith  Sonnet : — 

License  thev  mean,  when  they  cry  liberty; 

For  who  loves  that  must  first  be  wise  and  good. — ^Thtbb  ■ 

o  Know,  therefore,  when  my  season  comes  to  rit 
On  David's  throne,  &0. 
A  particular  manner  of  expression,  but  frequent  in  Milton  ;  as  if  he  had  said.  Know, 
therefore,  wh«n  the  season  comes  to  sit  on  David's  throne,  that  throne  "  shall  be  like  a 
tree,"  Ac,  alluding  to  the  parable  of  the  mustard-seed  grown  into  «  a  tree  so  that  the 
birds  lodge  in  the  branches  thereof,"  Matt.  xiii.  32 :  and  to  (what  that  parable  also 
respects)  Nebuchadnezzar's  dream  of  the  great "  tree,  whose  height  reached  onto  heaven, 
and  the  sight  thereof  to  the  end  of  all  the  earth,"  Dan.  iv.  11. — Newtoh. 


524  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  iv. 

All  these,  which  in  a  moraent  thou  behold' st, 
The  kingdoms  of  the  world,  to  thee  I  give, 
(For,  given  to  me,  I  give  to  whom  I  please) 
No  trifle;  yet  with  this  reserve,  not  else. 
On  this  condition ;  if  thou  wilt  fall  down, 
And  worship  me  as  thy  superiour  lord." 
(Easily  done)  and  hold  them  all  of  me  ; 
For  what  can  less  so  great  a  gift  deserve  ? 

Whom  thus  our  Saviour  answer'd  with  disdain : 
I  never  liked  thy  talk,  thy  offers  less ; 
Now  both  abhor,  since  thou  hast  dared  to  utter 
The  abominable  terms,  impious  condition  : 
But  I  endure  the  time,  till  which  expired 
Thou  hast  permission  on  me.     It  is  written, 
The  first  of  all  commandments,  Thou  shalt  worship 
The  Lord  thy  God,  and  only  hira  shalt  serve ; 
And  darest  thou  to  the  Son  of  Grod  propound 
To  worship  thee,  accursed  ?  now  more  accursed 
For  this  attempt,  bolder  than  that  on  Eve, 
And  more  blasphemous ;  which  expect  to  rue. 

o  On  this  condition/  if  thou  wilt  fall  down, 
And  worship  me  as  thy  superiour  lord. 

In  my  opinion  (and  Mr.  Thyer  concurs  with  me  in  the  observation),  there  is  nothing  ic 
the  disposition  and  conductor  the  whole  poem  so  justly  liable  to  censure  as  the  awkward 
and  preposterous  introduction  of  this  incident  in  this  place.  The  tempter  should  have 
propo.«ed  the  condition  at  the  same  time  that  he  offered  the  gifts,  as  he  djth  in  Scrip. 
ture ;  but  after  his  gifts  have  been  absolutely  refused,  to  what  purpose  was  it  to  propose 
the  "impious  condition?"  Could  he  imagine  that  our  Saviour  would  accept  the  king- 
doms of  the  world  upon  "the  abominable  terms"  of  falling  down  and  worshipping  him, 
just  after  he  had  rejected  them  unclogged  with  any  terms  at  all?  Well  might  the  author 
Bay  that  Satan  "  impudent  replied ;"  but  that  doth  not  solve  the  objection. — Newton. 

I  differ  entirely  from  Dr.  Newton  and  his  very  able  coadjutor,  respecting  this  part  of 
the  poem.  The  management  of  the  poet  seems  so  far  from  objectionable,  that  I  con- 
ceive this  passage  to  be  a  striking  instance  of  his  great  judgment  in  arranging  his  work, 
as  well  as  of  his  great  skill  in  decorating  it.  The  conduct  and  demeanour  of  Satan  had 
hitherto  been  artfully  plausible,  and  such  as  seemed  most  likely  to  forward  his  designs. 
At  the  beginning  of  this  book,  after  repeated  defeats,  he  is  described  desperate  of  suc- 
cess, and  "  flung  from  his  hope ;"  but  still  he  proceeds.  Upon  his  next  attack  failing, 
the  paroxysm  of  his  desperation  rises  to  such  a  height,  that  he  is  completely  thrown  off 
his  guard,  and  at  once  betrays  himself  and  his  purpose,  by  bringing  forward,  with  the 
most  intemperate  indiscretion,  those  "abominable  terms,"  which,  could  it  have  been 
possible  for  his  temptations  to  have  succeeded,  we  may  imagine  were  intended  in  the 
end  to  have  been  proposed  to  our  Lord.  This  then  is  the  full  discovery  who  Satan  really 
was ;  for  it  must  be  observed,  that  though  Jesus  in  the  first  book  (ver.  .356)  had  declared 
that  he  knew  the  tempter  through  his  disguise,  still  the  temptation  proceeds  in  the  same 
manner  as  if  he  had  not  known  him  :  at  least,  our  Lord's  conduct  is  not  represented  as 
influenced  by  any  suspicion  of  an  insidious  adversary.  As  to  proposing  the  conditiop 
toffether  with  the  gifts;  this  I  conceive  could  not  be  done  without  changing  the  wholt 
plan  of  the  poem ;  as  by  pushing  the  question  immediately  to  a  point,  it  must  have  pre- 
cluded the  gradually  progressive  temptations  which  the  poet  so  finely  brings  forward. 
It  might  perhaps  have  been  wished  that  the  circumstance  of  Satan's  betraying  himself 
and  his  purpose,  under  the  irritation  of  defeat  and  desperation,  had  been  kept  back,  till 
the  subsequent  temptation,  in  the  highly-finished  description  of  Athens  with  all  it£ 
pride  of  learning  and  philosophy,  had  been  tried,  and  had  also  failed.  But  the  apolo- 
getic speech  of  Satan  (ver.  196),  in  which  he  recovers  himself  from  his  intemperate 
impetuosity,  repairs  the  indiscretion  of  his  present  violent  irritation,  eo  far  as  to  pave 
the  way  for  another  temptation,  is  not  only  marked  with  such  singular  art  and  address 
D.8  is  ti  ily  admirable,  but  likewise  gives  a  material  variety  and  relief  to  this  part  of  the 
poem ;  whiob  I  cannot  wish  to  have  been  in  any  respect  different  from  what  it  is,  as  1 
do  not  conceiTe  that  even  Milton  himself  could  have  improved  it. — Dunsteb. 


BOOK  TV.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  525 

The  kingdoms  of  the  world  to  thee  were  given  f 

Permitted  rather,  and  by  thee  usurp'd ; 

Other  donatioii  none  thou  canst  produce. 

If  given,  by  whom  but  by  the  King  of  kings, 

God  over  all  supreme  ?  p     If  given  to  thee, 

By  thee  how  fairly  is  the  Giver  now 

Repaid  !     But  gratitude  in  thee  is  lost 

Long  since. '1     Wert  thou  so  void  of  fear  or  shame, 

As  offer  them  to  me,  the  Son  of  God  ? 

To  me  my  own,  on  such  abhorred  pact, 

That  I  fail  down  and  worship  thee  as  God  ? 

Get  thee  behind  me ;  plain  thou  now  appear'st 

That  evil  one,""  Satan  for  ever  damn'd. 

To  whom  the  fiend,  with  fear  abash'd,  replied : 
Be  not  so  sore  offended,  Son  of  God, 
Though  sons  of  God  both  angels  are  and  men, 
If  I  to  try,  whether  in  higher  sort 
Than  these  thou  bear'st  that  title,  have  proposed 
What  both  from  men  and  angels  I  receive, 
Tetrarchs  of  fire,  air,  flood,  and  on  the  earth. 
Nations  besides  from  all  the  quarter' d  winds, 
God  of  this  world  invoked,'  and  world  beneath : 
Who  then  thou  art,  whose  coming  is  foretold 
To  me  most  fatal,  me  it  most  concerns  : 
The  trial  hath  indamaged  thee  no  way. 
Rather  more  honour  left,  and  more  esteem  j 
Me  naught  advantaged,  missing  what  I  aim'd. 
Therefore  let  pass,  as  they  are  transitory. 
The  kingdoms  of  this  world ;  I  shall  no  more 
Advise  thee  j  gain  them  as  thou  canst,  or  not : 
And  thou  thyself  seem'st  otherwise  inclined 
Than  to  a  worldly  crown ;  addicted  more 
To  contemplation  and  profound  dispute; 
As  by  that  early  action  may  be  judged, 
When,  slipping  from  thy  mother's  eye,  thou  went'st 
Alone  into  the  temple  ;  there  wast  found 
Among  the  gravest  rabbles,  disputant 

p  The  King  of  kings, 
God  over  all  aiipreme. 
1  Tim.  tL  15.     Romans  ix.  5. — Duksteb. 

q  But  gratitude  in  thee  is  lost 
Long  since. 
Milton  had  made  Satan  declare,  long  before,  "  Par,  Lost,"  b.  iv.  109, 

all  good  to  me  is  lost : 
Evil,  be  thou  my  good. — Dcmster. 

'  That  evil  one. 
The  h  rov/jpdf,  the  pre-eminently  "wicked  one." — Todd. 
•  Ood  of  this  world  invoked. 
Milton  pursues  the  same  notion  which  he  had  adopted  in  his  "Paradise  Lost,"  of  the 
gods  of  the  gentiles  being  the  fallen  angels ;  and  he  is  supported  in  it  by  the  authoiit;; 
of  the  primitive  fathers. — Thyer. 
The  devil,  in  ScripturCj  is  termed  "  the  god  of  this  world,"  2  Cor.  iv.  4. — Duhstbr- 


526 


PARADISE  REGAINED. 


[book  IV. 


On  points  and  questions  fitting  Moses' chair/ 

Teaching,  not  taught.     The  childhood  shows  the  man, 

As  morning  shows  the  day :  be  famous  then 

By  wisdom ; "  as  thy  empire  must  extend, 

So  let  extend  thy  mind  o'er  all  the  world 

In  knowledge,  all  things  in  it  comprehend. 

All  knowledge  is  not  couch'd  in  Moses'  law, 

The  Pentateuch,  or  what  the  prophets  wrote : 

The  Gentiles  also  know,  and  write,  and  teach 

To  admiration,  led  by  Nature's  light. 

And  with  the  Gentiles  much  thou  must  converse, 

Ruling  them  by  persuasion,  as  thou  mean'st.^ 

Without  their  learning,  how  wilt  thou  with  them, 

Or  they  with  thee,  hold  conversation  meet  ? 

How  wilt  thou  reason  with  them,  how  refute 

Their  idolisms,^  traditions,  paradoxes  ? 

Errour  by  his  own  arms  is  best  evinced.^ 

Look  once  more,  ere  we  leave  this  specular  mount,  • 

Westward,  much  nearer  by  south-west,^  behold; 

Where  on  the  ^gean  shore  a  city  stands,* 

«  Fitting  Moses'  chair. 
Moses'  chair  tt as  the  chair  in  which  the  doctors  sitting  expounded  the  law  either 
publicly  to  the  people,  or  privately  to  their  disciples.     See  Matt,  xxiii.  2. — Newtoh. 

"  -Be  famous  then 
By  wisdom. 
We  are  now  come  to  the  last  temptation,  properly  so   called;  and  it  is  worth  the 
reader's  while  to  observe  how  well  Satan  has  pursued  the  scheme  which  he  had  pro- 
posed  in  council,  b.  ii.  225, 

Thorefore  with  manlier  objects  we  must  try 
Hio  constr.ucy  ;  with  such  as  have  more  show 
Of  worth,  of  honour,  glorj",  and  popular  praise. 

The  gradation  also  in  the  several  allurements  proposed  is  very  fine;  and  I  believe  one 
may  justly  say,  that  there  never  was  a  more  e.xalted  system  of  morality  comprised  in 
HO  short  a  compass :  never  were  the  arguments  for  vice  dressed  up  in  more  delusive 
colours,  nor  were  they  ever  answered  with  more  solidity  of  thought,  or  acuteness  of 
reasonin  g. — T  h  ve  r. 

»  Ruling  them  hy  persuasion,  as  thou  mean'st. 
Alluding  to  those  charming  lines,  b.  i.  221, 

Yet  held  it  more  humane,  more  heavenly,  first 

By  winning  words  to  conquer  willing  hearts, 

And  make  persuasion  do  the  work  of  fear.— Nbwton. 

«"  Idolisms. 
"  Idolisms^'  is,  I  believe,  a  word  of  Milton's  own  fabrication  :  it  seems  not  so  mncli 
to  mean  the  idolatrous  worship  of  the  gentiles,  as  the  opinions  with  which  they  might 
endeavour  to  defend  it. — Dcnsteb. 

'  Errour  hy  his  own  arms  is  best  evinced. 

"Evinced"  is  here  used  in  its  Latin  signification  of  subdued  or  conquered. — 
Dcnsteb. 

y  Westward,  much  nearer  iy  south-west. 

This  might  be  understood  W.  by  S.,  that  is,  one  point  from  west  towards  south- 
west ;  which  is  nearly  the  actual  position  of  Athens,  with  respect  to  Mount  Niphates. 
Or  It  may  only  mean,  that  our  Lord  had  no  occasion  to  change  his  situation  on  the 
western  side  of  the  mountain  (see  ver.  25  6f  this  book) :  but  only  as  the  latitude  of 
A-thens  was  four  degrees  southward  of  that  of  Rome,  that  he  must  now  direct  his 
view  so  much  more  towards  the  south-west,  than  when  he  was  looking  at  Rome,  which 
lay  nearly  due  west,  or  in  a  small  degree  north-west  of  Mount  Niphates.— Dunstek. 

*  Where  on  the  uEgean  shore  a  city  stands. 

The  following  description  of  Athens,  and  its  learning,  is  extremely  grand  and 
64 


BOOK  IV.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  527 

Built  nobly;*  pure  the  air,  and  light  the  soil;* 

Athens,  the  eye  of  Greece,'  mother  of  arts 

And  eloquence,*"  native  to  famous  wits 

Or  hospitable,*  in  her  sweet  recess. 

City  or  suburban,  studious  walks  and  shades. 

See  there  the  olive  grove  of  Academe,' 

Plato's  retirement,?  where  the  Attick  bird*" 

beautiful.  Milton's  Muse,  as  was  before  observed,  is  too  much  cramped  down  by  the 
argumentative  cast  of  his  subject,  but  emerges  upon  every  favourable  occasion  ;  and 
like  the  sun  from  under  a  cloud,  bursts  into  the  same  bright  vein  of  poetry,  whieli 

shines  out  more  frequently,  though  not  more  strongly,  in  the  "Paradise  Lost." 

Thyek. 

I  cannot  persuade  myself,  that  our  author,  when  he  selected  his  subject  and  formed 
his  plan,  considered  himself  as  any  ways  cramped  down  by  it.  I  liave  no  doubt  that 
he  looked  forward  with  pleasure  to  the  opportunities,  which  he  foresaw  it  would  af- 
ford him,  of  introducing  this  and  other  admirable  descriptions  ;  and  that  he  was  par- 
ticularly aware  of  the  great  effect  which  the  argumentative  cast  of  part  of  his  poem 
would  give  to  that  which  is  purely  descriptive. — Dunster. 

I  am  sure  that  this  critical  opinion  of  Dunster  is  perfectly  correct.  It  is  the  theory 
on  which  I  have  constantly  proceeded  in  judging  of  Milton. 

»  Built  nobly 
Homer,  speaking  of  Athens,  calls  it  "  a  well-built  city,"  II.  ii.  546.— Newton. 

^Pure  the  air,  and  light  the  soil. 
Attica  being  a  mountainous  country,  the  soil  was  light,  and  the  air  sharp  and  pure, 
and  therefore  said  to  be  productive  of  sharp  wits. — Newton. 

"Pure  the  air,  and  light  the  soil  "  Mr.  Oalton  remarks,  is  from  Dio  Chrysostom, 
Orat.  vii.  A  variety  of  passages  wjiicli  assert  the  clearness  and  pureness  or  the  air 
of  Athens,  may  be  seen  m  Gronov.  Thesaur.  Gr.  Antiq.  "  De  Fortuna  Atticarum  " 
vol.  v.,  p.  1696,  edit.  fol.  1699.— Todd. 

e  Aihent,  the  eye  of  Greece. 
Demosthenes  somewhere  calls  Athens  "the  eye  of  Greece,"  but  I  cannot  at  present 
recollect  the  place  :  in  Justin  it  is  called  one  of  the  two  eyes  of  Greece,  Sparta  being 
the  other  (1.  v.  c.  8) ;  and  Catullus  (xxxii.  1)  terms  Sirmio  the  eye  of  islands:  but  the 
metaphor  is  more  properly  applied  to  Athens  than  any  other  place,  as  it  was  the  great 
seat  of  learning. — Newton. 

<•  Mother  of  art$ 
And  eloquence. 
Justin  (1.  V.  c.  9)  terms  Athens  "patria  communis  eloquentiae :"  and,  1.  ii.  c.  6,  he 
says,  "  Literse  certe  et  facundia  veluti  templura  Athenas  habent."  Cicero  abounds  in 
panegyrics  upon  this  celebrated  seat  of  learning  and  eloquence :  he  describes  it,  "  illas 
omnium  doctrinarum  inventrices  Athenas,  in  quibus  summa  dieendi  vis  et  inventa  est 
et  perfecta,"  De  Orator.  1.  i.  13.  ed.  Proust.  And  in  his  "Brutus,"  sect.  39,  he 
characterizes  it,  "  ea  urbs,  in  qua  et  nata  et  alta  sit  eloquentia." — Dunster. 

e  Hospitable. 
Diodoms  describes  the  Athenians  as  "hospitable  to  wits"  of  other  countries,  by 
admitting  all  persons  whatever  to  benefit  by  the  instruction  of  the  learned  teachers  in 
their  city,  1.  xiii.  c.  27.  The  Athenians  were  remarkable  for  their  general  hospitality 
towards  strangers,  to  whom  their  city  was  always  open ;  and  for  whose  reception  and 
accommodation  they  had  particular  officers,  under  the  title  of  wp6fevot,  i.  e.  "the 
receivers  of  strangers  in  the  name  of  the  whole  city." — Dunster. 

t  The  olive  grove  of  Academe. 
This  whole  description  of  the  Academe  is  infinitely  charming.     Dr.  Newton  has 
justly  observed   that  "Plato's  Academy  was  never  more  beautifully  described."  — 
Dunster. 

5  Plato's  retirement. 
Diogenes  Laertius  relates,  in  his  "Life  of  Plato,"  that  Plato  "being  returned  to 
Athens  from  his  journey  to  Egypt,  settled  himself  in  the  Academy,  a  gymnasium  or 
place  of  exercise  in  the  suburbs  of  that  city,  beset  with  woods,  taking  name  from 
Academus,  one  of  the  heroes,  as  Eupolis, — 

In  sacred  Academus'  shady  walks ; 


628  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  iv. 


Trills  her  thick-warbled  notes  the  summer  long;' 

There  flowery  hill  Hymettu8,J  with  the  sound 

Of  bees'  industrious  murmur,  oft  invites 

To  studious  musing ;  there  Ilissus  rolls  "^ 

His  whispering  stream  :  within  the  walls  then  view 

The  schools  of  ancient  sages ;  his,  who  bred 

Great  Alexander  to  subdue  the  world,' 

Lyceum  there,"  and  painted  Stoa "  next : 

There  shalt  thou  hear  and  learn  the  secret  power 

Of  harmony,  in  tones  and  numbers  hit 

By  voice  or  hand ;  and  various-measured  verse, 

^olian  charms"  and  Dorian  lyrick  odes, 

And  hisP  who  gave  them  breath,  but  higher  sung, 

and  he  was  buried  in  the  Academy,  where  he  continued  most  of  his  time  teaching 
philosophy:  whence  the  sect  which  sprung  up  from  him  was  called  Academic." — 
Newton. 

h  Where  the  Attick  bird,  &e. 

Philomela,  who  according  to  the  fables  was  changed  into  a  nightingale,  was  the 
daughter  of  Pandion,  king  of  Athens.  Hence  the  nightingale  is  called  "Atthis,"  in 
Latin,  quasi  Attica  avis. — Newton. 

Qray  has  imitated  this  expression  in  his  "  Ode  to  Spring :" 

The  Attic  warbler  pours  her  throat 
Respongive  to  the  cuckoo's  note. 

'  Trills  her  thick-warbled  notes  the  summer  long. 
Dr.  Newton  observes  that  perhaps  there  never  was  a  verse  more  expressive  of  the 
harmony  of  the  nightingale  than  this.     Homer  has  a  description  of  the  song  of  that 
bird,  which  is  not  dissimilar,  "  Odyss."  xix.  521. — Dunster. 

i  There  flowery  hill  Hymettus,  <fcc. 
Valerius  Flaccus  calls  it  "florea  juga  Hymetti,"  Argonaut,  v.  344;  and  the  honey 
was  so  much  esteemed  and  celebrated  by  the  ancients,  that  it  was  reckoned  the  best  of 
the  Attic  honey,  as  the  Attic  honey  was  said  to  be  the  best  in  the  world. — Newtoh. 

k  There  Jlissvs  rolls. 
Mr.  Calton  and  Mr.  Thyer  have  observed  with  me,  that  Plato  hath  laid  the  scene  of 
his  Phsedrus  on  the  banks,  and  at  the  spring,  of  this  pleasant  river. — Newton. 

1  Who  bred 
Great  Alexander  to  aubdue  the  world. 
Wft  are  told  by  Cicero,  that  Aristotle,  having  observed  how  Isocrates  had  risen  to 
celebrity  on  the  sole  ground  of  florid  declamation,  was  thereby  induced  to  add  to  hi« 
own  stock  of  solid  knowledge  the  external  grace  of  oratorical  embellishments;  which 
recommsnded  him  so  much  to  Philip  of  Macedon,  that  he  fixed  upon  him  to  be  preceptor 
to  his  son  Alexander,  whom  he  wished  to  be  taught  at  once  conduct  and  eloquence.— 
"  De  Orator,"  iii.  41,  ed.  Proust. — Dunster. 

">  Lyceum  there. 
The  Lyceum  was  the  school  of  Aristotle,  who  had  been  tutor  to  Alexander  the 
Great,  and  was  the  founder  of  the  sect  of  the  Peripatetics ;  so  called  from  his  walking 
and  teaching  philosophy. — Newton. 

B  Painted  Stoa, 
Stoa  was  the  school  of  Zeno,  whose  disciples  from  the  place  had  the  name  of  Stoics ; 
and  this  Stoa,  or  portico,  being  adorned  with  variety  of  paintings,  was  called  in  Greek 
«oi«(Xii,  or  "  various,"  and  here  by  Milton  the  "  painted  Stoa." — Newton. 

o  ^olian  charms,  Ac. 
JEolia  carmina ;  verses  such  as  those  of  Aleaeus  and  Sappho,  who  were  both  of 
Mitylene  in  Lesbos,  an  island  belonging  to  the  ^olians :  "  and  Dorian  lyrick  odes ;" 
such  as  those  of  Pindar. — Newton. 

p  And  his,  Ac. 
Our  author  agrees  with  those  writers  who  speak  of  Homer  u  the  father  of  all  kinds 
of  poetry. — Newton. 


BOOK  IV.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  529 

Blind  Melesigenes,  thence  Homer  call'd,* 

Whose  poem  Phcebus  challenged  for  his  own : ' 

Thence  what  the  lofty  grave  tragedians*  taught 

In  chorus  or  iambick,*  teachers  best 

Of  moral  prudence,  with  delight  received 

In  brief  sententious  precepts/  while  they  treat 

Of  fate,  and  chance,  and  change  in  human  life,'^ 

High  actions  and  high  passions  best  describing:^ 

Thence  to  the  famous  orators  ^  repair, 

Those  ancient,''  whose  resistless  eloquence 

Wielded  at  will  that  fierce  democratic. 

Shook  the  arsenal,  and  fulmined  o'er  Greece* 

q  Blind  Melesigenes,  thence  Homer  call'd. 
Our  author  here  follows  Herodotus,  in  his  life  of  Homer,  where  it  is  said  that  hfl  was 
bom  near  the  river  Meles,  and  that  from  thence  his  mother  named  him  at  first  Melesi- 
genes.— Newton. 

'  Wliose  poevi  Plicehus  challenged  for  his  own. 
Alluding  to  a  Greek  epigram,  in  the  first  hook  of  the  "  Anthologia;" — 
'TBLtUov  /ilv  iyHiv,  ixapaaas  SI  BeXof  "Oitripos. — 'Newton. 
»  The  lofty  grave  tragedians. 
jEschylus  is  thus  characterized  by   Quinctillian : — "  Tragoedias  primum  in  lucom 
^schylus  protulit,  sublirais  et  gravis,  et  grandiloquus,  Ac,  1.  x.  c.  1,  where  also  the 
same  author,  comparing  Sophocles  and  Euripides,  says,  "gravitas,  et  cothurnus,  et  sonui 
Sophoclis  videtur  esse  sublimior."     Tragedy  was  termed  "  lofty"  by  the  ancients  from 
its  style,  but  at  the  same  time  not  without  a  reference  to  the  elevated  buskin  which  the 
actors  wore. — Dunster. 

'  Chorus  or  iamhick. 
The  two  constituent  parts  of  the  ancient  tragedy  were  the  dialogue,  written  chiefly  in 
the  iambic  measure;  and  the  chorus,  which  consisted  of  various  measures. — Newton. 

"  With  delight  received 
In  brief  sententious  precepts. 
This  description  particularly  applies  to  Euripides,  who,  next  to  Homer,  was  Milton's 
favourite  Greek  author. — Dunster. 

V  Of  fate,  and  chance,  and  change  in  human  life. 
The  arguments  most  frequently  selected  by  the  Greek  tragic  writers,  and  indeed  by 
their  epic  poets  also,  were  the  accomplishment  of  some  oracle,  or  some  supposed  decree 
of  fate. — Dunster. 

^  High  actions  and  high  passions  best  describing. 
High  actions"  refer  to  fate  and  chance,  the  arguments  and  incidents  of  tragedy; 
"high  passions"  to  the  peripetia,  or  change  of  fortune,  which  included  the  itaOos,  or 
affecting  part. — Dunster. 

»  Thence  to  the  famous  orators,  Ac. 
How  happily  does  Milton's  versification,  in  this  and  the  following  lines,  concerning 
the  Socratic  philosophy,  express  what  he  is  describing !     In  the  first  we  feel,  as  it  were, 
the  nervous  rapid  eloquence  of  Demosthenes,  and  the  latter  have  all  the  gentleness  and 
softness  of  the  humble  moral  character  of  Socrates. — Thyer. 

r  Those  anoient. 
Milton  was  of  the  same  opinion  as  Cicero,  who  preferred  Pericles,  Hyperides,  ^s- 
ohines,  Demosthenes,  and  the  orators  of  their  times,  to  Demetrius  Phalereus,  and  those 
of  the  subsequent  ages. — Newton. 

*  Whose  resistless  eloquence 
Wielded  at  icill  that  fierce  democralie. 
Shook  the  arsenal,  and  fulmined  o'er  Greece. 
Alluding,  as  Dr.  Newton  and  Dr.  Jortin  have  both  observed,  to  what  Aristophanes  has 
said  of  Pericles  in  his  "  Acharnenses :" — 

'Horpajfrev,  iPp6vTa,  \vvtKVKa  riiv  'EXXdJa. — DuNSTEB. 
67 


530  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  iv. 


To  Macedon  and  Artaxerxes'  throne  :■ 
To  sage  Philosophy  next  lend  thine  ear, 
From  Heaven  descended  to  the  low-roof 'd  house 
Of  Socrates  ;*  see  there  his  tenement, 
Whom  well  inspired  the  oracle  pronounced 
"Wisest  of  men ;  from  whose  mouth  issued  forth 
Mellifluous  streams  that  water'd  all  the  schools 
Of  Academicks"  old  and  new"*  with  those 
Surnamed  Peripateticks,  and  the  sect 
Epicurean,  and  the  Stoick  severe. 
These  here  revolve,  or,  as  thou  likest,  at  home, 
Till  time  mature  thee  to  a  kingdom's  weight : 
These  rules*  will  render  thee  a  king  complete 
Within  thyself,  much  more  with  empire  join'd. 

To  whom'  our  Saviour  sagely  thus  replied  : 
Think  not  but  that  I  know  these  things,  or  think 
I  know  them  not ;  not  therefore  am  I  short 

»  To  Macedon  and  Artaxerxet'  throne. 
As  Pericles  and  others  "fulmined  over  Greece  to  Artaxerxes' throne"  against  the  Per- 
sian king,  so  Demosthenes  was  the  orator  particularly,  who  "fulmined  over  Greece  to 
Macedon"  against  king  Philip,  in  his  Orations,  therefore  denominated  Philippics.— 
Kkwton. 

•>  From  Heaven  descended  to  the  low-roofed  house 
Of  Socrates. 
Mr.  Calton  thinks  the  author  alludes  to  Juvenal,  Sat.  xi.  27: — "e  ccelo  descendit 
yv<o0(  atavT6v,"  as  this  famous  Delphic  precept  was  the  foundation  of  Socrates'  philoso- 
phy ;  and  so  much  used  by  him,  that  it  hath  passed  with  some  for  his  own.  Or,  as  Mr. 
Warburton  and  Mr.  Thyer  conceive,  the  author  here  probably  alludes  to  what  Ciceio 
Bays  of  Socrates ;  "  Socrates  autem  primus  philosophiam  devocavit  e  coelo,  et  in  urbi- 
bus  ooUocavit,  et  in  domos  etiam  introduxit." — Tusc.  Disp.  v.  4. — Newton. 

c  From  whose  mouth  issued  forth 
Mellifluous  streams,  that  water'd  all  the  school* 
Of  Academicks,  Ac. 
Thus  Quintilian  calls  Socrates  "  fons  philosophorum,"  1.  i.  c.  10.     As  the  ancients 
looked  on  Homer  to  be  the  father  of  poetry,  so  they  esteemed  Socrates  the  father  of 
moral  philosophy. — Newton. 

But  our  author,  in  speaking  here  of  "  the  mellifluous  streams  of  philosophy  that  issued 
from  the  mouth  of  Socrates,  and  watered  all  the  various  schools  or  sects  of  philoso- 
phers," had  in  his  mind  a  passage  of  ^Elian  (Var.  Hist.  1.  xiii.  c.  22),  where  it  is  said 
that  "  Galaton  the  painter  drew  Homer  as  a  fountain,  and  the  other  poets  drawing  water 
from  his  mouth." — Dunster. 

d  Old  and  new. 
The  Academic  sect  of  philosophers,  like  the  Greek  comedy,  had  its  three  epochs,  old, 
middle,  and  new.    Plato  was  the  head  of  the  old  Academy,  Arcesilas  of  the  middle,  and 
Carneades  of  the  new. — Dunster. 

•  These  rules. 
There  is  no  mention  before  of  rules ;  but  of  poets,  orators,  and  philosophers.    We 
should  read  therefore,  "  their  rules,"  Ac. — Calton. 
See,  however,  v.  264.     "  In  brief  sententious  precepts,"  Ac. 

I 
t  To  whom,  Ac. 

This  answer  of  our  Saviour  is  as  much  to  be  admired  for  solid  reasoning,  and  the 
many  sublime  truths  contained  in  it,  as  the  preceding  speech  of  Satan  is  for  that  fine 
vein  of  poetry  which  runs  through  it:  and  one  may  observe  in  general,  that  Milton  has 
quite,  throughout  this  work,  thrown  the  ornaments  of  poetry  on  the  side  of  error; 
whether  it  was  that  he  thought  great  truths  best  expressed  in  a  grave,  unaffected  style ; 
or  intended  to  suggest  this  fine  moral  to  the  reader :  that  simple  naked  truth  will  always 
be  an  over-ms  tch  for  falsehood,  though  recommended  by  the  gayest  rhetoric,  and  adorned 
with  the  most  bewitching  colours  — Thtrb. 


J 


PARADISE  REGAINED.  531 


Of  knowing  what  I  ought :  he  who  receives 

Light  from  above,  from  the  fountain  of  light, 

No  other  doctrine  needs,  though  granted  truej* 

But  these  are  false,  or  little  else  but  dreams, 

Conjectures,  fancies,  built  on  nothing  firm. 

The  first  and  wisest  of  them  all  profess'd 

To  know  this  only,  that  he  nothing  knew  j  * 

The  next  to  fabling  fell,  and  smooth  conceits  j  • 

A  third  sort  doubted  all  things,  though  plain  sense.' 

Others  in  virtue  placed  felicity. 

But  virtue  join'd  with  riches  and  long  life  ^'^ 

In  corporal  pleasure  he,  and  careless  ease : ' 

The  Stoick  last™  in  philosophick  pride, 

By  him  call'd  virtue,  and  his  virtuous  man, 

Wise,  perfect  in  himself,  and  all  possessing 

Equal  to  God,"  oft  shames  not  to  prefer, 

K  He  who  receive* 
Light  from  above,  from  the  fountain  of  light, 
No  other  doctrine  needs,  though  granted  true. 
Peck,  from  this  passage,  supposes  Milton  to  have  been  a  quaker;    Milton  was  a 
sectarist  on  gfeneral  principles,  which  cannot  easily  be  reduced  to  any  particular  or 
separate  system. — T.  Warton. 

h  Tlie  first  and  wisest  of  them  all  profess'd 

To  knoio  this  dhly,  that  he  nothing  knew. 

Socrates ;  of  whom  Cicero,  "  Hie  in  omnibus  fere  sermonibus,  qui  ab  iis,  qui  ilium 

andierunt,  perscripti  varie,  copiose  sunt,  ita  disputat,  ut  nihil  adflrmet  ipse,  refellat 

alios :  nihil  se  scire  dicat,  nisi  id  ipsum  :  eoque  prjestare  ceteris ;  quod  illi  quae  nesciant 

Bcire  se  putentj  ipse,  se  nihil  scire,  id  unura  sciat." — Academic,  i.  4. — Newton. 

'  The  next  to  fahling  fell,  and  smooth  conceits. 
Milton,  in  his  Latin  poem  "De  Idea  Platonica,"  terms  Plato  "  fabulator  maximus;" 
T.  38.     This  passage  shows  our  poet  inclined  to  censure  the  fictions  of  the  philosopher; 
which  are  also  noticed  in  early  times. — Dunster. 

J  A  third  sort  doubted  all  things,  though  plain  sense. 
These  were  the  sceptics  or  Pyrrhonians,  the  disciples  of  Pyrrho,  who  asserted 
nothing  to  be  either  honest  or  dishonest,  just  or  unjust;  that  men  do  all  things  by  law 
and  custom ;  and  that  in  everything  this  is  not  preferable  to  that.  This  was  called  the 
Bceptie  philosophy,  from  its  continual  inspection,  and  never  finding;  and  Pyrxhonian 
from  Pyrrho. — Newton. 

k  Others  in  virtue  placed  felicity, 
But  virtue  join'd  with  riches  and  long  life. 
These  were  the  old  Academics,  and  the  Peripatetics,  the  scholars  of  Aristotle.     Sec 
Cicero,  "Academic."  ii.  42,  and  "De  Fin."  ii.,11. — Newton. 

'  In  corporal  pleasure  he,  and  careless  ease. 
The  "he"  is  here  contemptuously  emphatical. — Dunster. 

m  The  Stoick  last,  &c. 
The  reason  why  Milton  represents  our  Saviour  taking  such  particular  notice  of  the 
Stoics  above  the  rest,  was  probably  because  they  made  pretensions  to  a  more  refined 
and  exalted  virtue  than  any  of  the  other  sects,  and  were  at  that  time  the  most  prevail- 
ing party  among  the  philosophers,  and  the  most  revered  and  esteemed  for  the  strictness 
of  their  morals,  and  the  austerity  of  their  lives.  The  picture  of  their  virtuous  man  is 
perfectly  just,  as  might  easily  be  shown  from  many  passages  in  Seneca  and  Antoninus: 
and  the  defects  and  insufficiency  of  their  scheme  could  not  possibly  be  set  in  a  stronger 
light  than  they  are  by  our  author  in  the  lines  following. — Thyer. 

n  Equal  to  Qod. 
Dr.  Newton  here  reads,  "  equals  to  God,"  Ac,  and  conceives  the  sense  to  be  bo  much 
improved,  that  the  omission  of  the  letter  «  must  have  been  an  error  of  the  press.    I 


532  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  iy. 

As  fearing  God  nor  man,  contemning  all 
"Wealth,  pleasure,  pain  or  torment,  death  and  life, 
Which  when  he  lists  he  leaves  or  boasts  he  can, 
For  all  his  tedious  talk  is  but  vain  boast, 
Or  subtle  shifts"  conviction  to  evade. 
Alas !  what  can  they  teach  and  not  mislead, 
Ignorant  of  themselves,  of  God  much  more, 
And  how  the  world  began,  and  how  man  fell 
Degraded  by  himself,  on  grace  depending  ?p 
Much  of  the  soul  they  talk,  but  all  awry,* 
And  in  themselves  seek  virtue,  and  to  themselves 
All  glory  arrogate,  to  God  give  none ; "" 
Rather  accuse  him  under  usual  names. 
Fortune  and  Fate,'  as  one  regardless  quite 
Of  mortal  things.     Who  therefore  seeks  in  these 
True  wisdom,  finds  her  not ;  or,  by  delusion, 
Far  worse,  her  false  resemblance  only  meets. 
An  empty  cloud.*     However,  many  books. 
Wise  men  have  said,  are  wearisome :  °  who  reads 
Incessantly,^  and  to  his  reading  brings  UQt 

retain  the  reading  in  Milton's  own  edition,  as  the  sense  appears  suflSciently  clear  with 
it  J  neither  do  I  see  any  material  improvement  resulting  from  the  correction. — Ddnsteb. 

0  For  all  his  tedious  talk  is  but  vain  boast, 
Or  siibtle  shifts. 

"  Vain  boasts"  relate  to  the  stoical  paradoxes ;  and  "  subtle  shifts,"  to  their  dialectic, 
which  this  sect  so  much  cultivated,  that  they  were  known  equally  by  the  name  of  Dia- 
lecticians and  Stoics. — Warbuuton. 

p  Ignorant  of  themselves,  of  God  much  more, 
And  hoic  the  world  began,  and  hoic  wan  fell 
Degraded  by  himself,  on  grace  depending  f 
Having  drawn  most  accurately  the  character  of  the  Stoic  philosopher,  and  exposed 
the  insufficiency  of  his  pretensions  to  superior  virtue  built  on  superior  knowledge;  the 
poet  may  be  understood  here  as  referring  to  the  Holy  Scriptures,  as  the  only  true  source 
of  information  respecting  the  nature  of  God,  the  creation,  and  fall  of  man,  <tc.  — ^ 

DUNSTER. 

1  Much  of  the  sotd  they  talk,  but  all  awry. 

See  what  Dr.  Warburton  has  said  of  the  absurd  notions  of  the  ancient  philosophers, 
concerning  the  nature  of  the  soul,  in  his  "Divine  Legation,"  book  iii.  sect.  4. — Newton. 

•■  And  in  themselves  seek  virtue,  and  to  themselves 
All  glory  arrogate,  to  God  give  nor^. 
Cicero  speaks  the  sentiments  of  ancient  philosophy  upon  this  point,  in  "De  Nat 
Deor."  iii.  36. — Warburton. 

•  Rather  accuse  him  under  usual  names, 
Fortune  and  Fate. 
Several  of  the  ancient  poets  and  philosophers,  but  especially  the  Stoics,  thus  charac- 
terize the  Deity. — Dunster. 

t  An  empty  cloud. 
A  metaphor  taken  from  the  fable  of  Ixion,  who  embraced  an  empty  cloud  for  a  Juno 
—Newton. 

»  Many  books. 
Wise  men  have  said,  ai-e  wearinome. 
Alluding  to  Eccles.  xii.  12 :— "  Of  making  many  books  there  ia  no  end,  and  much  study 
is  a  weariness  of  the  flesh." — Newton. 

■■'  Who  retnU    . 
Incessantly,  Ac. 
See  the  same  just  sentiment  in  "P.oradise  Lost,"  b.  vii.  12fl: — 


BOOK  IV.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  533 

A  spirit  and  judgement  equal  or  superiour, 

(And  what  he  brings  what  needs  he  elsewhere  seek  ?) 

Uncertain  and  unsettled  still  remains, 

Deep  versed  in  books,  and  shallow  in  himself,* 

Crude  or  intoxicate,  collecting  toys 

And  trifles  for  choice  matters,  worth  a  sponge  j  * 

As  children  gathering  pebbles  on  the  shore.J^ 

Or,  if  I  would  delight  my  private  hours 

With  musick  or  with  poem ;  where,  so  soon 

As  in  our  native  language,  can  I  find 

That  solace  ?     All  our  law  and  story  strew'd 

With  hymns,  our  psalms  with  artful  terms  inscribed," 

Our  Hebrew  songs  and  harps,"  in  Babylon 

That  pleased  so  well  our  victors'  ear,  declare 

That  rather  Greece  from  us  ••  these  arts  derived  j 

111  imitated  <=  while  they  loudest  sing 

The  vices  of  their  deities,  and  their  own, 

In  fable,  hymn,  or  song,  so  personating •• 

Their  gods  ridiculous,  and  themselves  past  shame. 

Remove  their  swelling  epithets,*  thick  laid 

Knowledge  is  as  fnodj  mid  needs  no  less 
Her  temperance  over  appetite,  ikc. — Thybr. 

^  Deep  versed  in  books,  and  shallow  in  himself, 
Milton  would,  I  conceive,  thus  have  characterized  bis  old  antagonist,  Salmasius. — 

DUNSTER. 

X  Worth  a  sponge, 
Milton  most  probably  alluded  to  the  sponge  as  used  by  the  ancients  for  the  purpose 
of  blotting  out  anything  they  had  written  and  did  not  choose  to  preserve. — Dcnster. 

r  As  children  gathering  pebbles  on  the  shore. 
In  the  anecdotes  collected  by  Spence,  which  not  many  years  ago  were  published  by 
mere  than  one  editor,  the  following  is  told  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton  : — "I  don't  know,"  said 
the  sage,  "  what  I  may  seem  to  the  world;  but  as  to  myself,  I  seem  to  have  been  only  like  a 
boy  playing  on  the  sea-shore,  and  diverting  myself  in  now  and  then  finding  a  smoother 
pebble,  or  a  prettier  shell,  than  ordinary,  whilst  the  great  ocean  of  truth  lay  all  undis- 
covered before  me."     See  also  Nichols's  "  Illustr.  of  Literature,"  voL  iv.  p.  16. — Todd. 

*  Our  psalms  with  artful  terms  inscribed. 
He  means  the  inscriptions  prefixed  to  the  beginning  of  several  psalms;  such  as  "  To 
the  chief  musician  upon  Nehiloth,"  Ac,  to  denote  the  various.kinds  of  psalms  or  instru- 
ments.— N  E  WTON. 

»  Our  Hebrew  songs  and  harps,  in  Babylon 
That  pleased  so  toell  our  victors'  ear. 
This  is  said  upon  the  authority  of  Psalm  cxxxvii.  1,  <fcc. — Newtok. 

•>  That  rather  Greece  from  rts,  Ac. 
Clemens  Alexandrinus  ascribes  the  invention  of  hymn's  and  songs  to  the  Jews,  and 
says  that  the  Greeks  stole  theirs  from  them.     "  Stromat."  1.  i.  p.  308,  ed.  Colon.  1688. 
the  also  charges  the  Grecian  philosophers  with  stealing  many  of  their  doctrines  from 
the  Jewish  prophets,  1.  i.  p.  312. —  Dunster. 

c  ni  imitated. 
Because  the  subject  of  the  Hebrew  songs  was  God  himself;  the  subject  of  the  Qre- 
cian,  the  gross  and  ridiculous  deities  of  their  own  invention. — Todd. 

<•  Personating. 
This  is  tLe  Latin  sense  of  persona,  "  to  celebrate  loudly." — Dvnsteb. 

«  Swelling  epithets, 
Greek  compounds,  as  Dr.  Warburton  observes. — Todd. 


534  PAEADISB  REGAINED.  [book  it. 


As  varnish  on  a  harlot's  cheek ; '  the  rest, 

Thin  sown  with  aught  of  profit  or  delight, 

Will  far  be  found  unworthy  to  compare 

With  Sion's  songs,^  to  all  true  tastes  excelling. 

Where  God  is  praised  aright,*"  and  godlike  men, 

The  Holiest  of  Holies,  and  his  saints, 

(Such  are  from  God  inspired,  not  such  from  thee) 

Unless  where  mortal  virtue  is  express'd 

By  light  of  Nature,  not  in  all  quite  lost.' 

Their  orators  thou  then  extoU'st,  as  those 

The  top  of  eloquence ;  statists-"  indeed. 

And  lovers  of  their  country,  as  may  seem ; 

But  herein  to  our  prophets  far  beneath. 

As  men  divinely  taught,  and  better  teaching 

The  solid  rules  of  civil  government, 

In  their  majestick  unaffected  style. 

Than  all  the  oratory  of  Greece  and  Rome. 

t  Thick  laid 
A»  varnish  on  a  harlot's  cheek. 
As  Milton,  most  probably,  had  in  his  mind  the  following  lines  of  Shakspeare, '  Ham- 
let," a.  iii.  s.  1 : — 

The  harlot's  cheek,  beautified  with  plastering  art, 
Is  not  more  usly  to  Ihe  lliins  that  helps  it, 
Than  is  my  deed,  &c.— Di'nster. 

s  Will  far  he  found  unworthy  to  compare 
With  iSiori/s  songs. 
He  was  of  this  opinion  not  only  in  the  decline  of  life,  but  likewise  in  his  earliei 
days,  as  appears  from  the  preface  to  his  second  book  of  the  "  Reason  of  Church  Govern- 
ment :" — "  Or  if  occasion  shall  lead  to  imitate  those  magnifick  odes  and  hymns  wherein 
Pindarus  and  Callimachus  are  in  most  things  worthy,  some  others  in  their  frame  judi- 
cious, in  their  matter  most  an  end  faulty.  But  those  frequent  songs  throughout  the 
law  and  prophets  beyond  all  these,  not  in  their  divine  argument  alone,  but  in  the  very 
critical  art  of  composition,  may  be  easily  made  appear,  over  all  the  kinds  of  lyriok  poesy, 
to  be  incomparable." — Newton. 

h  Where  God  i»  praised  aright,  Ac. 
Such  is  part  of  the  conclusion,  which  he  deduces  from  his  consideration  of  poetical 
subjects  "of  highest  hope  and  hardest  attempting," — "Reason  of  Church  Government," 
pref.  b.  ii. : — "These  abilities,  wheresoever  they  be  found,  are  the  inspired  gift  of  God, 
rarely  bestowed,  but  yet  to  some  (though  most  abuse)  in  every  nation ;  and  are  of 
powei,  beside  the  office  of  a  pulpit,  to  imbreed  and  cherish  in  a  great  people  the  seeds 
of  virtue  and  public  civility,  Ac.  to  celebrate  in  glorious  and  lofty  hymns  the  throne 
and  equipage  of  God's  almightiness,  and  what  he  works,  Ac.  to  sing  victorious  agonies 
of  martyrs  and  saints,"  Ac. — Todd. 

'  {Such  are  from  God  inspired,  not  axieh  from  thee) 
Unless  where  moral  virtue  is  express'd 
By  light  of  Nature,  not  in  nil  quite  lost. 
The  annotators  puzzle  themselves  about  this  passage  :  it  seems  to  me  to  mean,  that 
the  Greek  compositions  were  "unworthy  to  compare  with  Sion's  songs,"  from  their 
vitiated  taste;  unless  where  "  the  light  of  nature"  still  remained  so  strong,  as  to  enable 
them  to  feel  and  "  express  moral  virtue." 

i  Statists. 
Or  "statesmen."    A  word,  as  Dr.  Newton  observes,  in  more  frequent  use  formerly ; 
us  in  Shakspeare,  "  Cymbeline,"  a.  ii.  s.  5  : — 

I  do  believe, 
Statist  though  I  am  none,  nor  like  to  be. 

And,  as  Mr.  Dunster  adds,  Milton  uses  it  in  his  "  Prose  Works,"  vol.  i.  p.  424,  ed.  1698. 
He  uses  it  also  in  the  same  sense  in  his  "  Prose  Works,"  vol.  i.  ed.  sup.  p.  141.  and  n 
302.— Todd.  r  r         »  y 


BOOK  IV.]  PARADISE  REGAINED^ 535 

In  them  is  plainest  taught,  and  easiest  learnt, 
What  makes  a  nation  happy,  and  keeps  it  so ;  * 
What  ruins  kingdoms,  and  lays  cities  flat : 
These  only  with  our  law  best  form  a  king. 

So  spake  the  Son  of  God  :  but  Satan,  now 
Quite  at  a  loss,  (for  all  his  darts  were  spent') 
Thus  to  our  Saviour  with  stern  brow  replied : 

Since  neither  wealth  nor  honour,  arms  nor  arts, 
Kingdom  nor  empire  pleases  thee,  nor  aught 
By  me  proposed  in  life  contemplative 
Or  active,  tended  on  by  glory  or  fame. 
What  dost  thou  in  this  world  ?     The  wilderness 
For  thee  is  fittest  place ;  I  found  thee  there. 
And  thither  will  return  thee  :  yet  remember 
What  I  foretell  thee  :  soon  thou  shalt  have  cause 
To  wish  thou  never  hadst  rejected,  thus 
Nicely  or  cautiously,"  my  offer'd  aid. 
Which  would  have  set  thee  in  short  time  with  ease 
On  David's  throne,  or  throne  of  all  the  world, 
Now  at  full  age,  fulness  of  time,  thy  season," 
When  prophecies  of  thee  are  best  fulfiU'd. 
Now  contrary,  if  I  read  aught  in  heaven," 
Or  heaven  write  aught  of  fate,  by  what  the  stars 
Voluminous,  or  single  ^characters. 
In  their  conjunction  met,  give  me  to  spell; 
Sorrows,  and  labours,  opposition,  hate 
Attend  thee,  scorns,  reproaches,  injuries. 
Violence  and  stripes,  and  lastly  cruel  death  : 
A  kingdom  they  portend  thee ;  but  what  kingdom, 
Real  or  allegorick,  I  discern  not ; 
Nor  when ;  eternal  sure,  as  without  end, 

k  Maket  a  nation  happy,  and  keeps  it  to. 

Horace,  Epist.  i.  vi.  42  : 

Facere  et  sevare  beatem.— Richardson. 
I  For  all  his  darts  were  spent. 
Possibly  with  a  reference  to  "  the  fiery  darts  of  the  wicked,"  Ephes.  vi.  16.— Dcn8te» 
The  allusion  may  be  to  holy  writ,  in  which  the  words  of  wicked  men  are  express^ 
termed  "arrows:" — "Who  whet  their  tongue  like  a  sword;  and  shoot  out  their  arrows, 
even  bitter  words,"  Psalm  Ixiv.  3. — Todd. 

m  Nicely  or  cautiously. 
Thus  ver.  157  of  this  book; — 

Nothing  will  please  the  difficult  and  nice.— Dunstbr. 

•>  Fulness  of  time,  thy  season, 

Qalat.  iv.  4. — Newton. 

0  1/  I  read  aught  in  heaven. 

A  satire  on  Cardan,  who  with  the  boldness  and  impiety  of  an  atheist  and  a  madman, 
both  of  which  he  was,  cast  the  nativity  of  Jesus  Christ;  and  found  by  the  great  and 
illustrious  concourse  of  stars,  at  his  birth,  that  he  must  needs  have  the  fortune  which 
befell  him,  and  become  the  author  of  a  religion,  which  should  spread  itself  far  and 
near  for  many  ages.  The  great  Milton,  with  a  just  indignation  of  this  impiety,  hath 
satirized  it  in  a  very  beautiful  manner,  by  putting  these  reveries  into  the  mouth  of  the 
devil.—  Newton. 


536  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  it. 

Without  beginning  ;!•  for  no  date  prefix'd 
Directs  me  in  the  starry  rubrick  set. 

So  saying,  he  took,  (for  still  he  knew  his  power  ^ 

Not  yet  expired)  and  to  the  wilderness 
Brought  back  the  Son  of  God,  and  left  him  there, 
Feigning  to  disappear.     Darkness  now  rose, 
As  daylight  sunk,  and  brought  in  lowering  Night, 
Her  shadowy  offspring  ;  i  unsubstantial  both,' 
Privation  mere  of  light  and  absent  day.' 
Our  Saviour  meek,  and  with  untroubled  mind 
After  his  aery  jaunt,  though  hurried  sore. 
Hungry  and  cold,  betook  him  to  his  rest, 
Wherever,  under  some  concourse  of  shades. 
Whose  branching  arms  thick  intertwined  might  shield 
From  dews  and  damps  of  night  his  shelter'd  head; 
But,  shelter'd,  slept  in  vain ;  for  at  his  head 
The  tempter  watch'd,  and  soon  with  ugly  dreams 
Disturb'd  his  sleep.*     And  either  tropick  now 
'Gan  thunder,  and  both  ends  of  heaven ; "  the  clouds, 

p  A»  without  end, 
Without  heginning. 
"  The  poet,"  says  Dr.  Newton,  "  did  not  think  it  enough  to  discredit  judicial  astrology, 
by  making  it  patronized  by  the  devil:  to  show  at  the  same  time  the  absurdity  of  it,  he 
makes  the  devil  also  blunder  in  the  expression  of  portending  a  kingdom  which  was 
without  beginning.  This,"  he  adds,  "  destroys  all  he  would  insinuate."  But  the  poet 
certainly  never  meant  to  make  the  tempter  a  blunderer.  The  fact  is,  the  language  is 
here  intended  t-^  be  highly  sarcastic  on  the  eternity  of  Christ's  kingdom,  respecting 
which  the  tempter  says,  he  believes  it  will  have  one  of  the  properties  of  eternity,  that 
of  never  beginning.  This  is  that  species  of  insulting  wit  which  the  devils,  in  the  sixth 
book  of  the  "  Paradise  Lost,"  indulge  themselves  in  on  the  first  effects  of  the  artillery 
they  had  invented ;  where  Mr.  Thyer,  as  cited  by  Dr.  Newton,  observes  that  Milton  is 
not  to  be  blamed  for  introducing  it,  "  when  we  consider  the  character  of  the  speakers, 
and  that  such  kind  of  insulting  wit  is  most  peculiar  to  proud,  contemptuous  spirits." — 

DUNSTER. 

1  Her  shadowy  offspring. 
Night  was  sometimes  the  parent,  and  Darkness  the  offspring:  but  Milton's  theogony 
Is  conformable  to  Hyginus,  who  makes  Caligo,  or  Darkness,  the  mother  of  Night,  Day, 
Erebus,  and  Ether. — Dunster. 

>■  Unsubstantial  both. 
Euripides,  in  a  chorus  of  his  "  Orestes,"  personifying  Night,  calls  upon  her  to  arise 
from  Erebus,  or  the  shades  below ;  where,  it  may  be  observed,  the  scholiast  rectifies  the 
philosophy  of  the  poet,  by  explaining  night  or  darkness  as  really  "  unsubstantial,"  and 
merely  produced  by  the  absence  of  light,  or  day. — Dunster. 

•  Absent  day. 
This  description,  with  what  follows  in  the  next  nine  lines,  is  very  beautifuL 

t  And  soon  with  ugly  dreams 
Disturb'd  his  sleep. 
In  the  "  Paradise  Lost,"  the  tempter  begins  his  temptation  of  Eve  by  working  on  her 
Imagination  in  dreams,  b.  iv.  800,  Ac.     Here  it  may  be  observed,  the  tempter  tries  only 
"to  disturb  our  Lord  with  ugly  dreams;"  and  not  to  excite  in  him,  as  he  did  in  Eve, 
"  vain  hopes,  vain  aims,  inordinate  desires." — Dunster. 

»  And  either  tropick  now 
'Gan  thunder,  and  both  ends  of  heaven. 
It  thundered  from  both  tropics,  that  is  perhaps  from  the  right  and  from  the  left,— 

JORTIN. 

By  "either  tropick  now 'gan  thunder,"  Dr.  Newton  understands  it  thundered  from 
the  north  and  from  the  south ;  but  he  observes  that  the  expression  is  inaccurate,  the 
situation  of  our  Saviour  not  being  within  the  tropics.     By  "  and  both  ends  of  heaven," 


BOOK  IV.] 


PARADISE  REGAINED. 


53t 


From  many  a  horrid  rift,'  abortive  pour'd 
Fierce  rain  with  lightning  mix'd,  water  with  fire 
In  ruin  reconciled :  *  nor  slept  the  winds 
Within  their  stony  caves,''  but  rush'd  abroad 
From  the  four  hinges  of  the  world,y  and  fell 
On  the  vex'd  wilderness,  whose  tallest  pines. 
Though  rooted  deep  as  high;*  and  sturdiest  oaks, 
Bow'd  their  stiff  necks,  loaden  with  stormy  blasts," 

he  nnderstands  "  from"  or  "at  both  ends  of  heaven;"  the  preposition  being  omitted,  as 
is  frequent  in  Milton.     He  therefore  reads  the  passage  thus : 

either  tropick  now 
'Can  thunder ;  and,  both  ends  of  heaven,  the  clouds 
From  nwny  a  horrid  rift  abortive  pour'd,  &c. 

I  agree,  that  by  "  either  tropicli"  Milton  most  probably  meant  that  it  thundered  from 
the  north  and  south ;  but  I  conceive  that  by  "both  ends  of  heaven,"  he  means  east  and 
west,  the  points  where  the  sun  rises  and  sets ;  as  his  purpose  is  to  describe  a  general 
Btorm,  not  coming  from  any  particular  quarter,  nor  only  from  north  and  south,  but  from 
every  point  of  the  horizon  at  once. — Dunster, 

/  The  elovds, 
From  many  a  horrid  rift,  Ac. 
This  storm  of  Milton  will  lose  nothing  by  a  comparison  with  the  celebrated  ones  of 
Homer  in  his  fifth  "Odyssey,"  and  of  Virgil  in  his  first  "^neid."  It  is  painted  from 
nature,  and  in  the  boldest  style.  The  night  is  a  lowering  one,  with  a  heavy  overcharged 
atmosphere  :  the  storm  commences  with  thunder  from  every  part  of  the  heavens :  the  rain 
then  pours  down  in  sudden  precipitated  torrents,  finely  marked  by  the  epithet  "abor- 
tive," as  materially  different  from  the  gradual  progression  of  the  most  violent  common 
showers;  and  the  lightnings  seem  to'burstin  a  tremendous  manner  from  "horrid  rifts," 
from  the  most  internal  recesses  of  the  sky.  To  make  the  horror  complete,  the  winds, 
as  is  often  the  case  in  those  countries  where  thunder-storms  are  most  violent,  join  their 
force  to  that  of  the  other  two  elements.  Violent  winds  do  not  often  attend  violent 
thunder-storms  in  this  country ;  and  therefore  Mr.  Thyer  has  thought  it  necessary  to 
observe  that  the  accounts  we  have  of  hurricanes  in  the  West  Indies  agree  pretty  much 
to  this  description :  but  such  storms  are  not  confined  to  tropical  situations,  or  even  to 
oountriea  approaching  towards  them. — Dunster. 

"■  Water  with  fire 
In  ruin  reconciled. 
Dr.  Warburton  nnderstands  this,  "joined  together  to  do  hurt."     Mr.  Thyer  says  it  ifl 
a  bold  figure  borrowed  from  JSschylus's  description  of  the  storm  that  scattered  the  Gre- 
cian fleet,  "  Agamem."  v.  559. 

But  I  apprehend  Dr.  Newton  sees  the  passage  in  its  true  light,  when  he  says,  it  only 
means  "the  fire  and  water  fell  (i.e.  rushed  down)  together,"  according  to  Milton's 
osage  of  the  word  "ruin,"  "Paradise  Lost,"  b.  i.  46,  and  "ruining,"  b.  vi.  868:  thus 
also  ver.  436  of  this  book:  "After  a  night  of  storm  so  ruinous." — DnNSTER. 

X  Nor  slept  the  winds 
Within  their  stony  eaves. 
Virgil  describes  the  winds  as  placed  by  Jupiter  in  certain  deep  dark  caves  of  the 
earth,  under  the  control  of  their  god  ^olus,'"^n."  i.  521. 

Lucan  also  speaks  of  the  "  stony  prison"  of  the  winds,  lib.  v.  609 :  and  see  Lucretius, 
lib.  vL — Dunster. 

y  But  rush'd  abroad 
From  the /our  hinges  of  the  world. 
That  is,  from  the  four  cardinal  points ;  cardo  signifying  both  a  "  hinge"  and  a  **  car- 
dinal point,"  Virgil,  "^n."  i.  85. 

«  Though  rooted  deep  as  high,  &0. 
Virgil,  "  JEn."  iv.  445. 

Quantum  vertice  ad  auras 
.£therca8,  tantum  radice  ad  Tartara  tondit. — Richasdsoh. 

*  Loaden  with  stormy  blasts. 
This  has  some  reseml  lance  to  Horace's  "  aquilonibus  queroeta  Gargani  laborant,"  Od 
ii.  ix. — Dunster. 
68 


538  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  ir. 

Or  toru  up  sheer."     Ill  wast  thou  shrouded  then, 

O  patient  Son  of  God,  yet  only  stood' st 

Unshaken  ! "     Nor  yet  stay'd  the  terrour  there  j 

Infernal  ghosts  and  hellish  furies  round 

Environ'd  thee ;  some  howl'd,  some  yell'd/  some  shriek'd, 

Some  bent  at  thee  their  fiery  darts,  while  thou 

Sat'st  unappall'd  in  calm  and  sinless  peace ! 

Thus  pass'd  the  night  so  foul,  till  Morning  fair 

Came  forth,  with  pilgrim  steps,  in  amice  gray;" 

"Who  with  her  radiant  finger  still' d  the  roar 

Of  thunder,  chased  the  clouds,  and  laid  the  winds/ 

And  grisly  spectres,*  whichr  the  fiend  had  raised 

To  tempt  the  Son  of  God  ^  with  terrours  dire. 

And  now  the  sun '  with  more  effectual  beams 

•>  Or  torn  up  sheer. 
This  magnificent  description  of  the  storm  thus  raised  by  Satan  in  the  wildemeess  is 
is  iidmirablo  and  striking  that  it  need  not  be  enlarged  upon. 

e  Yet  only  stood'st 
Unshaken. 
Milton  seems  to  have  raised  this  scene  out  of  what  he  found  in  Eusebius,  "  De  Dem. 
Evan."  (lib.  ix.  vol.  ii.  p.  434,  ed.  Col.)     The  fiends  surround  our  Kedeemer  with  their 
threats  and  terrors  j  but  they  have  no  eflFect. — Calton. 

"J  Infernal  ghosts  and  hellish  furies  round 
Environ'd  thee  ;  some  hotcl'd,  some  yell'd,  &o. 
This  too  is  from  Eusebius,  ibid.  p.  435. — Calton. 

,  e  Till  Morning  fair 

Came  forth,  with  pilgrim  steps,  in  amice  gray, 
"Amice,"  Dr.  Newton  observes,  a  significant  word,  is  derived  from  the  Latin  amieio, 
"to  clothe."  But  this  does  not  hit  the  full  meaning  of  Milton's  imagery.  The  combi- 
nation,  "  amice  gray,"  is  from  what  is  called  graiua  amictus,  an  ofiiciating  garment  in 
the  Roman  ritual.  "  Amice"  occurs  simply  for  a  priest's  service-habit  in  Spenser's 
"  Faer.  Qu."  i.  iv.  18.— T.  Warton. 

'  Who  with  her  radiant  finger  still' d  the  roar 
Of  thunder,  chased  the  clouds,  and  laid  the  winds,  Ac. 
This  is  an  imitation  of  a  passage  in  the  first  ^neid  of  Virgil,  where  Neptune  is  repre- 
sented with  his  trident  laying  the  storm  which  ^olus  had  raised,  ver.  142.  There  is 
the  greater  beauty  in  the  English  poet,  as  the  scene  he  is  describing  under  this  charm- 
ing figure  is  perfectly  consistent  with  the  course  of  nature,  nothing  being  more  common 
than  to  see  a  stormy  night  succeeded  by  a  pleasant  serene  morning. — Thyeb. 

S  And  gritiy  spectres,  Ac. 

See  our  author's  "  Ode  on  the  Nativity,"  st.  xxvi.,  where  he  beautifully  applies  the 
vulgar  superstition  of  spirits  disappearing  at  the  break  of  day  as  the  ground-work  of  a 
comparison.  He  supposes  that  all  the  false  deities  of  every  species  of  the  heathen 
theology  departed  at  the  birth  of  Christ,  as  spectres  and  demons  vanish  when  the 
morning  dawns.  Under  the  same  superstitious  belief,  Milton  here  makes  the  fiends 
retire,  who  had  been  assembled  in  the  night  to  terrify  our  Saviour,  when  the  mom 
arose. — T.  Warton. 

h  To  tempt  the  Son  of  God,  Ac. 

An  eminent  and  excellent  divine  is  of  the  same  opinion  as  the  poet  with  respect  to 
"the  evil  spirits  which  the  fiend  raised,"  when  he  tempted  our  Lord: — "This,  as  we 
Tiiay  probably  suppose,  was  the  devil's  way  of  tempting  or  trying  our  Lord,  during  the 
forty  days  and  nights  of  his  fast;  and  many  opportunities,  no  doubt,  he  had  in  so  long 
a  time  by  frightful  dreams  when  he  slept,  frequent  apparitions  and  illusions  of  evU 
spirits  in  the  night,"  Ac.     Bragge  on  the  Miracles,  vol.  ii.  p.  12. — Todd. 

>  And  now  the  sun,  Ac. 
There  is  in  ihis  description  all  the  bloom  of  Milton's  youthful  fancy.    We  may  com- 
pare an  evening  scene  of  the  same  kind,  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  ii.  488 — 495. — Thteb. 


JOOK  IV.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  539 

Had  cheer'd  the  face  of  earth,  and  dried  the  wet 

From  drooping  plant  or  dropping  tree ;  the  birds, 

Who  all  things  now  behold  more  fresh  and  green,   * 

After  a  night  of  storm  so  ruinous, 

Clear'd  up  their  choicest  notes  in  bush  and  spray. 

To  gratulate  the  sweet  return  of  morn. 

Nor  yet,  amidst  this  joy  and  brightest  morn, 

Was  absent,  after  all  his  mischief  done. 

The  prince  of  darkness ;  glad  would  also  seem 

Of  this  fair  change,  and  to  our  Saviour  came ; 

Yet  with  no  new  device ;  (they  all  were  spent) 

Rather  by  this  his  last  aiFront  resolved, 

Desperate  of  better  course,  to  vent  his  rage 

And  mad  despite  to  be  so  oft  repell'd. 

Him  walking  on  a  sunny  hill  he  found, 

Back'd  on  the  north  and  west  by  a  thick  wood. 

Out  of  the  wood  he  starts  in  wonted  shape,^ 

And  in  a  careless  mood  thus  to  him  said  : 

Fair  morning  yet  betides  thee.  Son  of  God, 
After  a  dismal  night :  I  heard  the  wrack, 
'    As  earth  and  sky  would  mingle ;  but  myself 

Was  distant ;  and  these  flaws,"  though  mortals  fear  them 

As  dangerous  to  the  pillar'd  frame  of  heaven,' 

Or  to  the  earth's,  dark  basis  underneath. 

Are  to  the  main  as  inconsiderable 

And  harmless,  if  not  wholesome,  as  a  sneeze 

To  man's  less  universe,  and  soon  are  gone : 

Yet,  as  being  ofttimes  noxious  where  they  light 

On  man,  beast,  plant,  wasteful  and  turbulent. 

Like  turbulencies  in  the  affairs  of  men. 

Over  whose  heads  they  roar,  and  seem  to  point. 

They  oft  fore-signify  and  threaten  ill : 

This  tempest  at  this  desert  most  was  bent; 

Of  men  at  thee,  for  only  thou  here  dwell' st. 

Did  I  not  tell  thee,  if  thou  didst  reject 

It  is  impossible  to  forbear  remarking  that  the  preceding  description  exhibits  some 
of  the  finest  lines  which  Milton  has  written  in  all  his  poems. — Jos.  Wabtok. 

i  In  wonted  shape. 

That  is,  in  his  own  proper  shape,  and  not  under  any  disguise,  as  at  each  of  the 
former  times  when  he  appeared  to  our  blessed  Lord. — Dunster, 
Compare  "  Par.  Lost,"  b.  iv.  819, 

So  started  up  iii  his  own  shape  the  fiend. — Todd. 
^  These  flaws. 
"  Flaw  "  is  a  sea-term,  as  Mr.  Dunster  observes,  for  a  sudden  8t6rm  or  gust  of 
wind.    See  "Par.  Lost,"  b.  x.  697.— Todd. 

•  As  dangerous  to  the  pillar'd  frame  of  heaven. 
See  also  "  Comus,"  v.  596. 

If  this  fail, 
The  pillar'd  firmament  is  rottenness. 

In  both,  no  doubt,  alluding  to  Job,  xxvi.  11.    "The  pillars  of  heaven  tremble,  and 
are  astonished  at  his  reproof." — Thyeb. 


540  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  it. 


The  perfect  season  offer'd  with  my  aid  " 

To  win  thy  destined  seat,  but  wilt  prolong 

All  to  the  push  of  fate,  pursue  thy  way 

Of  gaining  David's  throne,  no  man  knows  when, 

For  both  the  when  and  how  is  nowhere  told  ? 

Thou  shalt  be  what  thou  art  ordain'd,  no  doubt; 

For  angels  have  proclaim'd  it,  but  concealing 

The  time  and  means.     Each  act  is  rightliest  done, 

Not  when  it  must,  but  when  it  may  be  best ; 

If  thou  observe  not  this,  be  sure  to  find, 

What  I  foretold  thee,"  many  a  hard  assay 

Of  dangers,  and  adversities,  and  pains,  ^ 

Ere  thou  of  Israel's  sceptre  get  fast  hold ; 

Whereof  this  ominous  night,  that  closed  thee  round, 

So  many  terrors,  voices,  prodigies. 

May  warn  thee,  as  a  sure  foregoing  sign. 

So  talk'd  he,  while  the  Son  of  God  went  on 
And  stay'd  not,  but  in  brief  him  answer'd  thus : 

Me  worse  than  wet  thou  find'st  not;  other  harm, 
Those  terrours,  which  thou  speak' st  of,  did  me  none : 
I  never  fear'd  they  could,  though  noising  loud 
And  threatening  nigh :  what  they  can  do,  as  signs 
Betokening,  or  ill  boding,  I  contemn 
As  false  portents,  not  sent  from  God,  but  thee : 
W^ho,  knowing  I  shall  reign  past  thy  preventing, 
Obtrudest  thy  ofier'd  aid,  that  I,  accepting, 
At  least  might  seem  to  hold  all  power  of  thee, 
Ambitious  spirit !  and  wouldst  be  thought  my  God ; 
And  storm'st  refused,  thinking  to  terrify 
Me  to  thy  will !  desist,  (thou  art  discern'd, 
And  toil'st  in  vain)  nor  me  in  vain  molest. 

To  whom  the  fiend,  now  swoln  with  rage,  replied : 
Then  hear,  0  Son  of  David,  virgin-born, 
For  Son  of  God  to  me  is  yet  in  doubt ; " 

"•  Did  I  not  tell  thee,  if  thou  didst  reject 
The  perfect  season  offered  with  my  aid,  Ac. 
Here  is  something  to  be  understood  after  "  Did  I  not  tell  thee  ?"     The  thing  told  we 
may  suppose  to  be  what  Satan  had  before  said,  b.  iii.  351. 

Thy  kingdom,  though  foretold 
By  prophet  or  by  aiigol,  unless  thou 
Eniloavour,  as  thy  uither  David  did. 
Thou  never  shalt  obtain,  &c. — Dvnstbb. 

1  What  I  foretold  thee,  Ac. 

See  Tcr.  374,  and  ver.  381  to  ver.  389  of  this  book.— Dunsteb. 

o  Then  hear,  0  Son  of  David,  virgin-born, 
For  Son  of  God  to  me  is  yet  in  doubt. 
That  Satan  should  seriously  address  our  Lord  as  "  virgin-bom,"  because  he  enter- 
tained doubts  whether  he  was  in  any  respect  the  Son  of  God,  is  palpably  inconsequent, 
"To  be  born  of  a  virgin,"  Mr.  Calton  observes,  from  Bishop  Pearson  in  a  subsequent 
note,  "is  not  so  far  above  the  production  of  all  mankind,  as  to  place  our  Lord  in  that 
singular  eminence  which  must  be  attributed  to  the  only-begotten  Son  of  God."  But  it 
must  be  recollected  that  the  subject  of  this  poem  is  a  trial  ad  probandum  whether  the 
person  declared  to  be  the  Son  of  God  was  really  the  Messiah  :  to  acknowledge  therefore 
that  he  was  beyond  all  dispute  born  of  a  virgin,  and  had  thereby  fulfilled  so  material 


BOOK  IV.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  541 

Of  the  Messiah  I  have  heard  foretold 

Bj  all  the  prophets;. of  thy  birth  at  length, 

Announced  by  Gabriel,  with  the  first  I  knew  J 

And  of  the  angelick  song  in  Bethlehem  field. 

On  thy  birth-night  that  sung  thee  Saviour  born 

From  that  time  seldom  have  I  ceased  to  eye 

Thy  infancy,  thy  childhood,  and  thy  youth ; 

Thy  manhood  last,  though  yet  In  private  bred ; 

Till  at  the  ford  of  Jordan,  whither  all 

Flock'd  to  the  Baptist,  I  among  the  rest, 

(Though  not  to  be  baptized)  by  voice  from  heaven 

Heard  thee  pronounced  the  Son  of  God  beloved. 

Thenceforth  I  thought  thee  worth  my  nearer  view 

And  narrower  scrutiny,  that  I  might  learn 

In  what  degree  or  meaning  thou  art  call'd 

The  Son  of  God ;  which  bears  no  single  sense. 

The  son  of  God  I  also  am,  or  was ; 

And  if  I  was,  I  am ;  relation  stands  : 

All  men  are  sons  of  God';  yet  thee  I  thought 

In  Some  respect  far  higher  so  declared : 

Therefore  I  watch'd  thy  footsteps  from  that  hour, 

And  follow'd  thee  still  on  to  this  waste  wild ; 

Where,  by  all  best  conjectures,  I  collect 

Thou  art  to  be  my  firtal  enemy  : 

Good  reason  then,  if  I  before-hand  seek  • 

To  understand  my  adversary,  who 

And  what  he  is;  his  wisdom,  power,  intent; 

By  pari  or  composition,  truce  or  league. 

To  win  him,  or  win  from  him  what  I  can  : 

And  opportunity  I  here  have  had 

To  try  thee,  sift  thee,  and  confess  have  found  thee 

Proof  against  all  temptation,?  as  a  rock 

Of  adamant,  and,  as  a  centre,  firm ; 

To  the  utmost  of  mere  man  both  wise  and  good, 

a  prophecy  respecting  the  Messiah,  would  be  to  admit  in  some  degree  the  point  in 
question ;  and  liowever  "  virgin-born  "  might  not  be  supposed  to  ascertain  in  any 
degree  the  claim  to  the  Messiahship,  still  it  could  never  be  used  in  an  address  to  our 
Lord  meant  to  lower  him  to  mere  man.  "8on  of  David,"  single  and  by  itself,  was 
an  expression  that  Satan  might  be  expected  to  use,  when,  characterizing  our  Lord  as 
a  mere  human  being,  he  professed  to  disbelieve  that  he  was  the  Son  of  God,  born  in 
a  miraculous  manner  of  a  pure  virgin,  as  it  was  foretold  the  Messiah  should  be. 
"  Virgin-born  "  then  must  be  considered  as  intended  to  be  highly  sarcastic :  it  is  an 
epithet  of  the  most  pointed  derision  ;  resembling  the  "  Hail,  king  of  the  Jews  !  and 
they  smote  him  with  their  hands."  It  is  that  species  of  blasphemous  insult,  which 
might  be  expected  from  the  arch-fiend,  who  at  the  opening  of  the  speech  is  described 
"swolnwith  rage." — Dunstkr. 

Dr.  Joseph  Warton  is  also  of  opinion,  that  "virgin-bom"  is  here  a  highly  sarcas- 
tical  expression. — Todd. 

p  Proof  against  all  temptation. 

Compare  Spenser,  "  Faer.  Qu."  i.  vi.  4. 

But  words,  and  lookps.  and  sighs,  she  did  abhore, 
As  rock  of  diamond  stedfast  evermore. 

"  Rock  of  adamant "  is  a  phrase  in  Saudys's  "  Job,"  p.  29,  ed.  1641,  and  in  Shirley's 
"  Imposture,"  p.  67,  ed.  1652.— Todd. 


.  542  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  it. 


Not  more  j  for  honours,  riches,  kingdoms,  glory, 
Have  been  before  contemn'd,  and  may  again. 
Therefore  to  know  what  more  thou  art  than  man, 
Worth  naming  Son  of  God  by  voice  from  heaven,' 
Another  method  I  must  now  begin. 

So  saying,  he  caught  him  up,  and,  without  wing 
Of  hippogrif,""  bore  through  the  air  sublime, 
Over  the  wilderness  and  o'er  the  plain ; 
Till  underneath  them  fair  Jerusalem, 
The  holy  city,*  lifted  high  her  towers,* 
And  higher  yet  the  glorious  temple  rear'd 
Her  pile,  far  off  appearing  like  a  mount 
Of  alabaster,  topt  with  golden  spires  : 
There,  on  the  highest  pinnacle,  he  set 
The  Son  of  God ; "  and  added  thus  in  scorn  : 

There  stand,  if  thou  wilt  stand  ;  to  stand  upright 
Will  ask  thee  skill :  I  to  thy  Father's  house 
Have  brought  thee,  and  highest  placed :  highest  is  best : 
Now  show  thy  progeny ;  if  not  to  stand, 
Cast  thyself  down ;  safely,  if  Son  of  God : 
For  it  is  written, — He  will  give  command 
Concerning  thee  to  his  angels :  in  their  hands 
They  shall  uplift  thee,  lest  at  any  time 
Thou  chance  to  dash  thy  foot  against  a  stone. 

To  whom  thus  Jesus :  Also  it  is  written, 
Tempt  not  the  Lord  thy  God.     He  said,  and  stood  :  ^ 

1  What  more  thou  art  than  man, 
Worth  naming  Son  of  God  by  voice  from  heaven. 
See  Bishop  Pearson  "on  the  Creed,"  p.  106. — Calton. 

»  Without  wing 
Of  hippogrif. 
Here  Milton  designed  a  reflection  upon  the  Italian  poets,  and  particularly  upon 
Ariosto.     Ariosto  frequently  makes  use  of  the  hippogrif  to   convey  his  heroes  from 
place  to  place. — Newton. 

Not  intended,  as  Dr.  Newton  supposes,  as  a  reflection  upon  the  Italian  poets ;  hut  as 
an  aUusion  merely  to  his  favourite  Ariosto,  whose  charming  fancies  he  could  not  forget 
eTen  in  his  old  age. — Jos.  Warton. 

•  The  holy  eity. 

Jerusalem  is  frequently  so  called  in  the  Old  Testament :  it  is  also  called  the  "  holy 
city"  by  St.  Matthew,  who  wrote  his  Gospel  for  the  use  of  the  Jewish  converts;  but 
by  him  only,  of  the  four  Evangelists. — Dunsteb. 

*  Lifted  high  her  towers. 
Sandys,  describing  Jerusalem,  gives  a  minute  account  of  the  remarkable  height  of 
her  various  towers ;  some  of  which,  he  adds,  were  topped  with  spires,  as  Milton  says, 
ver.  548.    See  his  "  Travels,"  edit.  1615,  pp.  156,  157.— Todd. 

"  There,  on  the  highest  pinnacle,  he  set 
The  Son  of  God. 
He  has  chosen  to  follow  the  order  observed  by  St.  Luke,  in-  placing  this  temptation 
last ;  because  if  he  had,  with  St.  Matthew,  introduced  it  in  the  middle,  it  would  have 
broke  that  fine  thread  of  moral  reasoning,  which  is  observed  in  the  course  of  the 
other  temptations. — Thybb. 

*  Tempt  not  the  Lord  thy  God.    He  said,  and  stood. 
Here  is  what  we  may  call,  after  Aristotle,  the  dvayviipwii,  or  the  discovery.    Christ 
declares  himself  to  be  the  God  and  Lord  of  the  tempter ;  and  to  prove  it,  stands 
upon  the  pinnacle.    This  was  evidently  the  poet's  meaning. — Caltow. 


BOOK  IV.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  543 

But  Satan,  omitten  with  amazement,  fell. 
As  when  Earth's  son,  Antaeus,''  (to  compare 
Small  things  with  greatest")  in  Irassa''  strove 
With  Jove's  Alcides,"  and,  oft  foil'd,  still  rose," 
Keceiving  from  his  mother  Earth  new  strength,* 
Fresh  from  his  fall,  and  fiercer  grapple  join'd ; 
Throttled  at  length  in  the  air,  expired  and  fell : 
So,  after  many  a  foil,  the  tempter  proud. 
Renewing  fresh  assaults  amidst  his  pride. 
Fell  whence  he  stood  to  see  his  victor  fall : 
And  as  that  Theban  monster,"  that  proposed 
Her  riddle,  and  him  who  solved  it  not  devour'd ; 
That  once  found  out  and  solved,  for  grief  and  spite 
Cast  herself  headlong  from  the  Ismenian  steep : 
So,  struck  with  dread  and  anguish,  fell  the  fiend ; 
And  to  his  crew,  that  sat  consulting,  brought 
(Joyless  triumphals  of  his  hoped  success) 
Iluin,  and  desperation,  and  dismay. 
Who  durst  so  proudly  tempt  the  Son  of  God. 
So  Satan  fell; — and  straight ^  a  fiery  globe 

^  Earth's  son,  Antceus. 
This  simile  in  the  person  of  the  poet  is  amazingly  fine. — Warburton. 

^  {To  compare 
Small  things  with  greatest.) 
This  is  the  third  time  Milton  has  imitated  Virgil's  "  sio  parvis  componere  magna 
solebam," — Eel.  i.  24.     See  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  ii.  921 ;  b.  x.  306.     Some  such  mode  of 
qualifying  common  similes  is  necessary  to  a  poet  writing  on  divine  subjects. — Dunsteh 

y  In  Irassa, 

AntSBUs  dwelt  at  the  city  Irassa,  according  to  Pindar;  but  it  was  not  there  that  he 
wrestled  with  Hercules,  but  at  Lixos,  according  to  Pliny,  "  Nat  Hist."  lib.  v.  cap.  1. — 
Meadowcotjrt. 

»  With  Jove's  Alcides. 

There  were  so  many  Hercules  in  the  Grecian  mythology  and  history,  that  it  was 
necessary  to  specify  when  the  principal  Hercules,  the  son  of  Jupiter  and  Alcmena,  was 
meant.  Thus  Cicero,  "De  Nat.  Deor."  lib.  iii.  16:  "Quanquam  quem  potissiraum 
Herculem  colamus,  scire  sane  velim;  plures  enim  nobis  tradunt  ii,  qui  interiores 
scrutantur  et  reconditas  literas ;  antiquissimum  Jove  natum."  Varro  says  there  were 
♦"orty-three  Hercules.  It  may  be  observed,  that,  though  Hercules  the  son  of  Jupiter 
is  introduced  with  propriety,  the  son  of  Jupiter  by  Alcmena  had  no  right  to  be  called 
Alcides;  this  being  the  proper  name  of  the  son  of  Amphitryon,  whose  father  was 
Alcaeus :  and  yet  Virgil  also  refers  to  Alcides  as  the  son  of  Jove,  "  Mn."  vi.  123. — 

DUNSTER. 

»  And,  oftfoiVd,  still  rose. 
Thus  in  Tasso,  where  the  soldan  Solyman  is  slain  by  Rinaldo,  the  resistance  he  had 
before  made  is  compared  to  that  of  Antaeus,  in  his  contest  with  Hercules,  "  Gier.  Lib." 

C.  XX.  St.  108. — DCNSTEK. 

•>  Receiving  from  his  mother  Earth  new  strength. 
So  in  Lncan,  ir.  698 : — 

Hoc  quoque  tam  vastas  cumulavit  munere  vires 

Terra  sui  foetus,  quod,  cum  tetigere  parentem, 

Jam  defuncta  vigent  renovato  robore  membra. — Dunster. 

"And  as  that  Thehan  monster.,  &c. 
The  Sphinx,  who,  on  her  riddle  being  solved  by  CEdipus,  threw  herself  into  the 
Sea. — Newton. 

<i  8o  Satan  fell ;  and  straight.,  &c. 

Thus  in  G.  Fletcher's  "  Christ's  Triumph  on  Earth,"  where  Presumption  is  person- 
ified, and  is  represented  as  in  vain  tempting  our  blessed  Lord,  st.  xxxviii. : — 


544 


PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  it. 


Of  angels  on  full  sail  of  wing  flew  nigh, 
Who  on  their  plumy  vans  received  him  soft 
From  his  uneasy  station,  and  upbore, 
As  on  a  floating  couch,*  through  the  blithe  air :' 
Then,  in  a  flowery  valley,  set  him  down 
On  a  green  bank,  and  set  before  him  spread. 
A  table  of  celestial  food,^  divine 
Ambrosial  fruits,  fetch'd  from  the  tree  of  life, 
And,  from  the  fount  of  life,  ambrosial  drink. 
That  soon  refresh'd  him  wearied,  and  repair'd 
What  hunger,  if  aught  hunger,  had  impaired, 
Or  thirst ;  and,  as  he  fed,  angelick  quires 
Sung  heavenly  anthems  of  his  victory' 

But,  when  she  saw  her  speech  prevailed  naught, 

Herself  she  tumbled  headlong  to  the  floor; 
But  him  the  angels  on  their  feathers  caught, 

And  to  an  air>'  mountain  nimbly  bore. — Dvnstbb. 

There  is  a  peculiar  softness  and  delicacy  in  this  description,  and  neither  circum- 
stances nor  words  could  be  better  selected  to  give  the  reader  an  idea  of  the  easy  and 
gentle  descent  of  our  Saviour,  and  to  take  from  the  imagination  that  horror  and  uneasi- 
ness which  it  is  naturally  filled  with  in  contemplating  the  dangerous  and  uneasy  situa- 
tion he  was  left  in. — Thyer. 

e  Who  on  their  plumy  vani  received  Mm  soft 
Frovi  his  uneasy  station,  and  upbore, 
As  on  a  floating  couch,  Ac. 
If  this  description  is  not  from  any  famous  painting,  it  is  certainly  a  subject  for  one : 
but  the  grammatical  inaccuracy  here,  I  am  afraid,  cannot  be  palliated.    "  Him,"  accord- 
ing to  the  common  construction  of  language,  certainly  must  refer  to  Satan,  the  person 
last  mentioned.     The  intended  sense  of  the  passage  cannot  indeed  be  misunderstood; 
but  we  grieve  to  find  any  inaccuracy  in  a  part  of  the  poem  so  eminently  beautiful. — 

DUNSTER.  -"*^ 

f  Through  the  blithe  air, 
"Blithe  air"  is  similar  to  "buxom  air,"  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  ii.  842;  b.  v.  270.  But  I 
conceive  it  to  have  a  farther  meaning,  cheerful,  or  pleased  with  its  burden;  and  it 
strikes  me  as  an  intended  contrast  to  a  passage  in  the  "  Paradise  Lost,"  describing  the 
flight  of  Satan,  at  the  time  he  first  rises  from  the  burning  lake,  when  "the  dusky  air  is 
loaded  with  his  weight,"  b.  i.  226. — Dunster. 

I  humbly  apprehend  that  "blithe  air"  is  not  similar  to  "buxom  air;"  for  "buxom" 
signifies  yielding,  or  flexible ;  and  is,  in  this  sense,  the  accustomed  epithet  to  air  among 
our  elder  poets:  but  the  poet  wrote  "blithe  air,"  in  reference  perhaps  to  the  "fair 
morning  after  a  dismal  night;  the  clouds  being  now  chased,  and  the  winds  laid;"  and 
the  air  consequently  "blithe,"  light  and  pure;  the  epithet  "  blithe"  finely  expressing 
what  he  says  of  the  pure  air  of  Paradise,  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  iv.  154  : — 

to  the  heart  inspires 
Vernal  delight  and  joy,  able  to  drive 
All  sadness  out  despair. — Todd. 

Hero  are  diflSculties  made  about  what  is  sufficiently  obvious. 

s  And  set  before  him  spread 
A  table  of  celestial  food,  &c. 
Here  is  much  resemblance  to  a  stanza  of  G.  Fletcher,  "  Christ's  Triumph,"  &o.,  Bt. 
61:— 

But  to  their  Lord,  now  musing  in  his  thought, 

A  heavenly  volley  of  light  angels  flew, 

And  from  his  Father  him  a  banquet  brouent 

Through  the  fine  element ;  for  well  they  Knew 

After  his  lenten  fast  he  hungry  grew; 

And,  as  he  fed,  the  holy  quires  combme 

To  sing  a  hyraii  of  the  celestial  trine. — ^Dcnstek. 

1"  Angelick  quires 
Sung  heavenly  anthems  of  his  victory,  Ac. 
As  Milton,  in  his  "  Paradise  Lost,"  had  represented  the  angels  singing  trinmph  upon 


BOOK  IV.] 


PAEADISE  REGAINED. 


545 


Over  temptation  and  the  tempter  proud : 

True  image  of  the  Father ; '  whether  throned 
In  the  bosom  of  bliss,J  and  light  of  light 
Conceiving ;  or,  remote  from  heaven,  enshrined 
In  fleshly  tabernacle,  and  human  form,^ 
Wandering  the  wilderness ;  whatever  place, 
Habit,  or  state,  or  motion,'  still  expressing 
The  Son  of  God,  with  godlike  force  endued 
Against  the  attempter  of  thy  Father's  throne, 
And  thief  of  Paradise  ! "     Him  long  of  old 
Thou  didst  debel,"  and  down  from  heaven  east 

the  Messiah's  victory  over  the  rebel  angels ;  so  here  again,  with  the  same  propriety, 
they  are  described  celebrating  his  success  against  temptation ;  and  to  be  sure,  he  could 
not  have  possibly  concluded  his  work  with  greater  dignity  and  solemnity,  or  more 
agreeably  to  the  rules  of  poetic  decorum. — Thyer. 

i  True  image  of  <ike  Father,  &c. 
Cedite  Romani  Bcriptores,  cedite  Graii. 
All  the  poems  that  ever  were  written  must  yield,  even  "  Paradise  Lost"  must  yield,  to 
the  "  Regained,"  in  the  grandeur  of  its  close.  Christ  stands  triumphant  on  the  pointed 
eminence :  the  demon  falls  with  amazement  and  terror,  on  this  full  proof  of  his  being 
the  very  Son  of  God,  whose  thunder  forced  him  out  of  heaven :  the  blessed  angels 
receive  new  knowledge :  they  behold  a  sublime  truth  established,  which  was  a  secret 
to  them  at  the  beginning  of  the  temptation :  and  the  §reat  discovery  gives  a  proper 
opening  to  their  hymn  on  the  victory  of  Christ,  and  the  defeat  of  the  tempter. — Calton. 

•  i  Whether  throned 

In  the  hoeom  of  bliss. 
Thus,  in  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  iii.  238,  the  Son  of  God  says  to  the  Father : — 

I.  for  his  sake,  will  leave 
Thy  bosom,  ana  this  glory  next  to  thee ; 
and  the  Father,  in  reply,  ver.  305 : — 

Because  thou  hast,  though  throned  in  highest  blisa 
Equal  to  God,  &c. 
The  Son  of  God,  after  having  descended  to  earth  to  pass  sentence  on  fallen  man,  La 
likewise  similarly  described  returning  to  his  Father  in  heaven,  b.  x.  325. — Dunster, 

k  Enshrined 
In  fleshly  tabernacle,  and  human  form. 
St.  John,  i.  14,  says,  Koi  h  Arfyoy  (rapf  iyivtro  Koi  iaxfivoinzv  Iv  fijiiv,  — which,  literally' 
translated,  is,  "the  Word  was  made  flesh,  and  tabernacled  among  us."     St  Paul,  2 
Cor.  V.  1,  terms  the  body,  or  the  human  form,  "  our  earthly  house  of  this  tabernacle." 
Thus  also  our  author,  in  his  Ode  "  On  the  Passion :" — 

He,  sovran  priest,  stooping  his  regal  head, 

That  dropp'd  with  odorous  oil  down  his  fair  eyes, 

Poor  fleshly  tabernacle  entered. — ^Dunster. 

I  Whatever  place, 
Habit,  or  state,  or  motion. 
I  cannot  think  with  Dr.  Newton,  that  this  is  an  allusion  to  Horace,  Ep.  i.  xviL  23 ; — 

Omnia  Aristippum  decuit  color,  et  status,  et  res.— Jos,  Wi  rton. 
No :  the  "habit,  state,  or  motion,"  here  refer  to  the  look,  the  mien,  the  "habitus  oris 
et  vultus,"  of  Cicero;  and  to  the  posture,  or  attitude,  of  the  person.     See  "Paradise 
Lost,"  ix.  673  :  and  so  Quintilian — "  Ut  in  statuis  atque  picturis  videmus  variari  habitua, 
vultus,  status." — Todd. 

"  And  thief  of  Paradise, 
Thus,  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  iv,  192,  where  Satan  first  enters  Paradise  : — "  So  clomb 
this  first  grand  thief  into  God's  fold." — Dunster. 

The  phrase  probably  owes  its  origin  to  St.  John,  x.  1 : — "  He  that  entereth  not  in  by 
the  door  to  the  sheepfold,  but  climbeth  up  some  other  way,  the  same  is  a  thief  and  a 
robber." — Todd. 

n  Thou  didst  debel. 
Virgil,  "Mb."  vi.  853: — "Debellare  superbos. — Newton. 


546  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  iv. 


With  all  his  army  :  now  thou  hast  avenged 

Supplanted  Adam,  and,  by  vanquishing 

Temptation,  hast  regain'd  lost  Paradise, 

And  frustrated  the  conquest  fraudulent. 

He  never  more  henceforth  will  dare  set  foot 

In  Paradise  to  tempt ;  his  snares  are  broke :  • 

For  though  that  seat  of  earthly  bliss  be  fail'd, 

A  fairer  Paradise  is  founded  now 

For  Adam  and  his  chosen  sons,  whom  thou, 

A  Saviour,  art  come  down  to  re-install. 

Where  they  shall  dwell  secure,  when  time  shall  be, 

Of  tempter  and  temptation  without  fear. 

But  thou,  infernal  serpent !  shalt  not  long 

Rule  in  the  clouds ;  like  an  autumnal  star. 

Or  lightning,'  thou  shalt  fall  from  heaven,  trod  down 

Under  his  feet : «  for  proof,  ere  this  thou  feel'st 

Thy  wound  (yet  not  thy  last  and  deadliest  wound) 

By  this  impulse  received,  and  hold'st  in  hell 

No  triumph  :  in  all  her  gates  •■  Abaddon '  rues 

Thy  bold  attempt.     Hereafter  learn  with  awe 

To  dread  the  Son  of  God  :  he,  all  unarm'd,* 

Shall  chase  thee,  with  the  terrour  of  his  voice, 

From  thy  demoniack  holds,  possession  foul," 

Thee  and  thy  legions ;  yelling  they  shall  fly/ 

And  beg  to  hide  them  in  a  herd  of  swine, 

o  Big  snarea  are  broke. 
"Our  goul  is  escaped  as  a  bird  out  of  the  snare  of  a  fowler:  the  snare  is  broken,"  &c. 
Psalm  cxxiv.  7. — Dunster. 

p  Like  an  autumnal  star 
Or  lightning. 
The  poet  here,  as  in  other  places,  imitates  profane  authors  and  Scripture  both  toge- 
ther: 'Aarip'  dvwpivia  IvaXiyKiov,  "II."  V.  5.    "I  beheld  Satan  as  lightning  fall  from 
heaven,"  Luke  x.  18. — Newton. 

q  Trod  down 
Under  his  feet. 
"  And  the  God  of  peace  shall  bruise  Satan  under  your  feet,"  Romans  xvi.  20 ;  where 
the  marginal  reading  for  bruise  is  tread.     From  whence  in  the  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  x. 
190 :  "  Whom  he  ^hall  tread  at  last  under  our  feet." — Dunster. 

»■  In  all  her  gates,  Ac. 
Matt.  xvL  18 :    "  The  gates  of  hell  shall  not  prevail  against  it" — Dunster. 

»  Abaddon. 
The  name  of  the  angel  of  the  bottomless  pit,  Rev.  ix.  11 ;  here  applied  to  the  bottom 
less  pit  itself. — Newton. 

•  All  unami'd. 
In  Vida's  "  Christiad,"  i.  192,  Satan  describes  himself  as  having  been  cc  mpletely 
foiled  and  defeated  by  our  Saviour  thus  "all  unarm'd:" — 

Semper  me  reppulit  ipse 
Non  armis  nllis  frctug,  non  viribus  usub. — ^Dunster 

«  From  thy  demoniac  holds,  possession  foul. 
The  demoniacs  of  thj  Gospel  are  constantly  rendered  in  our  version  "possessed  with 
a  devil ;"  and  Babylon  is  described  "the  habitation  of  devils,  and  the  hold  of  every  foul 
spirit,"  Rev  xviii.  2. — Dunster. 

T  Yelling  they  shall  fly,  kc. 
See  Matt.  viii.  28,  and  four  following  verses ;  and  Rev.  xx.  1,  2,  S. — Dunsteb. 


BOOK  IV.] 


PARADISE  REGAINED. 


547 


Lest  he  command  them  down  into  the  deep, 
Bound,  and  to  torment  sent  before  their  time.— 
Hail,  Son  of  the  Most  High,  heir  of  both  worlds, 
Queller  of  Satan  !  ^     On  thy  glorious  work 
Now  enter  J*  and  begin  to  save  mankind. 

Thus  they  the  Son  of  God,  our  Saviour  meek/ 
Sung  victor,  and,  from  heavenly  feast  refresh' d," 
Brought  on  his  way  with  joy  :  he,  unobserved, 
Home  to  his  Laother's  house  private  return'd." 


"  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  xii.  311 : — 


Queller  of  Satan, 


Who  shall  quell 
The  adversary-serpent,  and  bring  back, 
Through  the  world's  wilderness,  long-wander'd  man, 
Safe  to  eternal  Paradise  of  rest. — Dunster. 

»  Noio  enter,  Ac. 
May  I  venture  to  say,  that  I  think  this  line,  the  last  of  the  triumphant  song  cf  the 
angels,  would  have  been  a  fine  and  forcible  conclusion  of  the  poem,  without  the  addi* 
tion  of  the  four  following,  which  are  comparatively  feeble  ? — Jos.  Warton. 

y  Our  Saviour  meek. 

"  Learn  of  me  j  for  I  am  meek,  and  lowly  of  heart,"  Matt.  xi.  29. — Dunster. 
»  From  heavenly  fea8t  refresh' d, 

Milton  formed  his  description  of  the  heavenly  feast  from  the  few  words  of  Matt.  iv. 
11  : — "And,  behold,  angels  came  and  ministered  unto  him."  Compare  v.  587,  &c.  Let 
it  be  added,  that  a  more  pleasing  commentary  on  the  expression  of  the  Evangelist 
could  not  have  been  penned. — Todd. 

» It  has  been  observed  of  almost  all  the  great  epic  poems,  that  they  fall  oflF  and 
become  languid  in  the  conclusion.  This  last  book  of  the  "Paradise  Regained"  is  one 
of  the  finest  conclusions  of  a  poem  that  can  be  produced.  They  who  talk  of  our 
author's  genius  being  in  the  decline  when  he  wrote  his  second  poem,  and  who  there- 
fore turn  from  it,  as  from  a  dry  prosaic  composition,  are,  I  will  venture  to  say,  no 
judges  of  poetry,  With  a  fancy  such  as  Milton's,  it  must  have  been  more  difficult  to 
forbear  poetic  decorations,  than  to  furnish  them ;  and  a  glaring  profusion  of  ornament 
would,  I  conceive,  have  more  decidedly  betrayed  the  poeta  senescent,  than  a  want  of  it^ 
The  first  book  of  the  "  Paradise  Lost"  abounds  in  similes,  and  is,  in  other  respects,  aa 
elevated  and  sublime  as  any  in  the  whole  poem :  but  here  the  poet's  plan  was  totally 
difi"erent.  Though  it  may  be  said  of  the  "  Paradise  Regained,"  as  Longinus  has  said 
of  the  "  Odyssey,"  that  it  is  the  epilogue  of  the  preceding  poem ;  still  the  design  and 
conduct  of  it  is  as  different  as  that  of  the  "  Georgics"  from  the  "iEneid."  The  "  Para- 
dise Regained"  has  something  of  the  didactic  character :  it  teaches  not  merely  by  the 
general  moral,  and  by  the  character  and  conduct  of  its  hero ;  but  has  also  many  positive 
precepts  everywhere  interspersed.  It  is  written  for  the  most  part  in  a  style  admirably 
condensed,  and  with  a  studied  reserve  of  ornament :  it  is  nevertheless  illuminated  with 
beauties  of  the  most  captivating  kind.  Its  leading  feature  throughout  is  that  "  excel- 
lence  of  composition,"  which,  as  lord  Monboddo  justly  observes,  so  eminently  dis- 
tinguished the  writings  of  the  ancients ;  and  in  which,  of  all  modern  authors,  Milton 
most  resembles  them. 

At  the  commencement  of  this  book  the  argument  of  the  poem  is  considerably 
advanced.  Satan  appears  hopeless  of  success,  but  still  persisting  in  his  enterprise  :  the 
desperate  folly  and  vain  pertinacity  of  this  conduct  are  perfectly  well  exemplified  and 
illustrated  by  three  apposite  similes,  each  successively  rising  in  beauty  above  the  other. 
The  business  of  the  temptation  being  thus  resumed,  the  tempter  takes  our  Lord  to  the 
western  side  of  the  mountain,  and  shows  to  him  Italy,  the  situation  of  which  the  poet 
marks  with  singular  accuracy ;  and,  having  traced  the  Tiber  from  its  source  in  the 
Apennines  to  Rome,  he  briefly  enumerates  the  most  conspicuous  objects  that  may  be 
supposed  at  first  to  strike  the  eye  on  a  distant  view  of  this  celebrated  city.  Satan  now 
becomes  the  speaker ;  and,  in  an  admirably  descriptive  speech,  points  out  more  particu- 
larly the  magnificent  public  and  private  buildings  of  ancient  Rome,  descanting  on  the 
splendour  and  power  of  its  state,  which  he  particularly  exemplifies  in  the  superb  pomp 
with  which  their  provincial  magistrates  proceed  to  their  respective  governments;  and 
to  the  numerous  ambassadors  that  arrive  from  every  quarter  of  the  habitable  globe,  to 


548  PARADISE  REGAINED.  [book  iv. 


Bolicit  the  protection  of  Rome  and  the  emperor.     These  are  two  pictures  of  the  most 
highly  finished  kind :  the  numerous  figures  are  in  motion  before  us ;  we  absolutely  see 

Praetors,  proconsuls,  to  their  provinces 

Hasting,  or  on  return,  in  robes  of  state, 

Lictors  ami  rods,  the  ensigns  of  their  power, 

Legions  and  cohorts,  &c. 

Having  observed  that  such  a  power  as  this  of  Rome  must  reasonably  be  preferred  to 
that  of  the  Parthians,  which  he  had  displayed  in  the  preceding  book,  and  that  there 
were  no  other  powers  worth  our  Lord's  attention ;  the  tempter  now  begins  to  apply  all 
this  to  his  purpose :  by  a  strongly  drawn  description  of  the  vicious  and  detestable 
character  of  Tiberius,  he  shows  how  easy  it  would  be  to  expel  him,  to  take  possession 
of  his  throne,  and  to  free  the  Roman  people  from  that  slavery  in  which  they  were  then 
held.  This  he  proffers  to  accomplish  for  our  Lord,  whom  he  incites  to  accept  the  offer, 
not  only  from  a  principle  of  ambition,  but  as  the  best  means  of  securing  to  himself  his 
promised  inheritance,  the  throne  of  David.  Our  Lord,  in  reply,  scarceljr  notices  the 
arguments  which  Satan  had  been  urging  to  him ;  and  only  takes  occasion,  from  the 
description  which  had  been  given  of  the  splendour  and  magnificence  of  Rome,  to 
arraign  the  superlatively  extravagant  luxury  of  the  Romans,*  and  briefly  to  sum  up 
those  vices  and  misconducts  then  rapidly  advancing  to  their  height,  which  soon  brought 
on  the  decline,  and  in  the  end  effectuated  the  fall,  of  the  Roman  power.  The  next 
object  which  our  author  had  in  view,  in  his  proposed  display  of  heathen  excellence, 
was  a  scene  of  a  different,  but  no  less  intoxicating  kind ;  Athens,  in  all  its  pride  of 
literature  and  philosophy;  but  he  seems  to  have  been  well  aware  that  an  immediate 
transition,  from  the  view  of  Rome  to  that  of  Athens,  must  have  diminished  the  effect 
of  each.  The  intermediate  space  he  has  finely  occupied.  Our  Lord,  unmoved  by  the 
splendid  scene  displayed  to  captivate  him,  and  having  only  been  led  lay  it  to  notice  the 
vices  and  corruptions  of  the  heathen  world,  in  the  conclusion  of  his  speech  marks  the 
vanity  of  all  earthly  power,  by  referring  to  his  own  future  kingdom,  as  that  which  by 
supernatural  means  should  destroy  "  all  monarchies  besides  throughout  the  world." 

The  fiend  hereupon,  urged  by  the  violence  of  his  desperation  to  an  indiscretion  which 
he  had  not  before  showed,  endeavours  to  enhance  the  value  of  his  offers,  by  declaring 
that  the  only  terms,  on  which  he  would  bestow  them,  were  those  of  our  Lord's  falling 
down  and  worshipping  him.  To  this  our  Saviour  answers  in  a  speech  of  marked  abhor- 
rence blended  with  contempt.  This  draws  from  Satan  a  reply  of  as  much  art,  and  aa 
finely  written,  as  any  in  the  poem ;  in  which  he  endeavours,  by  an  artful  justification 
of  himself,  to  repair  the  indiscretion  of  his  blasphemous  proposal,  and  to  soften  the 
effect  of  it  on  our  blessed  Lord,  so  far  at  least  as  to  be  enabled  to  resume  the  process 
of  his  enterprise.  The  tr.insition,  ver.  212,  to  his  new  ground  of  temptation  is  pecu- 
liarly happy :  having  given  up  all  prospect  of  working  upon  our  Lord  by  the  incite- 
ments of  ambition,  he  now  compliments  him  on  his  predilection  for  wisdom,  and  his 
early  display  of  superior  knowledge ;  and  recommends  it  to  him,  for  the  purpose  of 
accomplishing  his  professed  design  of  reforming  and  converting  mankind,  to  cultivate 
the  literature  and  philosophy,  for  which  the  most  polished  part  of  the  heathen  world, 
and  Greece  in  particular,  was  so  eminent.  This  leads  to  his  view  of  Athens ;  which  is 
given,  with  singular  effect,  after  the  preceding  dialogue ;  where  the  blasphemous  rage  of 
the  tempter,  and  the  art  with  which  he  endeavours  to  recover  it,  serve,  by  the  variety  of 
the  subject  and  the  interesting  nature  of  the  circumstance,  materially  to  relieve  the  pre- 
ceding and  ensuing  descriptions.  The  tempter,  resuming  his  usual  plausibility  of  lan- 
guage, now  becomes  the  hierophant  of  the  scene,  which  he  describes,  as  he  shows  it, 
with  so  much  accuracy,  that  we  discern  every  object  distinctly  before  us.  The  general 
view  of  Athens,  with  its  most  celebrated  buildings  and  places  of  learned  resort,  is  beau- 
tiful and  original ;  and  the  description  of  its  musicians,  poets,  orators,  and  philosophers 
is  given  with  the  hand  of  a  master,  and  with  all  the  fond  affection  of  an  enthusiast  in 
Greek  literature.  Our  Lord's  reply  is  no  less  admirable;  particularly  where  he  displays 
the  fallacy  of  the  heathen  philosophy,  and  points  out  the  errors  of  its  most  admired  sects 
with  the  greatest  acutcness  of  argument,  and  at  the  same  time  in  a  noble  strain  of 
poetry.  His  contrasting  the  poetry  and  policy  of  the  Hebrews  with  those  of  the  Greeks, 
on  the  ground  of  what  had  been  advanced  by  some  learned  men  in  this  respect,  is  highly 
consistent  with  the  argument  of  this  poem ;  and  is  so  far  from  originating  in  that  fanati- 
cism, with  which  some  of  his  ablest  commentators  have  chosen  to  brand  our  author; 
that  it  serves  duly  to  counterbalance  his  preceding  eloge  on  heathen  literature.  The 
next  speech  of  the  tempter,  ver.  368,  is  one  of  those  masterpieces  of  plain  composition, 
for  which  Milton  is  so  eminent :  the  sufferings  of  our  blessed  Lord  are  therein  foretold 
with  an  energetic  brevity,  that,  on  such  subjects,  has  an  effect  superior  to  the  most 
Qowery  and  decorated  language.  The  dialogue  here  ceases  for  a  short  time.  The  poet, 
in  his  own  person,  now  describes,  ver.  394,  Ac,  our  Lord's  being  conveyed  by  Satan 
•  Possibly  not  without  a  glance  of  the  poet  at  the  manners  of  our  court  at  that  time. 


BOOK  IV.]  PARADISE  REGAINED.  549 

back  to  the  wildemeas,  the  storm  which  the  tempter  there  raises,  the  tremendous  nicrht 
(fhich  our  Lord  passes,  and  the  beautiful  morning  by  which  it  is  succeeded.  How 
exquisitely  sublime  and  beautiful  is  all  this ! — Yet  this  is  the  poem,  from  which  the 
ardent  admirers  of  Milton's  other  works  turn,  as  from  a  cold,  uninteresting  composition, 
the  produce  of  his  dotage,  of  a  palsied  hand,  no  longer  able  to  hold  the  pencil  of  poetry ! 
The  dialogue  which  ensues,  is  worthy  of  this  book,  and  carries  on  the  subject  in  the 
best  manner  to  its  concluding  temptation.  The  last  speech  of  Satan  is  particularly 
deserving  our  notice.  The  fiend,  now  "swoln  with  rage"  at  the  repeated  failure  of  his 
attacks,  breaks  out  into  a  language  of  gross  insult;  professing  to  doubt  whether  our 
Lord,  whom  he  had  before  frequently  addressed  as  the  Son  of  God,  is  in  any  way  enti- 
tled to  that  appellation.  From  this  wantonly  blasphemous  obloquy  ho  still  recovers  him- 
self, and  ofiers,  with  his  usual  art,  a  qualification  of  what  he  had  last  said,  and  a  justifi- 
cation of  his  persisting  in  farther  attempts  on  the  Divine  Person,  by  whom  he  had  been 
BO  constantly  foiled.  These  are  the  masterly  discriminating  touches,  with  which  the 
poet  has  admirably  drawn  the  character  of  the  tempter :  the  general  colouring  is  that  of 
plausible  hypocrisy,  through  which,  when  elicited  by  the  sudden  irritation  of  defeat,  his 
diabolical  malignity  frequently  flashes  out,  and  displays  itself  with  singuLar  effect.  We 
now  come  to  the  catastrophe  of  the  poem.  The  tempter  conveys  our  blessed  Lord  to 
the  temple  at  Jerusalem,  where  the  description  of  the  holy  city  and  of  the  temple  is 
pleasingly  drawn.  Satan  has  now  little  to  say ;  he  brings  the  question  to  a  decisive 
point,  in  which  any  persuasion  of  rhetorical  language  on  his  part  can  be  of  no  avail; 
he  therefore  speaks  in  his  own  undisguised  person  and  character,  and  his  language 
accordingly  is  that  of  scornful  insult.  The  result  of  the  trial  is  given  with  the  utmost 
brevity ;  and  its  consequences  are  admirably  painted.  The  despair  and  fall  of  Satan, 
with  its  successive  illustrations,  ver.  562  to  ver.  580,  have  all  the  boldness  of  Salvator 
Rosa ;  while  the  angels  supporting  our  Lord  "  as  on  a  floating  couch,  through  the  blithe 
air,"  is  a  sweetly  pleasing  and  highly  finished  picture  from  the  pencil  of  Guido.  The 
refreshment  ministered  to  our  Lord  by  the  angels  is  an  intended  and  striking  contrast 
to  the  luxurious  banquet  with  which  he  had  been  tempted  in  the  preceding  part  of  the 
poem.  The  angelic  hymn,  which  concludes  the  book,  is  at  once  poetical  and  scriptural : 
we  may  justly  apply  to  it,  and  to  this  whole  poem,  an  observation,  which  Fuller,  in  his 
"Worthies  of  Essex,"  first  applied* to  Quarles;  and  which  the  ingenious  Mr.  Headley, 
in  the  "  Biographical  Sketches"  prefixed  to  his  "  Select  Beauties  of  Ancient  English 
Poetry,"  has  transferred  to  the  only  poet  to  whom  it  is  truly  appropriate : — "  To  mix  the 
waters  of  Jordan  and  Helicon  in  the  same  cup,  was  reserved  for  the  hand  of  Milton; 
and  for  him,  and  him  only,  to  find  the  bays  of  Mount  Olivet  eoually  verdant  with 
those  of  Parnassus."  It  may  farther  be  observed,  that  Milton  is  uimself  an  eminent 
instance  of  one  of  his  own  observations  in  his  "  Tractate  of  Education ;"  having 
practically  demonstrated,  what  he  invites  the  juvenile  student  in  poetry  theoretical- 
ly to  learn  :— "  what  religious,  what  glorious,  and  magnificent  use  might  be  made  of 
poetry." — Dunsteb. 


REMARKS  ON  MILTON'S  VERSIFICATION. 

Dr.  Johnson  has  written  several  pages  on  Milton's  versification,  which  have  been 
reprinted  by  Todd  as  an  essay :  the  whole  is  written  in  Johnson's  best  manner ;  but  I 
venture,  however  presumptuous  it  may  appear,  to  assert  that  it  is  based  on  a  theory 
wholly  wrong.  Johnson  assumes,  as  many  others  have  done,  that  the  true  heroic  verse 
Is  the  iambic ;  euch  as  Dryden,  Pope,  and,  I  may  add,  Darwin,  have  brought  to  per- 
fection ;  and  that  all  variations  from  the  iambic  foot  are  irregularities,  which  may  be 
pardonable  for  variety,  but  are  still  departures  from  the  rule.  Upon  this  ground,  Milton 
is  perpetually  offending ;  and  that  which  is  among  his  primary  beauties  of  metre  is 
turned  into  a  fault. 

Let  me  be  forgiven  for  my  boldness  in  suggesting  and  exemplifying  another  theory 
of  the  great  poet's  versification,  which  I  am  convinced  will  be  found  a  clew  to  the  pro- 
nunciation of  every  part  of  his  blank  verse,  and  especially  in  "  Paradise  Lost" 

I  believe  that  Milton's  principle  was  to  introduce  into  his  lines  every  variety  of  metri- 
cal foot  which  is  to  be  found  in  the  Latin  poetry,  especially  in  the  lyrics  of  Horace ; 
such  as  not  merely  iambic,  but  spondee,  dactyl,  trochee,  anapest,  Ac. ;  and  that  whoever 
reads  his  lines  as  if  they  were  prose,  and  accents  them  as  the  sense  would  dictate,  will 
find  they  fall  into  one,  or  rather  several  of  these  feet;  often  ending  like  the  Latin,  with  a 
half-foot:  wherever  they  do  not,  I  doubt  not  that  it  arises  from  a  diiferent  mode  of 
accenting  some  word  from  that  which  was  the  usage  in  Milton's  time.  If  there  is  any 
attempt  to  read  Milton's  verses  as  iambics,  with  a  mere  occasional  variation  of  the 
trochee  and  the  spondee,  they  will  often  sound  very  lame,  instead  of  being,  as  they 
really  are,  magnificently  harmonious. 

If  Johnson's  rules  are  adopted,  some  of  Milton's  most  tuneful  lines  become  inhar- 
monious ;  and,  in  the  same  degree,  one  of  Cowley's,  exquisite  if  properly  scanned,  but 
which  Johnson  exhibits  as  very  faulty — 

And  the  soft  wings  of  peace  cover  him  round  ;— 

this,  taken  to  be  an  iambic,  is  full  of  false  quantities ;  but  I  assume  the  proper  mode  of 
scanning  it  to  be  this  : — 

And  the  I  soft  wings  |  6f  peace  (  cOvfir  him  |  round : 
viz.,  first,  a  trochee;  then  a  spondee;  third,  an  iambic;  fourth,  a  dactyl;  fifth,  a  demi- 
foot     Thus  Milton, 

Partaken,  and  uncropt  falls  to  the  ground, 

should  be  scanned  thus  : — 

F&rt&  I  ken,  S.nd  |  QncrOpt  |  ffi.ll8  t6  the  |  ground, 
first,  an  iambic;  second,  an  iambic;  third,  a  spondee;  fourth,  a  dactyl;  fifth,  a  demi- 

Take  the  following ; 

Of  sense,  whereby  they  hear,  see,  smell,  touch,  taste, 
which  I  accent  thus : — 

Of  sense,  I  wheieby  |  they  hear,  |  see,  smell,  |  toach,  t&ste. 
first,  an  iambic;  second,  a  spondee;  third,  an  iambic;   fourth,  a  spondee;  fifth,  a 
spondee. 

The  following  lines,  cited  by  Johnson,  I  scan  thus  : — 
1.  Wisdom  to  folly,  as  nourishment  to  wind, 
WlsdOm  16  I  fOlly,  3.s  |  nOurish|ment  t6  |  wind 


ON  MILTON'S  VERSIFICATION.  551 

3.  No  ungrateful  food,  and  food  alike  those  pure. 
Nfl  flngritelfai  fOod,  |  and  fOod  |  alike  |  thOse  pare, 

3.  For  we  have  also  our  evening  and  our  morn. 
FAr  w6  I  have  &lsd  |  oQr  evelnlng  and  |  oiir  mOm. 

4.  Inhospitably,  and  kills  their  infant  maloB. 
InhOslpltalbly,  a.nd  kills  |  thSir  Inlf&nt  males. 

5.  And  vital  virtue  infused,  and  vital  warmth. 
And  vlltil  vIrltQe  InfOsed,  |  ind  vlltil  warmth. 

6.  God  made  thee  of  choice  his  own,  and  of  his  own. 
G&d  m&de  |  thee  6f  choice  |  his  Own,  |  &nd  &f  |  hla  Own. 

7.  Abominable,  inutterable,  and  worse. 
AbOlmTnalbie,  InOtlt^ralble,  and  |  w6rse. 

8.  Impenetrable,  impaled  with  circling  fire. 
Impeinfitralble,  Imlpaled  with  |  circling  |  fir«. 

9.  To  none  communicable  in  earth  or  heaven. 

Td  none  |  cOmmainlealblfi  In  earth  |  Or  he&ven. 

10.  In  curls  on  either  cheek  play'd :  wings  he  wore. 

In  cOrls  I  6n  Cilthfir  cheek  |  play'd  :  wings  ]  hS  wBre. 

11.  Lies  through  the  perplex'd  paths  of  this  drear  wood. 
Lies  thrflugh  |  th6  pfirplex'd  |  paths  6f  |  this  drgar  |  -wOod. 

lis.  On  him,  who  had  stole  Jove's  authentick  fire. 

On  him  I  who  had  j  stole  JOve's  |  ailthenltlck  fire. 

13.  Universal  reproach,  far  worse  to  bear. 
Unlverls&l  rClprOach,  fir  |  wOrse  tO  |  bear. 

14.  With  them  from  bliss  to  the  bottomless  deep. 
With  them  1  fi*m  bliss  |  tO  th  |  bOttOralSss  deep. 

15.  Present  ?  thus  to  his  son  audibly  spake. 
Present  ?  I  thfls  tO  |  his  sOn  |  aodlbly  |  spake. 

16.  Thy  lingering,  or  with  one  stroke  of  this  dart. 

Thy  llnlgBrlng,  Or  |  with  One  |  stroke  Of  |  this  dfirt. 

17.  To  do  aught  good  never  will  be  our  task. 

TO  do  I  aOght  goOd  |  n6v6r  will  |  be  Our  |  tfisk. 

16.  Created  hugest,  that  swim  the  ocean  stream. 
Crfiiltfid  hOgfist  |  thit  swim  |  thg  Olce&n  stream. 

19.  Came  singly  where  he  stood  on  the  bare  strand. 
Came  singlly  where  |  hO  stood  |  On  thO  bare  |  strtnd. 

20.  Light  from  above,  from  the  fountain  of  light. 
Light  frOin  |  &bOve,  |  frOm  th6  ]  foOntiin  Of  |  light. 

21.  Things  not  reveal'd,  which  the  invisible  king. 
Things  not  |  rCvoal'd,  |  which  th6  |  invisllblS  king. 

23.  With  their  bright  luminaries,  that  set  and  rose. 
With  their  |  bright  iQImlnalries  th&t  set  |  &nd  rOse. 

Dr.  Johnson,  assuming  the  iambic  to  be  the  true  heroic  measure  of  English  poetry, 

says  that  Milton  has  seldom  two  pure  lines  together.    So  far  from  it,  he  has  a  long 

succession  of  lines  in  every  hook  of  unbroken  harmony,  if  we  allow  the  variety  of  feet 

which  he  undoubtedly  adopted  as  a  system.    The  critic's  false  principle  o!  our  verse 

continually  leads  him  to  blame  as  faulty  what  in  truth  is  harmonious :  thus,  having 

said  that  tho  elision  of  one  vowel  before  another  beginning  the  next  word  is  contrary  to 

the  genius  of  our  language,  he  is  often  driven  to  make  this  elision  by  this  false  rule  j  as 

in  this  line. 

Wisdom  to  folly,  as  nourishment  to  wind. 

Here  ho  cuts  off  the  last  syllable  of  "  folly"  before  "  as :"  but  the  verse  properly  scanned, 

does  not  require  it  to  be  cut  off: 

WisdOm  I  to  flJlIly,  U  nOuirlshment  |  tO  wind. 


552  ON  MILTON'S  YERSIFIOATION. 


All  that  Johnson  says,  as  to  the  principle  to  be  adopted  on  varying  the  pauses  in 
parts  of  a  verse,  or  of  two  or  more  verses  taken  together,  seems  to  be  whimsical  and 
unfounded ;  but  if  true,  would  go  to  render  faulty  what  is  the  real  spell  of  Milton's 
sonorous  variety  of  harmony.  He  asserts  that  there  can  be  no  metrical  harmony  in  a 
succession  of  less  than  three  syllables,  and  that  every  pause  ought  in  itself  to  have 
metrical  harmony;  and  therefore  that  the  pause  on  a  monosyllable  at  the  commence- 
ment of  a  line  is  bad.  This  would  condemn  some  of  Milton's  most  musical  lines.  The 
truth  is,  that  Milton's  paragraphs  contain  a  succession  of  varied  pauses  "linked 
together"  with  the  most  perfect  skill ;  and  in  not  one  of  the  places,  where  they  are 
censured  by  the  critij,  are  they  any  other  than  beautiful  or  gran4.  In  almost  every 
case,  the  sense  demands  that  we  should  lay  the  accent  where  the  metre  demands  it, 
unless  we  insist  upon  pure  iambics. 

That  1  may  not  be  considered  unjust  to  Johnson,  I  cite  a  specimen  of  his  remarks  in 
his  own  words:  "When  a  single  syllable  is  cut  off  from  the  rest,  it  must  either  be 
united  to  the  line  with  which  the  sense  connects  it,  or  sounded  alone :  if  it  be  united  to 
the  other  line,  it  corrupts  its  harmony ;  if  disjoined,  it  must  stand  alone,  and  with 
regard  to  music,  be  superfluous ;  for  there  is  no  harmony  in  a  single  sound,  because  it 
has  no  proportion  to  another :" — 

Hypocrites  austerely  talk, 
Defaming  as  impure  what  God  declares 
Pure  ;  and  commands  to  some,  leaves  free  to  all. 

Here  the  emphatic  word  "  pure"*  derives  double  force  from  its  position.  The  other 
passages  next  cited  by  Johnson  are  pre-eminently  beautiful.  I  am  utterly  astonished 
at  Johnson's  want  of  ear  and  of  taste  on  this  occasion. 

Todd  very  justly  says,  that  "the  fineness  of  Milton's  pauses,  and  flow  of  his  verses 
Into  each  other,  eminently  appears  in  the  very  entrance  of  his  'Paradise  Lost,'  in  the 
first  lines  of  which,  the  same  numbers,  in  every  respect,  are  hardly  once  repeated ;  as 
Mr.  Say  has  observed  in  his  '  Remarks  on  the  Numbers  of  Paradise  Lost,'  1745,  p.  126/ 

But  as  Johnson  can  never  write  long  without  writing  some  things  justly  and  power- 
fully, I  cannot  refrain  from  citing  the  following  passages : — 

"  It  has  been  long  observed,  that  the  idea  of  beauty  is  vague  and  undefined,  different 
In  different  minds,  and  diversified  by  time  and  place,"  Ac. 

"  It  is  in  many  cases  apparent  that  this  quality  is  merely  relative  and  comparative ; 
that  we  pronounce  things  beautiful,  because  they  have  something,  which  we  agree,  for 
whatever  reason,  to  call  beauty,  in  a  greater  degree  than  we  have  been  accustomed  to 
find  it  in  other  things  of  the  same  kind ;  and  that  we  transfer  the  epithet  as  our  know- 
ledge increases,  and  appropriate  it  to  higher  excellence,  when  higher  excellence  comes 
within  our  view.  Much  of  the  beauty  of  writing  is  of  this  kind ;  and  therefore  Boileau 
justly  remarks,  that  the  books  which  have  stood  the  test  of  time,  and  been  admired 
through  all  the  changes  which  the  mind  of  man  has  suffered,  from  the  various  evolu- 
tions  of  knowledge,  and  the  prevalence  of  contrary  customs,  have  a  better  claim  to  our 
regard  than  any  modern  can  boast;  because  the  long  continuance  of  their  reputation 
proves  that  they  are  adequate  to  our  faculties  and  agreeable  to  nature. 

"  It  is,  however,  the  task  of  criticism  to  establish  principles ;  to  improve  opinion  into 
knowledge ;  and  to  distinguish  those  means  of  pleasing  which  depend  upon  known 
causes  and  rational  deduction,  from  the  nameless  and  inexplicable  elegances  which 
appeal  wholly  to  the  fancy ;  from  which  we  feel  delight,  but  know  not  how  they  produce 
it;  and  which  may  well  be  termed  the  enchantresses  of  the  soul.  Criticism  reduces  those 
regions  of  literature  under  the  dominion  of  science,  which  have  hitherto  known  only 
the  anarchy  of  ignorance,  the  caprices  of  fancy,  and  the  tyranny  of  prescription." 

Johnson,  no  doubt,  did  right  in  endeavouring  to  establish  principles  and  rules  with 
regard  to  versification ;  but  wrong  principles  do  more  harm  than  none  at  all.  Either 
Johnson  is  on  this  subject  wrong,  or  Milton  is  a  very  bad  versifier :  I  do  not  think  that 
any  man  of  taste,  or  a  tolerable  ear,  will  in  these  days  adopt  the  latter  opinion  :  I  do 
not  believe  that  any  one  will  endure  the  monotony  of  the  pure  iambic  couplet  carried 

•  Todd  has  cited  an  excellent  observation,  contrary  to  this,  from  T.  Sheridan's  "  Leetnres 
on  the  Art  of  Reading,"  vol.  ii.  p.  258. 


ON  MILTON'S  VERSIFICATION,  553 

beyond  twenty  or  thirty  lines.  The  occasional  intermixture  of  the  metrical  feet  of 
the  ancients,  judiciously  applied,  distinguishes  Milton's  blank  verse  from  all  other 
in  our  language.  Iambic  blank  verse,  or  that  which  approaches  to  iambic,  or  even  a 
mixed  spondaic,  wants  all  its  force  and  diversity ;  or  often  becomes  languid  and  dif- 
fuse, without  the  variety  of  musical  prose. 

As  Milton's  style  is  always  condensed  and  full  of  matter,  it  may  be  said  to  have  a 
tendency  to  harshness  ;  for  there  is  no  doubt  that  our  language  is  too  much  loaded 
with  consonants,  especially  in  our  noyns  and  verbs :  but  if  properly  pronounced,  there 
is  no  poetical  author  who  has  more  sonorous  or  soft  verses.  At  the  same  time,  it 
must  be  admitted,  that  he  has  less  fluency  than  Shakspeare,  or  even  Spenser ;  but 
certainly  more  nerve  and  strength  than  either  of  them.  Shakspeare  has  a  more  idio- 
matic combination  of  words,  with  a  simple,  beautiful,  and  spell-like  colloquiality : 
Milton's  combinations  are  new,  learned,  and  often,  perhaps  too  often  Latinized :  he 
is  never  trite  :  his  mind  always  appears  in  full  tension,  and  apart  from  the  vulgar 
and  the  light. 


SAMSON    AGONISTES:* 

A  DRAMATICK  POEM. 


Tpayutdla  ninnaii  rrp&^eus  anrovSaiai,  k.  t.  X. 

Aristot.  "  Poet.,"  cap.  9, 

Tragoedia  est  imitatio  actionis  sorise,  &c.,  per  misericordiam  et  metum 
perficiens  talium  aflisctuum  lustrationem. 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 

The  excellence  of  this  drama,  which  strictly  follows  the  Greek  model,  lies  principally 
in  its  majestic  moral  strength :  the  two  preceding  poems  are  divine  epics ;  this  deals 
entirely  in  topics  of  human  nature  and  human  manners.  It  is  not  adapted  to  exhibi- 
tion on  the  stage :  it  is  too  didactic ;  and  has  too  few  actors  and  too  few  incidents.  The 
fable,  the  characters,  the  sentiments,  and  the  language  are  all  admirably  preserved : 
the  story  does  not  linger,  as  some  have  pretended ;  but  goes  forward  with  intense  inte- 
rest to  the  end.  The  opening  is  in  the  chastest  style  of  poetical  beauty.  "The 
breath  of  heaven  fresh-blowing"  gives  ease  to  Samson's  body,  but  not  to  his  mind, 
which,  when  in  solitude  and  at  leisure,  agonizes  his  heart  with  regrets.  Nothing  can 
be  more  pathetic  than  the  comparison  of  his  present  fallen  state  with  his  early  hopes 
and  past  glories;  and  then  the  reflection  that  for  this  change  he  had  no  ono  to  blame 
but  himself: — 

O  loss  of  sight,  of  thee  I  most  complain  ! 

Blind  amongst  enemies,  O  worse  than  chains, 

Dungeon,  or  beggary,  or  decrepit  age  ! 

Light,  the  prime  work  of  God,  to  mo  is  extinct, 

And  all  her  various  objects  of  delight 

AnnuU'd,  which  might  in  part  my  grief  have  eased,  &o. 

The  observations  of  the  Chorus,  descriptive  of  Samson's  dejected  appearance  in  this 
Bituation,  are  very  fine,  contrasted  with  the  recollection  of  his  former  mighty  actions 
and  triumphs : — 

O  mirrour  of  our  fickle  state, 

Since  man  on  earth  unparallel'd, 

The  rarer  thy  example  stands, 

By  how  much  from  the  top  of  wondrous  glory, 

Strongest  of  mortal  men, 

To  lowest  pitch  of  abject  fortune  thou  art  fallen. 

The  dialogues  between  Samson  and  his  father  are  everywhere  supported  with  force, 
elevation,  and  moral  wisdom ;  and  the  unexampled  simplicity  of  the  language  in  which 
they  are  conveyed  augments  the  deep  impression  which  they  everywhere  make. 

Perhaps,  as  a  summary  of  divine  dispensations,  nothing  even  in  Milton  can  be  found 
so  awful  and  comprehensive. 

*  Samson  Agonistes. 
That  is,  Samson,  an  actor ;  Samson,  being  represented  in  a  play.    Agonistes,  ludio,  histrio, 
actor,  scenicus. — ^Nkwton. 

Agonistes  is  here  rather  athleta.  The  subject  of  the  drama  is  Samson  brought  forth  to  exhi- 
bit his  athletic  powers.  See  ver.  1314.  That  such  was  Milton's  intended  sense  of  "  Agonistes,  " 
may  farther  be  collected  from  his  use  of  the  word  "  Antagonist,"  ver.  1628. — ^Dvkstbb. 

0554) 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  555 


IheB  bursts  forth,  at  verse  667,  that  complaint  of  most  deep  and  stupendous  elo- 
quence, beginning, — 

God  of  our  fathers,  what  is  man  ? 

Then  enters  Dalila,  with  the  renewal  of  all  her  arts,  and  coquetries,  and  false  smiles. 
With  yrhai  a  proud  and  overwhelming  scorn  does  the  hero  treat  her  insidious  advances ! 
what  a  contrast  is  Dalila  to  Eve,  even  when,  like  Eve  to  Adam,  she  affects  to  own  her 

transgression !    Samson  exclaims,  v.  748. 

Out,  out,  hyscna  !  these  are  thy  wonted  arts, 
And  arts  of  every  woman  false  like  thee, 
To  break  all  faith,  all  vows,  deceive,  betray; 
Then,  as  repentant,  to  submit,  beseech, 
And  reconcilement  move  with  feign'd  remorse, 
Confess,  and  promise  wonders  in  her  change ; 
Not  truly  penitent,  but  chief  to  try 
Her  husband,  how  far  urged  his  patience  bears, 
His  virtue  or  weakness  which  way  to  assail: 
Then  with  more  cautious  and  instructed  skill 
Again  transgresses,  and  again  submits ; 
That  wisest  and  best  men  full  oft  beguiled, 
With  goodness  principled  not  to  reject 
The  penitent,  but  ever  to  forgive, 
Are  drawn  to  wear  out  miserable  days. 
Entangled  with  a  poisonous  bosom  snake, 
If  not  by  quick  destruction  soon  cut  off, 
As  I  by  thee,  to  ages  an  example. 

As  the  dialogue  goes  on,  each  party  speaks  in  that  natural  train  which  leads  to  the 
consummation  of  the  tragedy ;  and  with  poetic  force  and  plenitude  of  rich  sentimeni^ 
which  belong  to  Milton  alone.        , 

All  poetry  of  a  high  order  is  produced  by  a  union  of  all  the  best  faculties  of  the  mind, 
and  all  the  noblest  emotions  of  the  heart.  What  is  called  the  understanding,  or  reason, 
alone,  will  produce  no  poetry  at  all :  even  the  imagination  added  to  it  will  not  he  suffi- 
cient, unless  there  be  sentiment  and  pathos  raised  by  what  that  imagination  presents. 
To  supply  the  materials  of  that  imagination,  there  must  be  observation,  knowledge, 
learning,  and  memory.    In  the  amalgamation  of  all  these  Milton's  drama  excels. 

The  character  of  Samson  Agonistes  is  magnificently  supported :  he  speaks  always  in 
a  tone  becoming  his  circumstances,  his  position,  his  sufferings,  and  his  destiny :  every- 
thing is  grand,  animated,  natural,  and  soul-elating. 

It  is  a  minor  sort  of  poetry  to  relate  things  as  a  stander-by :  the  author  must  throw 
himself  into  the  character  of  the  person  represented,  and  speak  in  his  name.  Pope,  in 
his  characters  of  men  and  women,  tells  us  their  several  opinions  and  passions ;  but 
these  cpinions  and  passions  should  be  uttered  by  themselves.  There  is  a  sympathy  we 
feel  with  the  eloquent  relater  of  his  own  sorrows,  which  cannot  be  raised  by  the  rela- 
tion  of  a  third  person. 

The  character  of  Manoah,  Samson's  father,  is  full  of  nature  and  parental  affection. 

The  chorus  is  everywhere  attractive  by  poetry,  moral  wisdom,  and  eloquent  pathos. 
I  will  not  disguise  my  opinion,  that  the  versification  of  these  lyrical  parts  is  occasionally, 
and  only  occasionally,  inharmonious,  abrupt,  and  harsh;  and  such  as  my  ear  can 
scarcely  reconcile  to  any  sort  of  metre. 

The  sudden  presage  which  prompted  Samson  to  consent  to  exhibit  himself  in  the 
theatre,  after  the  stern  reluctance  he  had  previously  expressed,  is  very  sublime. 

The  tone  of  the  whole  drama  is  in  the  highest  degree  of  elevation :  the  thoughts, 
sentiments,  and  words  are  those  of  a  mental  giant. 

Added  to  the  mighty  interest  which  these  create,  is  the  conviction  that  through  the 
whole  the  poet  has  a  relation  to  his  own  case; — his  blindness,  his  proscription,  his 

poverty,  .:,         . 

With  darkness  and  with  danger  compass'd  round  ;— 

his  fortitude,  his  defiance,  his  unimpaired  strength,  his  loftiness  of  Bonl,  his  conscious 
power  from  the  vastness  of  his  intellect,  and  the  firmness  of  his  principles. 


556  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


ON  THAT  SORT  OF  DRAMATICK  POEM  WHICH  IS  CALLED 

TRAGEDY." 

[written   by  MILTON  HIMSELF.] 

Tragedy,  as  it  was  anciently  composed,  hath  been  ever  held  the  gravest,  moralest, 
and  most  profitable  of  all  other  poems :  therefore  said  by  Aristotle  to  be  of  power,  by 
iraising  pity  and  fear,  or  terrour,  to  purge  the  mind  of  those  and  such  like  passions,  thai 
is,  to  temper  and  reduce  them  to  just  measure  with  a  kind  of  delight,  stirred  up  by 
reading  or  seeing  those  passions  well  imitated.  Nor  is  Nature  wanting  in  her  own 
effects  to  make  good  his  assertion :  for  so,  in  physick,b  things  of  melancholick  hue  and 
quality  are  used  against  melancholy,  sour  against  sour,  salt  to  remove  salt  humours : 
hence  philosophers  and  other  gravest  writers,  as  Cicero,  Plutarch,  and  others,  fre- 
quently cite  out  of  tragick  poets,  both  to  adorn  and  illustrate  their  discourse.  Thg 
apostle  Paul  himself  thought  it  not  unworthy  to  insert  a  verse  of  Euripides":  into  the 
text  of  Holy  Scriptures,  1  Cor.  xv.  33;  and  Paraeus,  commenting  on  the  Revelation, 
divides  the  whole  book  as  a  tragedy,  into  acts  distinguished  each  by  a  chorus  of  heavenly 
harpings  and  song  between.  Heretofore  men  in  highest  dignity  have  laboured  not  a 
little  to  be  thought  able  to  compose  a  tragedy ;  of  that  honour  Dionysius  the  elder  was 
no  less  ambitious,  than  before  of  his  attaining  to  the  tyranny.  Augustus  Caesar  also 
had  begun  his  Ajax ;  but,  unable  to  please  his  own  judgement  with  what  he  had  begun, 
left  it  unfinished.     Seneca,  the  philosopher,  is  by  some  thought  the  author  of  those 

»  Of  that  sort  of  dramatick  poem,  called  Tragedy. 

Milton,  who  was  inclined  to  puritanism,  had  good  reason  to  think  that  the  publication  of  his 
"Samson  Agonistes"  would  be  very  offensive  to  liis  brethren,  who  had  poetry,  and  particu- 
larly that  of  the  dramatic  kind,  in  the  greatest  abhorrence  :  and,  upon  this  account,  it  is  pro- 
bable, that,  in  order  to  excuse  himself  from  having  engaged  in  this  proscribed  and  forbidden 
species  of  writing,  he  thought  it  expedient  to  prefix  to  his  play  a  formal  defence  of  tragedy  .— 
T.Waeton. 

b  For  so,  in  physick,  &c . 

These  expressions  of  Milton  may  be  supposed  to  refer  to  the  doctrine  of  signatures  then  in 
vogue  ;  which  had  been  introduced  by  Paracelsus  between  the  years  1530  and  1540,  and  which 
iaferred  the  propriety  of  the  use  of  any  vegetable  or  mineral  in  medicine,  from  the  similarity 
of  colour,  shape,  or  appearance,  which  these  remedies  might  bear  to  the  part  affected.  Thu* 
yellow  things,  as  saffron,  turmeric,  &c.,  were  given  in  liver  complaints,  from  their  analogy  of 
colour  to  the  bile ;  and  other  remedies  were  given  in  nephritic  disorders,  because  the  seed  of 
leaf  of  the  plant  resembled  the  kidney.  See  Paracelsus,  "Labyrinth.  Med."  c.  8,  and  Dr. 
PomDercon's  very  elegant  preface  to  the  English  edition  of  the  "  London  Dispensary."— 

DVNSTBR. 

c  A  verse  of  Euripides. 

The  verse,  here  quoted,  is  "  Evil  communications  corrupt  good  manners :"  but  I  am  inclined 
to  think  that  Milton  is  mistaken  in  calling  it  a  verse  of  Euripides ;  for  Jerome  and  Grotius 
(who  published  the  fragments  of  Menander),  and  the  best  commentators,  ancient  and  modern, 
say  that  it  is  taken  from  the  "  Thais"  of  Menander,  and  it  is  extant  among  the  fragments  of 
Menander,  p  79,  Le  Clerc's  edit.  Such  slips  of  memory  may  be  found  sometimes  in  the  best 
writers. — Newton. 

Mr.  Glasse,  the  learned  translator  of  this  tragedy  into  Greek  iambics,  agrees  with  Dr.  New- 
ton. Dr.  Macknight,  in  his  excellent  "Translation  of  the  Epistles,"  is  of  opinion,  that  the 
sentiment  is  of  elder  datethan  the  time  of  Menander ;  that  it  was  one  of  the  proverbial  verses 
commonly  received  among  the  Greeks,  the  author  of  which  cannot  now  be  known.  Clemens 
Alexandrinus  calls  it  a  tragic  iambic,  "Strom."  lib.  i.  and  Socrates  the  historian  expressly 
assigrjsit  to  Euripides,  "  Ecc.  Hist."  lib.  iii.  cap.  16,  ed.  Vales,  p.  189.  It  is  extant  indeed  in  the 
fragments  of  Euripides,  as  well  as  in  those  of  the  comic  writer.  Milton  therefore  is  not  to  be 
charged  with  forgetfulness  or  mistake. — Todd. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  557 


tragedies  (at  least  the  best  of  them)  that  go  under  that  name.  Gregory  Nazianzen,  a 
father  of  the  church,  thought  it  not  unbeseeming  the  sanctity  of  his  person  to  write  a 
tragedy,"!  which  is  entitled  "  Christ  Suffering."  This  is  mentioned  to  vindicate  tragedy 
from  the  small  esteem,  or  rather  infamy,  which  in  the  account  of  many  it  undergoes  at 
this  day  with  other  common  interludes ;  happening  through  the  poet's  errour  of  inter- 
mixing comick  stuflf  with  tragick  sadness  and  gravity;  or  introducing  trivial  and  vulgar 
persons,  which  by  all  judicious  had  been  counted  absurd ;  and  brought  in  without  dis- 
eretion,  corruptly  to  gratify  the  people.  And  though  ancient  tragedy  use  no  prologue," 
yet  using  sometimes,  in  case  of  self-defence,  or  explanation,  that  which  Martial  calls  an 
epistle ;  in  behalf  of  this  tragedy  coming  forth  after  the  ancient  manner,  much  different 
from  what  among  us  passes  for  best,  thus  much  beforehand  may  be  epistled ;  that  Chorus 
is  here  introduced  after  the  Greek  manner,  not  ancient  only  but  modem,  and  still  in  use 
among  the  Italians.  In  the  modelling  therefore  of  this  poem,  with  good  reason,  the 
ancients  and  Italians  are  rather  followed,  as  of  much  more  authority  and  fame.  The 
measure  of  verse  used  in  the  Chorus  is  of  all  sorts,  called  by  the  Greeks  monostrophick, 
or  rather  apolelymenon,'  without  regard  had  to  strophe,  antistrophe,  or  epode,  which 
were  a  kind  of  stanzas  framed  only  for  the  musick,  then  used  with  the  Chorus  that 
sung;  not  essential  to  the  poem,  and  therefore  not  material;  or,  being  divided  into 
Btanzas  or  pauses,  they  may  be  called  allaeostropha.  Division  into  act  and  scene  refer- 
ring chiefly  to  the  stage,  (to  which  this  work  never  was  intended)  is  here  omitted. 

It  suflSces  if  the  whole  drama  be  found  not  produced  beyond  the  fifth  act.  Of  the 
style  and  uniformity,  and  that  commonly  called  the  plot,  whether  intricate  or  explicit, 
which  is  nothing  indeed  but  such  oeconomy,  or  disposition  of  the  fable,  as  may  stand 
best  with  verisimilitude  and  decorum ;  they  only  will  best  judge  who  are  not  unac- 
quainted with  iEschylus,  Sophocles,  and  Euripides,  the  three  tragick  poets  unequalled 
yet  by  any,  and  the  best  rule  to  all  who  endeavour  to  write  tragedy.  The  circumscrip- 
tion of  time,  wherein  the  whole  dfama  begins  and  ends,  is,  according  to  ancient  rule 
and  best  example,  within  the  space  of  twenty-four  hours. 

d  A  tragedy,  <fec. 
A  very  severe,  but  very  just  criticism,  on  this  tragedy  of  Gregory,  which  has  been  too  much 
applauded. — Jos.  Warton. 

e  Though  ancient  tragedy  use  no  prologue. 
That   is,   no   prologue   apologizing  for  the   poet,  as  we  find  the  ancient  comedy  did.     See 
Terence's  prologues.— Hurd. 

t  Apolelymenon. 
Free  from  the  restraint  of  any  particular  cieasure,  not  from  all  measures  whatsoever.— Huhd. 


558  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


AEGUMENT. 
Samson,  made  captive,  blind,*  and  now  in  the  prison  at  Gaza,  there  to  labour  as  in  a  common 
workhouse,  on  a  festival  day,  in  the  general  cessation  from  labour,  comes  forth  into  the 
open  air,  to  a  place  nigh,  somewliat  retired,  there  to  sit  awhile  and  bemoan  his  condition; 
where  he  happens  at  length  to  be  visited  by  certain  friends  and  equals  of  his  tribe,  which 
make  the  Chorus,  who  seek  to  comfort  him  what  Ihey  can  ;  then  by  his  old  father  Manoah, 
who  endeavours  the  like,  and  withal  fells  him  his  purpose  to  procure  his  liberty  by  ran- 
som ;  lastly,  that  this  feast  was  proclaimed  by  the  Philistines  as  a  day  of  thanksgiving  for 
their  deliverance  from  the  hands  of  Samson,  which  yet  more  troubles  him.  Manoah  then 
departs  to  prosecute  his  endeavour  with  the  Philistine  lords  for  Samson's  redemption; 
who  in  the  meanwhile  is  visited  by  other  persons,  and  lastly  by  a  public  otficer  to  require 
his  coming  to  the  feast  before  the  lords  and  people,  to  play  or  show  his  strength  in  their 
presence ;  he  at  first  refuses,  dismissing  the  public  officer  with  absolute  denial  to  come : 
at  length,  persuaded  inwardly  that  this  was  from  God,  he  yields  to  go  along  with  him,  who 
came  now  the  second  time  with  great  threatenings  to  fetch  him  :  the  Chorus  yet  remaining 
on  the  place,  Manoah  returns  full  of  joyful  hope,  to  procure  ere  long  his  son's  deliverance: 
in  the  midst  of  which  discourse  a  Hebrew  comes  in  haste,  confusedly  at  first,  and  afterwards 
more  distinctly,  relating  the  catastrophe,  what  Samson  had  done  to  the  Philistines,  and  by 
accident  to  himself;  wherewith  the  tragedy  ends. 


THE    PEKSONS. 

Samson.  Publick  Officer. 

Manoah,  tne  Father  of  Samson.  Messenger. 

Dalila,  his  Wife.  Chorus  of  Danites. 

Harapha,  o/  Gath. 

The  Scene  before  the  Prison  in  Gaza. 


•  Samson,  made  captive,  blind,  &c. 

Mr.  Upton  is  the  first  critic  who  has  observed,  what  yet  is  obvious,  that  in  this  tragedy 
Samson  "  imprisoned  and  blind,  and  the  captive  state  of  Israel,  livelily  represent  our  blind  poet 
with  the  republican  party,  after  the  Restoration,  afflicted  and  persecuted."  See  his  "  Crit. 
Observ.  on  Shakspeare,"  1748,  p.  144.  I  must  add,  that  Milton,  who  artfully  envelops  much 
of  his  own  history  and  of  the  times  in  this  drama,  had  lon^  before  used  the  character  and  situ- 
ation of  Samson  for  a  temporary  allegory  in  '•  The  Reason  of  Church  Government,"  b.  ii. 
conctusion.  He  supposes  Samson  to  be  a  king,  who,  being  disciplined  in  temperance,  grows 
perfect  in  strength,  his  illustrious  and  sunny  locks  being  the  laws  :  while  these  are  undimi- 
nished and  unshorn,  with  the  jaw-bone  of  an  ass,  that  is,  with  the  word  of  his  meanest  officer, 
he  defeats  thousands  of  his  adversaries :  but,  reclining  his  head  on  the  lap  of  flattering  pre- 
lates, while  he  sleeps,  they  cut  off  those  bright  tresses  of  his  laws  and  prerogatives,  once  his 
ornament  and  defence,  delivering  him  over  to  violent  and  oppressive  counsellors  ;  who,  like 
the  Philistines,  extinguish  the  eyes  of  his  natural  discernment,  forcing  him  to  grind  in  the  pri- 
son-house of  their  insidious  designs  against  his  power  :  "  till  he,  knowing  this  prelatical  razor 
to  have  bereft  him  of  his  wonted  might,  nourish  again  his  puissant  hair,  the  golden  beams 
of  law  and  right ;  and  they,  sternly  shook,  thunder  with  ruin  upon  the  heads  of  those  his  evil 
counseUors,  but  not  without  great  affliction  to  himself." — T.  Warton. 

The  younger  Richardson,  in  his  manuscript  observations  on  this  tragedy,  has  noticed  the 
allusions  of  the  poet  to  the  historyof  himself  and  of  his  own  days.  "  The  poem,"  he  remajks, 
"was  written  when  the  saints  were  oppressed,  and  in  little  appearance  of  ever  seeing  their 
own  times  again :  therefore  the  conclusion  is  with  a  view  to  comfort  them,  as  well  as  himself, 
by  so  great  an  example  of  Providence,  ♦  Aye  watching  o'er  his  saints  with  eye  unseene,'  as 
he  writes  on  the  glass  window  at  Chalfont.  This  Milton  loves  to  allude  to  in  all  his  writings. 
and  is  the  great  moral  of  this  tragedy,  as  Mr.  Pope  observed  to  me :  and  considering  this 
point  farther  some  days  afterwards,  I  am  persuaded  Milton  must  have  a  view  to  himself  io 
Samson."— Todd. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  559 


Samson  (Attendant  leading  him). 

A  LITTLE  onward"  lend  thy  guiding  hand 

To  these  dark  steps,"  a  little  further  on : 

For  yonder  bank "  hath  choice  of  sun  or  shade : 

There  I  am  wont  to  sit,  when  any  chance 

Relieves  me  from  my  task  of  servile  toil, 

Daily  in  the  common  prison  else  enjoin'd  me, 

Where  I,  a  prisoner,  chain'd,  scarce  freely  draw 

The  air  imprison'd  also,  close  and  damp. 

Unwholesome  draught :  but  here  I  feel  amends, 

The  breath  of  heaven  fresh  blowing,"*  pure  and  sweet, 

With  day-spring  bom ;  here  leave  me  to  respire.— 

This  day  a  solemn  feast  the  people  hold 

To  Dagon  their  sea-idol,*  and  forbid 

Laborious  works ;  unwillingly  this  rest 

Their  superstition  yields  me ;  hence  with  leave 

Retiring  from  the  popular  noise,  I  seek 

This  unfrequented  place  to  find  some  ease, 

Ease  to  the  body  some,  none  to  the  mind 

From  restless  thoughts,  that,  like  a  deadly  swarm 

Of  hornets  arm'd,  n<3  sooner  found  alone. 

But  rush  upon  me  thronging,'  and  present 

»  A  little  onward,  &C. 

Milton,  after  the  example  of  the  Oreek  tragedians,  whom  he  professes  to  imitate, 
opens  his  drama  with  introducing  one  of  his  principal  personages,  explaining  the  story 
upon  which  it  is  founded. — Thyer. 

The  incident,  however,  and  the  formulary  of  the  expression,  are  from  the  Hecaba  of 
Euripides,  who  thus  leads  on  the  giant  sorrows  of  Priam's  aged  qaeen : — 

Hkc.  Lead  me,  ye  Trojan  dames,  a  little  onward, 
A  little  onward  lead  an  aged  matron, 
Now  your  poor  fellow-slave,  but  once  your  queen. 

b  To  these  dark  steps. 
So  Tiresias  in  Euripides,  "  Phoenissse,"  ver.  841. — Richardson. 
The  words  of  this  opening  are  very  poetical,  beautiful,  and  affecting. 

c  For  yonder  bank. 
The  scene  of  this  tragedy  is  much  the  same  as  that  of  the  (Edipus  Coloneus  in  Sopho- 
cles, where  blind  (Edipus  is  conducted  in  like  manner,  and  represented  sitting  upon  a 
little  hill  near  Athens :  but  yet  I  think  there  is  scarcely  a  single  thought  the  same  in 
the  two  pieces ;  and  I  am  sure  the  Greek  tragedy  can  have  no  pretence  to  be  esteemed 
better,  but  only  because  it  is  two  thousand  years  older. — Newton. 

i  The  breath  of  heaven. 
This  line  and  the  next  are  exquisite 

0  To  Dagon  their  sea-idol, 

Milton,  as  Dr.  Newton  observes,  both  here  and  in  the  "Paradise  Lost,"  foUows  the 
opinion  of  those  who  describe  this  idol  as  part  inan,  part  fish,  b.  i.  462.  Some  also 
describe  the  idol  as  part  woman  and  part  fish : 

Desinat  in  piscem  mulier  formosa  superne, 
according  to  Calmet. — Todd. 

^3ui  rush  upon  me  thronging. 
The  whole  of  this  passage  is  pathetic,  moral,  and  full  of  force. 


560  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


Times  past  what  once  I  was,  and  what  am  now.* 

0,  wherefore  was  my  birth  from  Heaven  foretold 

Twice  by  an  angel,''  who  at  last  in  sight 

Of  both  my  parents  all  in  flames  ascended 

From  off  the  altar,  where  an  offering  burn'd, 

As  in  a  fiery  column  charioting 

His  godlike  presence,  and  from  some  great  act 

Or  benefit  reveal'd  to  Abraham's  race  ? 

Why  was  my  breeding  order' d  and  prescribed 

As  of  a  person  separate  to  God, 

Design'd  for  great  exploits ;  if  I  must  die 

Betray'd,  captived,  and  both  my  eyes  put  out, 

Made  of  my  enemies  the  scorn  and  gaze ; 

To  grind  in  brazen  fetters  under  task 

With  this  heaven-gifted  strength  ?     0  glorious  strength, 

Put  to  the  labour  of  a  beast,  debased 

Lower  than  bond-slave  !     Promise  was,  that  I 

Should  Israel  from  Philistian  yoke  deliver : 

Ask  for  this  great  deliverer  now,'  and  find  him 

Eyeless  in  Gaza  at  the  mill  with  slaves, 

Himself  in  bonds  under  Philistian  yoke  : 

Yet  stay ;  let  me  not  rashly  call  in  doubt 

Divine  prediction  :  what  if  all  foretold 

Had  been  fulfill' d  but  through  mine  own  default, 

Whom  have  I  to  complain  of  but  myself? 

Who  this  high  gift  of  strength  committed  to  me"^ 

In  what  part  lodged,  how  easily  bereft  me, 

Under  the  seal  of  silence  could  not  keep. 

But  weakly  to  a  woman  must  reveal  it, 

O'ercome  with  importunity  and  tears. 

0  impotence  of  mind,  in  body  strong ! 

But  what  is  strength  without  a  double  share 

Of  wisdom  ?••  vast,  unwieldy,  burdensome, 

B  What  once  I  was,  and  what  am  now. 

As  in  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  iv.  2.3 : 

Now  conscience  wakes  despair 
That  slumber'd,  wakes  the  bitter  memory 
Of  what  he  was,  what  is. — Todd. 

i>  Twice  hy  an  angel. 
Once  to  his  mother,  and  again  to  his  father  Manoah  and  his  mother  both ;  and  the 
second  time  the  angel  ascended  in  the  flame  of  the  altar.  Judges  xiii.  3, 11, 20. — Newton. 

•  Aahfor  this  great  deliverer  now,  Ac. 
This  may  be  considered  as  political,  referring  to  the  prospects  there  were,  not  long 
before,  of  the  republican  party  overturning  monarchy;  and  to  that  lately  victorious 
party  heing  now  completely  itself  overcome,  and  subject  to  the  yoke  which  it  had  once 
apparently  removed  and  trampled  on. — Dunstek. 


Ovid,  "Met"  xiii.  363 


J  But  what  is  strength  withoxii  a  double  share 
Of  wisdom?  Ac. 


Tu  vires  sine  roente  geris- 


■  tu  tantum  corpore  prodes, 
Nos  animo  :  quantoque  ratem  qui  temperat,  &c. — JORTIM. 

And  Horace,  Od.  ni.  iv.  65 : — 

Yii  consilt  expers  mole  rait  sua ^Richakdbom. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  561 


Proudly  secure,  yet  liable  to  fall 

By  weakest  subtleties ;  not  made  to  rule, 

But  to  subserve  where  wisdom  bears  command ! 

God,  when  he  gave  me  strength,  to  show  withal 

How  slight  the  gift  was,  hung  it  in  my  hair. 

But  peace,  I  must  not  quarrel  with  the  will 

Of  highest  dispensation,  which  herein 

Haply  had  ends  above  my  reach  to  know : 

Suffices  that  to  me  strength  is  my  bane, 

And  proves  the  source  of  all  my  miseries ; 

So  many,  and  so  huge,  that  each  apart 

Would  ask  a  life  to  wail ;  but  chief  of  all, 

O  loss  of  sight,  of  thee  I  most  complain  ! 

Blind  among  enemies,  0  worse  than  chains, 

Dungeon,  or  beggary,  or  decrepit  age  ! 

Light,  the  prime  work  of  Grod,  to  me  is  extinct, 

And  all  her  various  objects  of  delight 

Annull'd,  which  might  in  part  my  grief  have  eased, 

Inferiour  to  the  vilest  now  become 

Of  man  or  worm ;  the  vilest  here  excel  me : 

They  creep,  yet  see ;  I,  dark  in  light,  exposed 

To  daily  fraud,  contempt,  abuse,  and  wrong, 

Within  doors  or  witjiout,  still  as  a  fool. 

In  power  of  others,  never  in  my  own  j 

Scarce  half  I  seem  to  live,  dead  more  thon  half." 

O  dark,  dark,  dark,  amid  the  blaze  of  noon, 

Irrecoverably  dark,'  total  eclipse 

k  Scarce  half  I  seem  to  live,  dead  more  than  half. 

In  those  lines  the  poet  seems  to  paint  himself.  The  litigation  of  his  will  produced  a 
collection  of  evidence  relating  to  the  testator,  which  renders  the  discovery  of  those 
long-forgotten  papers  peculiarly  interesting :  they  show  very  forcibly,  and  in  new 
points  of  view,  his  domestic  infelicity,  and  his  amiable  disposition.  The  tender  and 
sublime  poet,  who^e  sensibility  and  sufferings  were  so  great,  appears  to  have  been 
almost  as  unfortunate  in  his  daughters  as  the  Lear  of  Shakspeare.  A  servant  declares 
in  evidence,  that  her  deceased  master,  a  little  before  his  last  marriage,  had  lamented 
to  her  the  ingratitude  and  cruelty  of  his  children ;  he  complained  that  they  combined 
to  defraud  him  in  the  economy  of  his  hoiise,  and  sold  several  of  his  books  in  the 
basest  manner.  His  feelings  on  such  an  outrage,  both  as  a  parent  and  scholar,  must 
have  been  singularly  painful :  perhaps  they  suggested  to  him  these  very  pathetic  lines. 
— Hayley. 

As  it  appears,  from  the  latest  discoveries  relating  to  the  domestic  life  of  Milton,  that 
his  wife  was  particularly  attentive  to  him,  and  treated  his  infirmities  with  much  ten- 
derness, this  passage  seems  to  restrict  the  time  when  this  drama  was  written,  to  a 
period  previous  to  his  last  marriage,  or  at  least  nearly  to  that  immediate  time,  while 
the  singular  ill-treatment  of  his  daughters  was  fresh  in  his  memory.  This  also  coin- 
cides with  what  Mr.  Hayley  has  observed  respecting  its  being  written  immediately 
after  the  execution  of  Sir  Henry  Vane,  which  took  place  June  14,  1662.  Milton  was 
then  in  his  fifty-fourth  year,  in  which  we  are  told  he  married  his  third  wife.  This 
would  make  the  "  Agonistes"  at  least  three  years  anterior  to  the  "  Paradise  Regained," 
of  which  we  know  he  had  not  thought  previous  to  the  summer  of  1665 ;  when,  on 
account  of  the  plague  raging  in  London,  he  retired  to  Chalfont,  where  an  accidental 
expression  of  Elwood,  on  returning  him  the  copy  of  "Paradise  "Lost,"  Mdthe  founda- 
tion of  the  second  poem. — Dunsteh. 

1  0  dark,  dark,  dark,  amid  the  blaze  of  noon, 
Irrecoverably/  dark. 

This  is  far  more  pathetic  than  the  exclamation  of  (Edipus,  whibb  the-  poet  perhaps 
had  now  in  mind,  "  (Ed.  Tyr."  y.  1337.— Todd. 

n 


5G2  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


Without  all  hope  of  day ! 

O  first-created  Beam,  and  thou  great  Word, 

"  Let  there  be  light,  and  light  was  over  all  j" 

Why  am  I  thus  bereaved  thy  prime  decree  ? 

The  sun  to  me  is  dark 

And  silent  as  the  moon," 

When  she  deserts  the  night. 

Hid  in  her  vacant  interlunar  cave. 

Since  light  so  necessary  is  to  life. 

And  almost  life  itself,  if  it  be  true 

That  light  is  in  the  soul, 

She  all  in  every  part;  why  was  the  sight 

To  such  a  tender  ball  as  the  eye  confined, 

So  obvious  and  so  easy  to  be  quench'd  ? 

And  not,  as  feeling,  through  all  parts  difi'used, 

That  she  might  look  at  will  through  every  pore  7 

Then  had  I  not  been  thus  exiled  from  light, 

As  in  the  land  of  darkness,  yet  in  light, 

To  live  a  life  half  dead,  a  living  death, 

And  buried  j  but,  0  yet  more  miserable  ! 

My  self  my  sepulchre,  a  moving  grave; 

Buried,  yet  not  exempt. 

By  privilege  of  death  and  burial, 

From  worst  of  other  evils,  pains  and  wrongs ; 

But  made  hereby  obnoxious  more 

To  all  the  miseries  of  life, 

Life  in  captivity 

Among  inhuman  foes. 

But  who  ar(J  these  ?  for  with  joint  pace  I  heai 

The  tread  of  many  feet"  steering  this  way;" 

Perhaps  my  enemies,  who  come  to  stare 

At  my  affliction,  and  perhaps  to  insult, 

Their  daily  practice  to  afflict  me  more. 

Few  passages  in  poetry  are  so  affecting  as  this ;  and  the  tone  of  expression  is  pecu- 
liarly Miltonic. 

»>  And  silent  aa  the  moon. 

"  Silens  luna"  is  the  moon  at  or  near  the  change,  and  in  conjunction  with  the  suii. 
Plin.  lib.  xvi.  cap.  39.  The  interlunar  cave  is  here  called  "vacant,"  quia  luna  ibi  vacal 
opere  et  ministerio  suo  ;"  because  the  moon  is  idle  and  useless,  and  makes  no  return  of 
light. — Meat>owcc  CRT. 

There  is  very  extraordinary  power  of  poetry  in  the  whole  passage,  down  to  verse  109. 

n  With  joint  pace  I  hear 
The  tread  of  many  feet. 
Virgil,  «^n."  ii.  731:— 

Bubito  cum  oreber  ad  aures 
Visua  adesse  pedum  sonitus. — Todd. 

0  Steering  this  way. 
If  this  be  the  right  reading,  the  metaphor  is  extremely  hard  and  abrupt.    A  common 
man  would  have  said  "  bearing  this  way." — Warburton. 

I  believe  "  steering"  is  the  right  reading.    So,  in  the  "  Ode  on  the  Nativ."ver.  146 : — 
With  radiant  feet  the  tissued  clouds  down  steering. 

The  old  writers  use  it  simply  for  moving.  Thus  Chaucer,  in  "  The  Flower  and  the 
Leaf:" — 

Storing  so  fast,  that  all  the  earth  trembled. — Hnns. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


56Sf 


Enter  Chorus. 
Cho.  This,  this  is  he ;  softly  awhile ; 
Let  us  not  break  in  upon  him  : 
0  change  beyond  report,  thought,  or  belief ! 
See  how  he  lies  at  random,  carelessly  diffused," 
With  languish'd  head  unpropp'd, 
As  one  past  hope  abandon' d, 
And  by  himself  given  over ; 
In  slavish  habit,  ill-fitted  weeds 
O'erworn  and  soil'd  j 

Or  do  my  eyes  misrepresent  ?     Can  this  be  he, 
That  heroick,  that  renown'd. 
Irresistible  Samson  ?  whom  unarm'd 

No  strength  of  man,  or  fiercest  wild  beast,  could  withstand; 
Who  tore  the  lion,  as  the  lion  tears  the  kid ; 
Ran  on  embattel'd  armies  clad  in  iron ; 
And,  weaponless  himself, 
Made  arms  ridiculous,"!  useless  the  forgery 
Of  brazen  shield  and  spear,  the  hammer'd  cuirass, 
Chalybean  temper'd  steel,'"  and  frock  of  mail 
Adamantean  proof? 
But  safest  he  who  stood  aloof. 
When  insupportably  his  foot  advanced,* 
In  scorn  of  their  proud  arms  and  warlike  tools, 
Spurn' d  them  to  death  by  troops.     The  bold  Ascate* 
Fled  from  his  lion  ramp ; "  old  warriours  turn'd 
Their  plated  backs  ^  under  his  heel ; 

p  Carelessly  diffused. 
This  beautiful  application  of  the  word  "diffused"  Milton  has  borrowed  from  the 
Latins.    So  Ovid,  "  Ex  Ponto,"  iii.  iii.  7 : — 

Publica  me  requies  curarum  somnus  habebat, 

Fusaque  erant  toto  languida  membra  toro. — Thtbk. 

q  Made  arms  ridiculous. 
This,  it  muBt  be  admitted,  is  prosaic. 

f  Chalybean  tempered  steel. 
That  is,  the  best  tempered  steel  by  the  Chalybes,  who  were  famous  among  the 
ancients  for  their  iron  works.    Virg.  "Georg."  i.  58.    "At  Chalybes  nudi  ferrum." — 
Nkwto.n. 

»  When  insvpportahly  his  foot  advanced. 
For  this  nervous  expression  Milton  was  probably  indebted  to  the  following  lines  of 
Spenser,  "Faery  Queen,"  i.  vii.  11: — 

That  when  the  knight  he  spied,  he  'gan  advance 
"With  huge  force,  and  insupportable  main. — Thtkh. 

t  The  hold  Ascalonite. 
The  inhabitants  of  Ascalon,  one  of  the  five  principal  cities  of  the  Philistines,  men- 
tioned 1  Sam.  vi.  17. — Newton. 

u  His  lion  ramp. 
His  attack  like  that  of  a  lion  rampant.   "  Rampant"  is  an  heraldic  term. — T.  Wahton. 

V  Old  warriours  turn'd 
Their  plated  backs,  &c. 
The  deeds  of  valorous  knights  were  now  in  Milton's  mind.    Artegall  is  thus  described, 
"like  a  lion;"— 

Hewing  and  slashing  shields  and  helmets  bright, 
And  beating  downe  whatever  nigh  him  came. 


564 


SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


Or,  groveling,  soil'd  their  crested  helmets^  in  the  dust. 

Then  with  what  trivial  weapon  came  to  hand,  ^ 

The  jaw  of  a  dead  ass,  his  sword  of  bone, 

A  thousand  foreskins  fell,  the  flower  of  Palestine, 

In  Ramath-lechi,  famous  to  this  day." 

Then  by  main  force  pull'd  up,  and  on  his  shoulders  bore 

The  gates  of  Azza,^  post,  and  massy  bar. 

Up  to  the  hill  by  Hebron,  seat  of  giants  old,* 

No  journey  of  a  sabbath-day,  and  loaded  so; 

Like  whom  the  Gentiles  feign  to  bear  up  heaven. 

Which  shall  I  first  bewail. 

Thy  bondage  or  lost  sight. 

Prison  within  prison 

Inseparably  dark  ? 

Thou  art  become  (0  worst  imprisonment !) 

The  dungeon  of  thyself;  thy  soul, 

(Which  men  enjoying  sight  oft  without  cause  complain) 

Imprison'd  now  indeed. 

In  real  darkness  of  the  body  dwells," 

Shut  up  from  outward  light 

To  incorporate  with  gloomy  night; 

For  inward  light,  alas  ! 

Puts  forth  no  visual  beam.* 

0  mirrour  of  our  fickle  state  ! " 

That  every  one  'gan  shun  his  dreadful  sight, 

No  lesse  than  Death,  &c. — "  Faer.  Qu."  iv.iv.  41. 

See  a  similar  account  of  Marinell,  "  Faer.  Qu."  v.  iii.  8. — Todd. 

w  Crested  helmets. 
"  Galeae  cristatae  quae  speciem  magnitudini  corporum  adderent."    Liv.  is.  40 :  and 
Ovid,  "  Met."  viii.  25.     "  Cristata  casside." — Ddnstek. 

»  In  Jiamath-lechi,  famous  to  this  day. 
Judges  XV.  17.    "  He  cast  away  the  jaw-bono  out  of  his  hand,  and  called  that  place 
Rameth-lechi,"  that  is,  the  lifting  up  of  the  jaw-bone,  or  casting  away  of  the  jaw-bone, 
as  it  is  rendered  in  the  margin  of  our  Bibles. — Newton. 

J  The  gates  of  Azza, 
Another  name  for  Oaza.    Sandys,  speaking  of  this  city,  says, "  Oaza  or  Aza  signifieth 
strong:  in  the  Persian  language,  o  treasury."     Travels,  fol.  1615,  p.  149. — Todd. 

»  Hebron,  seat  of  giants  old. 
"For  Hebron  was  the  city  of  Arba,  the  father  of  Anak,and  the  seat  of  the  Anakims," 
Josh.  XV.  13,  14.     "  And  the  Anakims  were  giants,  which  come  of  the  giants,"  Numb. 
xiii.  33. — Newton. 

»  Imprison'd  now  indeed, 
In  real  darkness  of  the  body  dwells. 
Perhaps  an  allusion  to  Matt.  vi.  23.     "  If  the  light  that  is  in  thee  be  darkness,  how 
great  is  that  darkness !"    So,  in  "  Comus;" — 

He,  that  hides  a  dark  soul  and  foul  thoughts, 
Benighted  walks  under  the  mild-day  sunj 
Himself  ia  his  own  dungeon. — Todd. 

b  For  imcard  light,  alas  ! 
Puts  forth  no  visual  beam. 
The  expresdon  is  fine,  and  means  the  ray  of  light  which  occasions  vision. — Wae- 

BURTON. 

•  0  mirrour  of  ourfidde  state,  Ac. 
There  is  a  fine  resemblance  in  the  remainder  of  these  pathetic  reflections  to  those  of 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  565 


Since  man  on  earth  unparallel'd, 

The  rarer  thy  example  stands, 

By  how  much  from  the  top  of  wondrous  glory, 

Strongest  of  mortal  men, 

To  lowest  pitch  of  abject  fortune  thou  art  fallen. 

For  him  I  reckon  not  in  high  estate. 

Whom  long  descent  of  birth,* 

Or  the  sphere  of  fortune  ®  raises ; 

But  thee,  whose  strength,  while  virtue  was  her  mate, 

Might  have  subdued  the  earth, 

Universally  crown'd  with  highest  praises/ 

Sam.  I  hear  the  sound  of  words ;  their  sense  the  air 
Dissolves  unjointed  ere  it  reach  ray  ear. 

Cho.  He  speaks  :  let  us  draw  nigh.     Matchless  in  might, 
The  glory  late  of  Israel,  now  the  grief; 
We  come,  thy  friends  and  neighbours  not  unknown. 
From  Eshtaol  and  Zora's  fruitful  vale,s 
To  visit  or  bewail  thee ;  ^  or,  if  better, 
Council  or  consolation  we  may  bring, 
Salve  to  thy  sores  :  apt  words  have  power  to  swage 
The  tumours  of  a  troubled  mind, 
And  are  as  balm  to  fester' d  wounds. 

Sam.  Your  coming,  friends,  revives  me :  for  I  learn 
Now  of  my  own  experience,  not  by  talk. 
How  counterfeit  a'coin '  they  are  who  friends 
Bear  in  their  superscription  :  (of  the  most 

the  Chorus,  on  the  fate  of  (Edipus  Tyrannus,  in  the  play  of  that  name,  hy  Sophocles, 
V.  1211.— Todd. 

^  Zon(j  descent  of  birth. 
Juv.  Sat.  viii.  1 : — 

qnid  jjrodestj  Pontice,  longo 
Sanguine  censeri  ? — Todd. 

e  Or  the  sphere  of  fortune. 
Fortune  is  painted  on  a  globe,  which  by  her  influence  is  in  a  perpetual  rotation  on  its 
axis. — Warburton. 

'  Highest  praises. 
Though  there  are  magnificent  passages  in  this  Chorus,  I  cannot  quite  reconcile  my 
ear  to  the  rhythm ;  nor  to  some  of  the  expressions,  which  are,  I  confess,  too  like  prose. 

§  From  Eshtaol,  and  Zora's  fruitful  vale. 
These  were  two  towns  of  the  tribe  of  Dan,  Josh.  xix.  41 :  the  latter  the  birthplace  of 
Samson,  Judg.  xiii.  2 ;  and  they  were  near  one  another.  "And  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord 
began  to  move  him  at  times  in  the  camp  of  Dan  between  Zora  and  Eshtaol,"  Judg.  xiii. 
25.  And  they  were  both  situated  in  the  valley,  Josh.  xv.  33 ;  and  therefore  the  poet 
with  great  exactness  says  "  Esthaol  and  Zora's  fruitful  vale." — Nbwton. 

h  To  visit  or  bewail  thee. 
The  poet  dictated  "  to  visit  and  bewail  thee  :"  the  purpose  of  their  visit  was  to  bewail 
him ;  or,  if  better  (that  is,  if  they  found  it  more  proper),  to  advise  or  comfort  him.— 
Calton. 

'  How  counterfeit  a  coin,  &C. 

The  groundwork  of  this  passage  is  perhaps  the  following  in  the  "Mirrour  for 
Magistrates :" 

A  ffolden  treasure  is  the  tried  friend  ; 

But  who  may  gold  from  counterfeits  defend  ? 

Or  in  Sbakspeare's  "Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,"  a.  v.  s.  4.    "Thou  oounterfcit  to  thy 
true  friend '." — Dunstee. 


566  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


I  would  be  understood)  in  prosperous  days  J 

They  swarm,  but  in  adverse  withdraw  their  head, 

Not  to  be  found,  though  sought.     Ye  see,  0  friends, 

How  many  evils  have  inclosed  me  round ; 

Yet  that  which  was  the  worst  now  least  afflicts  me,'' 

Blindness ;  for  had  I  sight,  confused  with  shame, 

How  could  I  once  look  up,  or  heave  the  head, 

Who,  like  a  foolish  pilot,  have  shipwreck' d 

My  vessel  ^  trusted  to  me  from  above. 

Gloriously  rigg'd;  and  for  a  word,  a  tear, 

Fool !  have  divulged  the  secret  gift  of  Grod   . 

To  a  deceitful  woman  ?  tell  me,  friends, 

Am  I  not  sung  and  proverb'd  for  a  fool 

In  every  street  ?  do  they  not  say,  how  well 

Are  come  upon  him  his  deserts  ?  yet  why  ? 

Immeasurable  strength  they  might  behold 

In  me,  of  wisdom  nothing  more  than  mean  : 

This  with  the  other  should,  at  least,  have  pair'dj 

These  two,  proportion'd  ill,  drove  me  transverse. 

Gho.  Tax  not  divine  disposal ;  wisest  men 
Have  err'd,  and  by  bad  women  been  deceived ; 
And  shall  again,  pretend  they  ne'er  so  wise. 
Deject  not  then  so  overmuch  thyself. 
Who  hast  of  sorrow  thy  full  load  besides : 
Yet,  truth  to  say,  I  oft  have  heard  men  wonder 

J  In  prosperous  days. 

See  Gray's  "  Hymn  to  Adversity :" 

Light  they  disperse,  and  with  them  go 
The  summer  friend,  &c. 

k  Yet  that  which  was  the  zvorst  now  least  afflicts  me. 

There  is  no  inconsistence  in  this  with  what  he  said  before,  ver.  66 : — 

But  chief  of  all, 
O  loss  of  sight,  of  thee  I  most  complain. 

When  he  was  by  himself,  he  considered  his  blindness  as  the  worst  of  evils;  but  now, 
upon  his  friends  coming  in  and  seeing  him  in  this  wretched  condition,  it  "  least  afflictis 
me,"  says  he ;  as  being  some  cover  to  his  shame  and  confusion. — Newton. 

•  Who,  like  a  foolish  pilot,  have  ehipwreck'd 
3Iy  vessel,  &e. 
^  Dr.  Johnson  observes,  that  "metaphors  sometimes  find  admission  where  their  con- 
sistency is  not  accurately  preserved.  Thus,"  he  adds,  with  a  reference  to  this  passage, 
"  Samson  confounds  loquacity  with  a  shipwreck."  Surely  this  is  not  criticising  very 
accurately.  The  fact  is,  Samson  ascribes  his  own  ruin,  or  shipwreck,  to  a  very  natural 
cause,  his  own  indiscretion.  The  Greek  writers  use  "  to  sijffer  shipwreck"  in  a  meta- 
phorical sense.  It  is  particularly  thus  used  by  St.  Paul  for  shipwreck,  or  the  most  fatal 
ruin,  when  caused  immediately  by  misconduct;  "Holding  faith  and  a  good  conscience; 
which  some  having  put  away,  concerning  faith  have  made  shipwreck."  In  the  "  Table 
of  Cebes,"  it  is  said  of  foolish  and  wicked  men,  "  they  suffer  shipwreck  in  life."  Com- 
pare Spenser's  description  of  those  who  are  wrecked  on  the  rock  of  vile  reproach ;  and 
who, 

Having  all  their  substance  spent 
In  wanton  ioyes  and  lust  intemperate. 
Did  afterwards  make  shipwrack  violent 
Both  of  their  life  and  fame,  &c. — F.  Q.  ii.  xii.  7. 

It  may  be  observed  also,  that  St.  James  compares  the  tongue  to  the  helm  of  a  ship,  ch. 
tii.  4,  and  that  Samson  suffered  all  he  had  undergone  in  consequence  of  not  duly 
governing  his  tongue.    The  metaphor  then  is  so  far  also  scriptural. — Dunsteb. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  567 


Why  thou  shouldst  wed  Philistian  women  rather, 
Than  of  thine  own  tribe  fairer,  or  as  fair, 
At  least  of  thy  own  nation,  and  as  noble. 

Sam.  The  first  I  saw  at  Timna,  and  she  pleased 
Me,  not  my  parents,"  that  I  sought  to  wed 
The  daughter  of  an  infidel :  they  knew  not 
That  what  I  motion' d  was  of  God ;  I  knew 
From  intimate  impulse,  and  therefore  urged 
The  marriage  on ;  that  by  occasion  hence 
I  might  begin  Israel's  deliverance, 
The  work  to  which  I  was  divinely"  call'd. 
She  proving  false,  the  next  I  took  to  wife 
(0,  that  I  never  had  !  fond  wish  too  late) 
Was  in  the  vale  of  Sorec,  Dalila, 
That  specious  monster,"  my  accomplish'd  snare." 
I  thought  it  lawful  from  my  former  act, 
And  the  same  end ;  still  watching  to  oppress 
Israel's  oppressours  :  of  what  now  I  suffer 
She  was  not  the  prime  cause,  but  I  myself. 
Who,  vanquish'd  with  a  peal  of  words,  (0,  weakness  1) 
Gave  up  my  fort  of  silence  to  a  woman. 

Cho.  In  seeking  just  occasion  to  provoke 
The  Philistine,  thy  country's  enemy. 
Thou  never  wast  remiss,  I  bear  thee  witness : 
Yet  Israel  still  serves  with  all  his  sons. 

™  The  first  I  saio  at  Timna,  and  she  pleased 
Me,  not  my  parents,  &c. 
None  of  the  critics  have  observed  that  Milton  here  alludes  to  some  of  the  particulars 
of  his  first  match.    The  Chorus  had  just  before  remarked, 

I  oft  have  heard  men  wonder 
Why  thou  shouldst  wed  Philistian  women  rather 
Than  of  thine  own  tribe  fairer,  or  as  fair. 

To  say  nothing  of  the  dissatisfaction  Milton's  first  wife  had  conceived  at  her  husband's 
unsocial  and  philosophical  system  of  life,  so  different  from  the  convivial  cheerfulness 
and  plenty  of  her  father's  family ;  it  is  probable  that  the  quarrel  was  owing  to  party, 
which  also  might  operate  mutually ;  but  when  Cromwell's  faction  proved  victorious,  her 
father,  who  had  taken  a  very  forward  part  in  assisting  the  king  during  the  siege  of 
Oxford,  finding  his  affairs  falling  into  distress,  for  prudential  reasons,  strove  to  bring 
about  an  agreement  between  the  separated  couple :  and  thus  the  reconciliation  was 
interested ;  nor  was  it  effected  but  by  her  unsolicited  and  apparently  humble  submission, 
and  after  the  most  earnest  entreaties,  which  the  husband  for  some  time  resisted :  on  the 
whole,  therefore,  we  may  suppose  that  not  much  real  or  uninterrupted  cordiality  fol- 
lowed ;  and  I  think  it  clear  that  Milton's  own  experience,  in  the  course  of  this  mar- 
riage, furnished  the  substance  of  the  sentiments  in  another  speech  of  Samson,  ver.  750 
to  763.  Phillips  says  that  Milton  was  inclined  to  pardon  his  repudiated  bride,  "partly 
from  his  own  generous  nature,  more  inclinable  to  reconciliation  than  to  perseverance 
in  anger  and  revenge." — T.  Warton. 

n  Divinely, 
Lat.  "  divinitus." — Richardson. 

o  That  specious  monster. 
In  the  Latin  sense  of  specious ;  handsome,  captivating.    The  whole  exprcBsion  seems 
to  refer  to  the  Echidna  of  Hesiod. — Dunster. 

P  My  accomplish'd  snare. 
There  seems  to  be  a  quibble  in  the  use  of  this  epithet. — Warbtietow. 
It  rather  appears  to  be  irony. — J.  Warton. 


568  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


Sam.  That  fault «  I  take  not  on  me,  but  transfer 
On  Israel's  governours  and  heads  of  tribes, 
Who,  seeing  those  great  acts  which  God  had  done 
Singly  by  me  against  their  conquerours. 
Acknowledged  not,  or  not  at  all  consider' d, 
Deliverance  offer' d  :  I,  on  the  other  side,  ^ 

Used  no  ambition  ■■  to  commend  my  deeds ; 
The  deeds  themselves,  though  mute,  spoke  loud  the  doer : 
'  But  they  persisted  deaf,  and  would  not  seem 

To  count  them  things  worth  notice,  till  at  length 

Their  lords  the  Philistines  with  gather'd  powers 

Enter'd  Judea  seeking  me,  who  then 

Safe  to  the  rock  of  Etham »  was  retired ; 

Not  flying,  but  forecasting  in  what  place 

To  set  upon  them,  what  advantaged  best : 

Meanwhile  the  men  of  Judah,  to  prevent 

The  harass  of  their  land,  beset  me  round : 

I  willingly  on  some  conditions  came 

Into  their  hands,  and  they  as  gladly  yield  me, 

To  the  uncircumcised  a  welcome  prey. 

Bound  with  two  cords ;  but  cords  to  me  were  threads 

Touch'd  with  the  flame :  on  their  whole  host  I  flew 

Unarm'd,  and  with  a  trivial  weapon  fell'd 

Their  choicest  youth ;  they  only  lived  who  fled 

Had  Judah  that  day  join'd,  or  one  whole  tribe, 

They  had  by  this  possess' d  the  towers  of  Grath, 

And  lorded  over  them  whom  now  they  serve : 

But  what  more  oft,  in  nations  grown  corrupt,* 

And  by  their  vices  brought  to  servitude, 

Than  to  love  bondage  more  than  liberty, 

q  That  fault,  Ac. 

Milton  certainly  intended  to  reproach  his  countrymen  indirectly,  and  as  plainly  as 
he  dared,  with  the  restoration  of  Charles  II.  (which  he  accounted  the  restoration  of 
slavery),  and  with  the  execution  of  the, regicides.  He  pursues  the  same  suhject  again, 
rer.  678  to  ver.  700.     I  wonder  how  the  licensers  of  those  days  let  it  pass. — Jortiic. 

It  is  the  more  to  be  wondered  at,  as  some  passages  in  his  "  History  of  England," 
containing  indirect  remarks  on  his  country,  were  struck  out  by  the  licenser,  in  the  same 
year.  They  were  afterwards  printed  in  a  quarto  pamphlet,  in  1681 ;  and,  in  the  edition 
of  his  "  Prose  Works"  in  1738,  are  admitted  into  their  place  in  the  third  book  of  his 
History. — Todd. 

r  Ueed  no  ambition. 

"  Going  about  with  studiousness  and  affectation  to  gain  praise,"  as  Mr.  Richardson 
says ;  alluding  to  the  origin  of  the  word  in  Latin. — Newton. 

»  Safe  to  the  rock  of  Etham,  &o. 
Judges  XV.  8. — Newton. 

»  But  what  more  oft,  in  nations  grown  corrupt,  Ac. 
Here  Mr.  Thyer  has  anticipated  me,  by  observing  that  Milton  is  very  uniform,  as  well 
as  just,  in  his  notions  of  liberty ;  always  attributing  the  loss  of  it  to  vice  and  corruption 
of  morals :  but  in  this  passage  he  very  probably  intended  also  a  secret  satire  upon  the 
English  nation,  which,  according  to  his  republican  politics,  had,  by  restoring  the  king, 
chosen  'J bondage  with  ease"  rather  than  "strenuous  liberty."  And  let  me  add,  that 
the  sentiment  is  very  like  that  of  ^milius  Lepidus  the  consul,  in  his  oration  to  the 
Roman  people  against  Sulla,  preserved  among  the  fragments  of  Sallusi: — "Annuite 
legibus  impositis ;  accipite  otium  oum  servitio ;"  but  for  myself,  "  potior  visa  est  pericu 
loea  libertas  quieto  servitio." — Newton. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  569 


Bondage  with  ease  than  strenuous  liberty ; 
And  to  despise,  or  envy,  or  suspect 
Whom  God  hath  of  his  special  favour  raised 
As  their  deliverer  ?  if  he  aught  begin, 
How  frequent  to  desert  him,"  and  at  last 
To  heap  ingratitude  on  worthiest  deeds  ? 

Cho.  Thy  words  to  my  remembrance  bring 
How  Succoth  and  the  fort  of  Penuel^ 
Their  great  deliverer  contemn'd, 
The  matchless  Gideon,  in  pursuit 
Of  Madian  and  her  vanquish'd  kings : 
And  how  ingrateful  Ephraim  * 
Had  dealt  with  Jephthaih,  who  by  argument 
Not  worse  than  by  his  shield  and  spear, 
Defended  Israel  from  the  Ammonite, 
Had  not  his  prowess  quell'd  their  pride 
In  that  sore  battel,  when  so  many  died 
Without  reprieve,  adjudged  to  death. 
For  want  of  well  pronouncing  Shibboleth. 

Sam.  Of  such  examples  add  me  to  the  roll  ^ 
Me  easily  indeed  mine  may  neglect. 
But  God's  proposed  deliverance  not  so. 

Gho.  Just  are  the  ways  of  God, 
And  justifiable  to  nyien ; 
Unless  there  be,  who  think  not  God  at  all : 
If  any  be,  they  walk  obscure  : 
For  of  such  doctrine  never  was  there  school, 
But  the  heart  of  the  fool," 
And  no  man  therein  doctor  but  himself.' 

^  If  he  aught  begin. 
How  frequent  to  desert  him,  &o. 
Is  there  any  allusion  here  to  the  la?t  inefifectual  efforts  of  the  republican  general  Lam- 
bert against  Monk  and  the  Restoration,  when  he  was  deserted  by  the  people,  and  at 
last  taken  prisoner  by  his  old  partisan  Ingoldsby  ? — Ddnster. 

»  How  Succoth  and  the  fort  of  Penuel,  Ac. 
The  men  of  Succoth,  and  of  the  tower  of  Penuel,  refused  to  give  loaves  of  bread  to 
Gideon  and  his  three  hundred  men  pursuing  after  Zebah  and  Zalmunna,  kings  of 
Midian.    See  Judges  viii.  4 — 9. — Newtok. 

w  And  how  ungrateful  Ephraim,  Ac. 
Jephthah  subdued  the  children  of  Ammon;  and  he  is  said  to  have  "defended  Israel 
by  argument  not  worse  than  by  arms,"  on  account  of  the  message  which  ho  sent  unto 
the  king  of  the  children  of  Ammon,  Judges,  xi.  15 — 27.  For  his  victory  over  the  Am- 
monites, the  Ephraimites  envied  and  quarrelled  with  him ;  and  threatened  to  burn  his 
house  with  fire :  but  Jephthah  and  the  men  of  tiilead  smote  Ephraim,  and  took  the  pas- 
sages of  Jordan  before  the  Ephraimites,  and  there  slew  those  of  them  who  could  not 
rightly  pronounce  the  word  Shibboleth  :  and  there  fell  at  that  time  two-and-forty  thou- 
sand of  them.    See  Judges  xii.  1 — 6. — Newton. 

*  But  the  heart  of  the  fool. 
Alluding  to  Psalm  xvi.  1.    And  the  sentiment  is  not  very  unlike  that' of  a  celebrated 
divine : — "  The  fool  hath  said  in  his  heart.  There  is  no  God :  and  who  but  a  fool  would 
have  said  so  ?" — Newton. 

y  And  no  man  therein  doctor  but  himself. 
There  is  something  rather  too  quaint  and  fanciful  in  this  conceit;  and  it  appears  the 
72 


bio  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


Yet  more  there  be,  who  doubt  his  ways  not  just. 
As  to  his  own  edicts  found  contradicting, 
Then  give  the  reins  to  wandering  thought ; 
Regardless  of  his  glory's  diminution ; » 
Till,  by  their  own  perplexities  involved, 
They  ravel  more,  still  less  resolved, 
But  never  find  self-satisfying  solution. 

As  if  they  would  confine  the  Interminable, 
And  tie  him  to  his  own  prescript. 
Who  made  our  laws  to  bind  us,  not  himself. 
And  hath  full  right  to  exempt 
Whom  so  it  pleases  him  by  choice 
From  national  obstriction,  without  taint 
Of  sin,  or  legal  debt ; 
For  with  his  own  laws  he  can  best  dispense. 

He  would  not  else,  who  never  wanted  means, 
Nor  in  respect  of  the  enemy  just  cause. 
To  set  his  people  free, 
Have  prompted  this  heroick  Nazarite, 
Against  his  vow  of  strictest  purity,* 
To  seek  in  marriage  that  fallacious  bride. 
Unclean,  unchaste. 

Down,  reason,  then ;  at  least,  vain  reasonings,  down  j 
Though  reason  here  aver. 
That  moral  verdict  quits  her  of  unclean  :  •■ 
Unchaste  was  subsequent ;  her  stain  not  his. 

But  see,  here  comes  thy  reverend  sire 
With  careful  steps,  locks  white  as  down. 
Old  Manoah :  advise 
Forthwith  how  thou  oughtst  to  receive  him. 

Sam.  Ay  me  !  Another  inward  grief,  awaked 
With  mention  of  that  name,  renews  the  assault. 

Enter  Manoah. 

Man.  Brethren  and  men  of  Dan,  for  such  ye  seem. 
Though  in  this  uncouth  place ;  if  old  respect, 

■worse,  as  this  speech  of  the  Chorus  is  of  so  serious  a  nature,  and  filled  with  so  many 
deep  and  solemn  truths. — Thyeh. 

»  Hia  glory's  dimimition. 
This  expression  is  strong,  as  anciently  understood.    Cic.  "de  Orat."  ii.  39; — "Majes- 
tatem  populi  Romani  minuere"  is  the  same  as  "  crimen  laesse  majestatis."    And  Com. 
NepoB,  "  Ages."  iv.  "  religionem  minuere"  is  "  violare." — Richardson. 

»  Vow  o/  strictest  purity. 

Not  a  vow  of  celibacy,  hut  of  strictest  purity  from  Mosaical  and  legal  uncleanness. — 
Wakbtjbton. 

•>  That  moral  verdict  quits  her  of  unclean. 

That  is,  by  the  law  of  nature  a  Philistine  woman  was  not  unclean,  yet  the  law  of 
Moses  held  her  to  be  so.  I  do  not  know  why  the  poet  thought  fit  to  make  his  hero 
scepticize  on  a  point,  as  irreconcileable  to  reason,  which  may  be  very  well  accounted 
for  by  the  best  rules  of  human  prudence  and  policy.  The  institution  of  Moses  was  to 
keep  the  Jewish  people  distinct  and  separate  from  the  nations :  this  the  lawgiver 
efiFected  by  a  vast  variety  of  means ;  one  of  which  was  to  hold  all  other  nations  under  a 
legal  impurity  j  the  best  means  of  preventing  intermarriages  with  them. — WAKBURTOSi 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  ■  SU 


As  I  suppose,  towards  your  once  gloried  friend, 
My  son,  now  captive,  hither  hath  inform'd 
Your  younger  feet,  while  mine  cast  back  with  age" 
Came  lagging  after ;  say  if  he  be  here. 

Cho,  As  signal  now  in  low  dejected  state. 
As  erst  in  highest,  behold  him  where  he  lies. 

Man.  0  miserajjle  change  !  ■*  is  this  the  man, 
That  invincible  Samson,  far  renown' d. 
The  dread  of  Israel's  foes,  who  with  a  strength 
Equivalent  to  angels,  walk'd  their  streets. 
None  offering  fight;  who  single  combatant 
Duel'd  their  armies  rank'd  in  proud  array. 
Himself  an  army,  now  unequal  match 
To  save  himself  against  a  coward  arm'd  i 

At  one  spear's  length  !  0  ever-failing  trust 
In  mortal  strength  !  and,  0,  what  not  in  man 
Deceivable  and  vain  ?    Nay,  what  thing  good 
Pray'd  for,  but  often  proves  our  woe,  our  bane  ? 
I  pray'd  for  children,  and  thought  barrenness 
In  wedlock  a  reproach ;  I  gain'd  a  son. 
And  such  a  son  as  all  men  hail'd  me  happy : — 
Who  would  be  now  a  father  in  my  stead  ? 
0,  wherefore  did  God  grant  me  my  request. 
And  as  a  blessing  wjth  such  pomp  adorn'd  ? 
Why  are  his  gifts  desirable,  to  tempt 
Our  earnest  prayers ;  then,  given  with  solemn  hand 
As  graces,  draw  a  scorpion's  tail  behind  ?  • 
For  this  did  the  angel  twice  descend  ?  for  this 
Ordain' d  thy  nurture  holy,  as  of  a  plant' 

«  While  mine  cast  hack  with  age. 
This  is  very  artfully  and  properly  introduced,  to  account  for  the  Chorus  coming  to 
Samson  before  Manoah  ;  for  it  is  not  to  bo  supposed  that  any  of  his  friends  should  bo 
more  concerned  for  his  welfare,  or  more  desirous  to  visit  him,  than  his  father. — Newton. 

d  0  miserable  change,  Ac. 
This  speech  of  Manoah  is,  in  my  opinion,  very  beautiful  in  its  kind.  The  thoughts 
are  exactly  such  as  one  may  suppose  would  occur  to  the  mind  of  the  old  man,  and  are 
expressed  with  an  earnestness  and  impatience  very  well  suited  to  that  anguish  of  mind 
he  must  be  in,  at  the  sight  of  his  son  under  such  miserable,  afflicting  circumstances.  It 
Is  not  at  all  unbecoming  the  pious,  grave  character  of  Manoah,  to  represent  him,  as 
Milton  does,  even  complaining  and  murmuring  at  this  "  disposition"  of  Heaven,  in  the 
first  bitterness  of  his  soul.  Such  sudden  starts  of  infirmity  are  ascribed  to  some  of  the 
greatest  personages  in  Scripture ;  and  it  is  agreeable  to  that  well-known  maxim,  that 
religion  may  regulate,  but  can  never  eradicate  natural  passions  and  affections. — Thtke. 

e  Then,  given  with  solemn  hand 
As  graces,  draw  a  scorpion's  tail  behind  f 
He  has  raised  this  beautiful  imagery  on  the  following  text,  Luke  xi.  12 : — "  If  a  son 
shall  ask  of  his  father  an  egg,  will  he  offer  him  a  scorpion?"    He  was  not  always  so 
hatypy. — Wakbukton. 

He' has  been  peculiarly  happy  in  the  use  of  this  imagery.  Thus  again : — "A  most 
deadly  and  scorpion-like  gift,"  "Prose  Works,"  vol.  i.  p.  304,  ed.  1698.  Again,  in 
his  "Tetracherdon:" — "  It  is  man's  perverse  cooking,  who  hath  turned  this  bounty 
of  God  into  a  scorpion."    Ibid.  p.  335. — Todd. 

f  As  of  a  plant. 
This  is  a  frequent  scriptural  metaphor.    See  Isaiah  v.  7,  liii.  2.    Homer  describes 


572  SAMSON  AGOMSTES. 


Select,  and  sacred,  glorious  for  a  while, 
The  miracle  of  men ;  then  in  an  hour 
Ensnared,  assaulted,  overcome,  led  bound,* 
Thy  foes'  derision,  captive,  poor,  and  blind, 
Into  a  dungeon  thrust,  to  work  with  slaves  ? 
Alas !  methinks  whom  God  hath  chosen  once 
To  worthiest  deeds,  if  he  through  frailty  err. 
He  should  not  so  o'erwhelra,  and  as  a  thrall 
Subject  him  to  so  foul  indignities, 
Be  it  but  for  honour's  sake  of  former  deeds. 

Sam.  Appoint  ••  not  heavenly  disposition,  father : 
Nothing  of  all  these  evils  hath  befallen  me 
But  justly ;  I  myself  have  brought  them  on. 
Sole  authour  I,  sole  cause  :  if  aught  seem  vile, 
As  vile  hath  been  my  folly,  who  have  profaned 
The  mystery  of  God  given  me  under  pledge 
Of  vow,  and  have  betray'd  it  to  a  woman, 
A  Canaanite,  my  faithless  enemy. 
This  well  I  knew,  nor  was  at  all  surprised, 
But  warn'd  by  oft  experience ;  did  not  she 
Of  Timna  first  betray  me,  and  reveal 
The  secret  wrested  from  me  in  her  highth 
Of  nuptial  love  profess' d,  carrying  it  straight 
To  them  who  had  corrupted  her,  my  spies. 
And  rivals  ?     In  this  other  was  there  found 
More  faith,  who  also  in  her  prime  of  love, 
Spousal  embraces,  vitiated  with  gold. 
Though  offer'd  only,  by  the  scent  conceived  ' 

Her  spurious  first-born,  treason  against  me  ?' 
Thrice  she  assay' d  with  flattering  prayers  and  sighs. 
And  amorous  reproaches,  to  win  from  me 
My  capital  secret; J  in  what  part  my  strength 

Thetis  thus  speaking  of  her  son  AchilleSj  "  II.  xviii.  57.    Theocritus  also  speaks  in 
similar  language  of  Hercules,  "  Idyll,  xxiv.  101. — Ddnster. 

%  Ensnared^  assaulted,  overcome,  led  hovmd. 
The  succession  of  participles  renders  the  description  more  pathetic,  as  in  ver.  563 : — 
Now  blind,  dishearten'd,  shamed,  dishonour'd,  quell'd. 
An  example  of  similar  effect  occurs  in  the  poet's  description  of  the  fallen  angels, 
after  their  defeat,  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  vi.  851 : — 

Of  their  wonted  vigour  drained, 
Exhausted,  spiritless,  afflicted,  fallen.— Todd. 

•»  Appoint. 
That  is,  arraign,  summon  to  answer. — Warbtirton. 

Perhaps  limit,  or  direct ;  or  rather,  according  to  an  old  acceptation  of  the  word, 
blame,  lay  the  fault  upon.  See  Barrett's  "Alveario,"  1580.  "Appoynt,"  col.  2,  No. 
497.— Todd. 

'  Treason  against  me. 
By  our  laws  called  petty  treason. — Kichakdson. 

i  My  capital  secret,  &c. 
I  am  afraid  this  is  an  intended  pun ;  if  so,  it  is  a  most  indefensible  expression ;  and 
yet  resembling  what  is  said,  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  xii.  383  :— 

Needs  must  the  serpent  now  his  capital  bruise 
Expect  with  pain  ; 
where  the  reference  certainly  is  to  the  seed  of  the  woman  bruising  the  head  of  the 
serpent.— DuNSTER, 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  513 


Lay  stored,  in  what  part  summ'd,  that  she  might  know : 

Thrice  I  deluded  her,  and  turn'd  to  sport 

Her  importunity,  each  time  perceiving 

How  openly,  and  with  what  impudence 

She  purposed  to  betray  me ;  and  (which  was  worse 

Than  undissembled  hate)  with  what  contempt 

She  sought  to  make  me  traitor  to  myself : 

Yet  the  fourth  time,  when,  mustering  all  her  wiles, 

With  blandish'd  parlies,  feminine  assaults, 

Tongue-batteries,"  she  surceased  not,  day  nor  night, 

To  storm  me  overwatch'd,  and  wearied  out, 

At  times  when  men  seek  most  repose  and  rest, 

I  yielded,  and  unlock'd  her  all  my  heart. 

Who,  with  a  grain  of  manhood  well  resolved, 

Might  easily  have  shook  off  all  her  snares : 

But  foul  effeminacy  held  me  yoked 

Her  bond-slave;  0  indignity,  0  blot!' 

To  honour  and  religion  !  servile  mind 

Rewarded  well  with  servile  punishment ! 

The  base  degree  to  which  I  now  am  fallen, 

These  rags,  this  grinding,  is  not  yet  so  base 

As  was  my  former  servitude,  ignoble. 

Unmanly,  ignominious,  infamous. 

True  slavery,  and  Chat  blindness  worse  than  this, 

That  saw  not  how  degenerately  I  serv^ed. 

Man.  I  cannot  praise  thy  marriage-choices,  son, 
Rather  approved  them  not ;  but  thou  didst  plead 
Divine  impulsion  prompting  how  thou  mightst 
Find  some  occasion  to  infest  our  foes. 
I  state  not  that ;  this  I  am  sure,  our  foes 
Found  soon  occasion  thereby  to  make  thee 
Their  captive,  and  their  triumph ;  thou  the  sooner 
Temptation  found'st,  or  over-potent  charms, 
To  violate  the  sacred  trust  of  silence 

^  Tongue-batteries,  «fec. 
Tlie  phrase  was  probably  suggested  by  Shakspeare,  "King  Henry  VI."  p.  i.  a.  iii. 
8.  3  :— 

I  ani  vanquish'd ;  these  haughty  words  of  hers 
Have  batter'd  me  like  roaring  caiinoiishot,  &c. 

That  this  passage  was  in  the  poet's  mind,  may  be  farther  proved,  I  think,  from  v.  235:— 
Who,  vanquish'd  with  a  peal  of  words, 
Gave  up  my  fort. 

Compare  also  the  following  passage  in  an  old  drama,  entitled  "  The  History  of  the 
Tryall  of  Cheualry,"  4to.,  1G05  :— 

Eares— 
Pearst  with  the  volley  of  thy  battring  words. 

The  scriptural  account  is  this : — "  And  it  came  to  pass,  when  she  pressed  him  daily 
with  her  words,  and  urged  him  so  that  his  soul  was  vexed  unto  death,  that  he  told 
her  all  his  heart,"  Judges  xvi.  16,  17. — Todd. 

1  0  indignity,  O  blot,  &c. 
Nothing  could  give  the  reader  a  better  idea  of  a  great  and  heroic  spirit  in  the  cir- 
cumstances of  Samson,  than  this  sudden  gust  of  indignation  and  passionate  self-re- 
proach upon  the  mentioning  of  his  weakness.    Besides  there  is  something  vastly 
grand  and  noble  in  his  reflection  upon  his  present  condition  on  this  occasion : — 
These  rags,  this  grinding,  is  not  yet  so  base,  &c.— Thyeb. 


5U  SAMSON  AGONISTES 

Deposited  within  thee ;  which  to  have  kept 
Tacit,  was  in  thy  power :  true ;  and  thou  bear'st 
Enough,  and  more,  the  burden  of  that  fault ; 
Bitterly  hast  thou  paid,  and  still  art  paying, 
That  rigid  score.     A  worse  thing  yet  remains: 
This  day  the  Philistines  a  popular  feast" 
Here  celebrate  in  G-aza;  and  proclaim 
Great  pomp,  and  sacrifice,  and  praises  loud, 
To  Dagon,  as  their  god,  who  hath  deliver'd 
Thee,  Samson,  bound  and  blind  into  their  hands, 
Them  out  of  thine,  who  slew'st  them  many  a  slain. 
So  Dagon  shall  be  magnified,  and  God, 
Besides  whom  is  no  god,  compared  with  idols, 
Disglorified,  blasphemed,  and  had  in  scorn 
By  the  idolatrous  rout  amidst  their  wine ; 
Which  to  have  come  to  pass  by  means  of  thee, 
Samson,  of  all  thy  sufierings  think  the  heaviest, 
Of  all  reproach  the  most  with  shame  that  ever 
Could  have  befallen  thee  and  thy  fiither's  house. 
Sam.  Father,  I  do  acknowledge  and  confess, 
That  I  this  honour,  I  this  pomp,  have  brought 
To  Dagon,  and  advanced  his  praises  high 
Among  the  heathen  round ;  to  God  have  brought 
Dishonour,  obloquy,  and  oped  the  mouths 
Of  idolists  and  atheists ;  have  brought  scandal 
To  Israel,  diffidence  of  God,  and  doubt 
In  feeble  hearts,  propense  enough  before 
To  waver,  or  fall  off  and  join  with  idols; 
Which  is  my  chief  affliction,  shame  and  sorrow. 
The  anguish  of  my  soul,  that  suffers  not 
Mine  eye  to  harbour  sleep,  or  thoughts  to  rest. 
This  only  hope  relieves  me,  that  the  strife 
With  me  hath  end ;  all  the  contest  is  now 
'Twixt  God  and  Dagon ;  Dagon  hath  presumed, 
Me  overthrown,  to  enter  lists  with  God, 
His  deity  comparing  and  preferring 
Before  the  God  of  Abraham.     He,  be  sure. 
Will  not  connive  or  linger,  thus  provoked ; 
But  will  arise,  and  his  great  name  assert : 
Dagon  must  stoop,  and  shall  ere  long  receive 
Such  a  discomfit,  as  shall  quite  despoil  him 
Of  all  these  boasted  trophies  won  on  me, 
And  with  confusion  blank  his  worshippers." 

o"  This  day  the  Philistines  a  popular  feast,  Ac. 
Judges  xvi.  23:— "Then  the  lords  of  the  Philistines  gathered  them  together,  for  to 
offer  a  great  sacrifice  unto  Dagon  their  god,  and  to  rejoice :  for  they  said,  Our  god  hath 
delivered  Samson  our  enemy  into  our  hand,"  &c.  This  incident  the  poet  has  finely 
improved,  and  with  great  judgment  he  has  put  this  reproach  of  Samson  into  the  mouth 
of  his  father,  rather  than  any  other  of  the  dramatis  personae. — Newton. 

o  Blank  hia  toorshippers. 
That  is,  confound.    So,  in  "  Hamlet,"  a.  iii.  s.  2. 


.J 


SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


5t5 


Man.  With  cause  this  hope  relieves  thee,  and  these  words 
I  as  a  prophecy  receive  ;  for  God, 
Nothing  more  certain,  will  not  long  defer 
To  vindicate  the  glory  of  bis  name 
Against  all  competition,  nor  will  long 
Endure  it  doubtful  whether  God  be  Lord, 
Or  Dagon.     But  for  thee  what  shall  be  done  ? 
Thou  must  not  in  the  mean  while  here  forgot, 
Lie  in  this  miserable  loathsome  plight, 
Neglected.     I  already  have  made  my  way 
To  some  Philistian  lords,  with  whom  to  treat 
About  thy  ransom  :  well  they  may  by  this 
Have  satisfied  their  utmost  of  revenge 
By  pains  and  slaveries,  worse  than  death,  inflicted 
On  thee,  who  now  no  more  canst  do  them  harm. 

Sam.  Spare  that  proposal,  father ;  spare  the  trouble 
Of  that  solicitation ;  let  me  here. 
As  I  deserve,  pay  on  my  punishment ; 
And  expiate,  if  possible,  my  crime, 
Shameful  garrulity.     To  have  reveal'd 
Secrets  of  men,  the  secrets  of  a  friend. 
How  heinous  had  the  fact  been,  how  deserving 
Contempt  and  scorq  of  all,  to  be  excluded 
All  friendship,  and  avoided  as  a  blab. 
The  mark  of  fool  set  on  his  front !     But  I 
God's  counsel  have  not  kept,  his  holy  secret 
Presumptuously  have  publish'd,  impiously, 
Weakly  at  least,  and  shamefully ;  a  sin 
That  Gentiles  in  their  parables  condemn' 
To  their  abyss  and  horrid  pains  confined. 

Each  opposite  that  blanks  the  face  of  joys. 
Milton  often  uses  the  adjective  "blank"  also  in  the  sense  of  confounded. — Todd. 

o  And  these  words 
I  as  a  prophecy  receive. 

This  method  of  one  person's  taking  an  omen  from  the  words  of  another,  was  fre- 
quently practised  among  the  ancients ;  and  in  these  words  the  downfall  of  Dagon'a 
worshippers  is  artfully  presignified,  as  the  death  of  Samson  is  in  other  places ;  but 
Manoah,  as  it  was  natural,  accepts  the  good  omen,  without  thinking  of  the  evil  that  is 
to  follow. — Newton. 

p  That  Gentiles  in  their  parables  condemn,  Ac. 

Alluding  to  the  story  of  Tantalus,  who  for  revealing  the  secrets  of  the  gods  was  con- 
demned to  pains  in  hell.  Cicero,  "  Tusc.  Disp."  iv.  16.  "  Poetae  impendere  apud  inferos 
saxum  Tantalo  faciunt  ob  scelera,  animique  impotentiam,  et  superbiloquentiam." 
Euripides  assigns  the  same  punishment,  and  for  the  same  reason,  "Orestes,"  v.  8. 

Mr.  "Warburton's  remark  is  that  "the  ancient  mystagogues  taught,  that  the  gods 
punished  both  the  revealers  and  the  violators  of  their  mysteries.  Miltop  had  here  in 
his  eye  that  fine  passage  of  Virgil,  "^n."  vi.  617. 

Sedet,  aeternumque  sedebit, 
Infelix  Tlioseus,  Piilegyasque  miserrimus  omnes 
Admooet,  &o. — Newton. 

The  passage,  cited  by  Dr.  Newton  from  the  "  Tusculan  Questions"  does  not  explain 
the  story  of  Tantalus  as  here  referred  to :  neither  does  the  passage  from  Euripides 
without  its  gloss  from  the  scholiast;  where  indeed  it  is  said  that  Tantalus  was  punished 
for  revealing  the  mysteries  of  the  gods.  But  the  classical  authority  in  Milton's  mind  I 
suppose  to  have  been  that  of  Ovid,  who  expressly  ascribes  the  punishment  of  Tantalus 


51Q 


SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


Mail.  Be  penitent,  and  for  thy  fault  contrite  j 
But  act  not  in  thy  own  affliction,  son ; 
Repent  the  sin ;  but,  if  the  punishment 
Thou  canst  avoid,  self-preservation  bids ; 
Or  the  execution  leave  to  high  disposal, 
And  let  another  hand,  not  thine,  exact 
Thy  penal  forfeit  from  thyself :  perhaps 
God  will  relent,  and  quit  thee  all  his  debtj 
Who  evermore  approves,  and  more  accepts, 
(Best  pleased  with  humble  and  filial  submission"* 
Him,  who,  imploring  mercy,  sues  for  life, 
Than  who,  self-rigorous,  chooses  death  as  due ; 
Which  argues  over-just,  and  self-displeased 
For  self  offence,  more  than  for  Grod  offended. 
Reject  not  then  what  offer'd  means,*  who  knowP 
But  God  hath  set  before  us,  to  return  thee 
Home  to  thy  country  and  his  sacred  house. 
Where  thou  mayst  bring  thy  offerings,  to  avert 
His  farther  ire,  with  prayers  and  vows  renew'd? 

Sam.  His  pardon  I  implore ;  but  as  for  life, 
To  what  end  should  I  seek  it  ?  when  in  strength 
All  mortals  I  excell'd,  and  great  in  hopes. 
With  youthful  courage,  and  magnanimous  thoughts 
Of  birth  from  heaven  foretold,  and  high  exploits, 
Full  of  divine  instinct,  after  some  proof 
Of  acts  indeed  heroic,  far  beyond 
The  sons  of  Anak,  famous  now  and  blazed  j 
Fearless  of  danger,  like  a  petty  god 
I  walk'd  about  admired  of  all,  and  dreaded 
On  hostile  ground,  none  daring  my  affront ; 
Then  swollen  with  pride,  into  the  snare  I  fell 
Of  fair  fallacious  looks,  venereal  trains,' 
Soften' d  with  pleasure  and  voluptuous  life  j 
At  length  to  lay  my  head'  and  hallow' d  pledge 

to  his  shameful  garrulity,  which  is  said  to  be  a  grievous  crime,  "  De  Art.  Amandi,"  iL 

601,  <tc. — DUNSTER. 

q  Reject  not  then  what  offer'd  meaiis. 
That  is,  those  means,  which  who  knows  but  God  hath  set  before  us :  "  what"  for 
"those  which."     The  expression  is  a  little  hard,  but  to  this  effect :  "Reject  not  these 
means  of  ransom,  which,  for  anything  one  can  tell,  God  may  have  set  before  us,  or 
suggested  to  us,  in  order  to  return  thee,"  &c. — Hurd. 

f  Into  the  snare  I  fell 
Of  fair  fallaeioua  looks,  venereal  trains. 
See  Fairfax's  translation  of  Tasso,  b.  iv.  26,  where  Hedroart,  sending  Armida  to 
seduce  the  Christian  host,  and,  if  possible,  its  leader,  bids  her 

Frame  snares  of  looks,  trains  of  alluring  speech. — ^DuNsiXR. 
'  At  length  to  lay  my  head,  &c. 
Compare  Spenser's  "Faerie  Queene,"  ii.  vi.  14. 

Thus  when  shea  had  his  eyes  and  sences  fed 

With  false  delights,  and  fill'd  with  pleasures  vayn, 

Into  a  shady  vale  she  soft  him  led, 

And  layd  him  downe  upon  a  grassy  playn : 

She  sett  beside,  laying  his  head  disarra'd 

In  her  loose  lap. — Todd. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  5^ 


Of  all  my  strength  in  the  lascivious  lap 
Of  a  deceitful  concubine,  who  shore  me, 
Like  a  tame  wether,  all  my  precious  fleece ; 
Then  turn'd  me  out  ridiculous,  despoil'd, 
Shaven,  and  disarm'd  among  mine  enemies. 

(jfio.  Desire  of  wine,  and  all  delicious  drinks. 
Which  many  a  famous  warriour  overturns, 
Thou  couldst  repress ;  nor  did  the  dancing  ruby,* 
Sparkling,  out-pour'd,  the  flavour,  or  the  smell, 
Or  taste  that  cheers  the  heart  of  gods  and  men," 
Allure  thee  from  the  cool  crystalline  stream.'' 

Sam.  Wherever  fountain  or  fresh  current  flow'd 
Against  the  eastern  ray,*  translucent,  pure 
With  touch  ethereal  of  Heaven's  fiery  rod,* 
I  drank,  from  the  clear  milky  juice  allaying 
Thirst,  and  refresh'd ;  nor  envied  them  the  grape, 
Whose  heads  that  turbulent  liquor  fills  with  fumes. 

CTio.  0,  madness,  to  think  use  of  strongest  wines 
And  strongest  drinks  our  chief  support  of  health, 
When  Grod  with  these  forbidden  made  choice  to  rear 
His  mighty  champion,  strong  above  compare. 
Whose  drink'  was  only  from  the  liquid  brock. 

•  The  dancing  ruhy,  Ac. 
JDr.  Newton  and  Mr.  Thyer  remark,  that  the  poet  probably  alludes  to  ProT.  xziii.  31. 
"  Look  not  upon  the  wine  when  it  is  red,  when  it  giveth  its  colour  in  the  cup,  when  it 
moveth  itself  aright."    Milton  has  also  "  rubied  nectar,"  "  Par.  Lost,"  b.  v.  633.    And 
dancing  he  has  transferred  hither  from  his  "  Comus,"  v.  673. 
And  first  behold  this  cordial  julep  here, 
That  flames  and  dances  in  his  crystal  bounds. — Todd. 

o  Or  tatte  that  cheert  the  heart  of  godt  and  men. 

Judges  ix.  13,  "  Wine  which  cheereth  God  and  man."  Milton  says  "  gods,"  which  is 
a  just  paraphrase,  meaning  the  hero-gods  of  the  heathen.  Jotham  is  here  speaking  to 
an  idolatrous  city,  that  "  ran  a  whoring  after  Baalim,  and  made  Baal-berith  their  god ;" 
a  god  sprung  from  among  men,  as  may  be  partly  collected  from  his  name,  as  well  as 
from  divers  other  circumstances  of  the  story.  Hesiod,  in  a  simHiar  expression,  says  that 
"  the  vengeance  of  the  Fates  pursued  the  crimes  of  gods  and  men,"  Theog.  v.  220. — 
Warburton. 

r  Cool  crystalline  stream. 

Borrowed  by  Mason,  in  his  additions  to  Gray's  fragment  of  an  "  Ode  to  Yicissitade," 
w  Wherever  fountain  or  fresh  current  flow' d 
Agqinst  the  eastern  ray,  Ac. 

This  circumstance  was  very  probably  suggested  to  our  author  by  Tasso's  poem  "  del 
Mondo  creato,"  giorna  iii.  st  8. — Thyer. 

Mr.  Geddes,  in  his  learned  and  entertaining  "  Essay  on  the  Composition,  Ac,  of  Plato," 
considers  these  lines  of  Milton  as  possessing  much  of  the  same  spirit,  though  applied 
to  another  thing,  with  a  passage  in  the  philosopher's  "  lo,"  p.  533,  534,  tom.  i.  edit. 
Serran.,  where,  speaking  of  the  poets,  he  says,  "As  soon  as  they  enter  the  winding 
mazes  of  harmony,  they  became  lymphatic,  and  rove  like  the  furious  Bacchanals,  who 
in  their  frenzy  drew  honey  and  milk  out  of  the  rivers.  The  poets  tell  us  the  same  thing 
of  themselves,"  Ac.  Essay,  1748,  p.  184. — Todd. 

»  With  touch  ethereal  of  heaven's  fiery  rod. 
This  description  of  the  first  ray  of  light  at  the  moment  of  sunrise,  is  eminently  bold 
and  beautiful.     We  might  trace  it  to  Euripides,  "  Suppl."  652,  to  which  Dr.  Hurd  refers 
Milton's  "  long-level'd  rule  of  streaming  light,"  Comus,  v.  340. — Dunster. 

y  Whose  drink,  Ac. 
Samson  was  a  Nazarite,  Judges  xiii.  7  ,*  therefore  to  drink  no  wine,  nor  shave  his 
head.    See  Numb.  vi.  Amos  ii.  12. — Richardson. 
73 


578  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


Sam.  But  what  avail'd  this  temperance,  not  complete 
Against  another  object  more  enticing  ? 
What  boots  it  at  one  gate  to  make  defence, 
And  at  another  to  let  in  the  foe, 
Effeminately  vanquished  ?  by  which  means. 
Now  blind,  dishearten'd,  shamed,  dishonour' d,  quell'd, 
To  what  can  I  be  useful,  wherein  serve 
My  nation,  and  the  work  from  Heaven  imposed, 
But  to  sit  idle  on  the  household  hearth,* 
A  burdenous  drone ;  to  visitants  a  gaze. 
Or  pitied  object ;  these  redundant  locks. 
Robustious  to  no  purpose,  clustering  down. 
Vain  monument  of  strength ;  till  length  of  years 
And  sedentary  numbness  craze  my  limbs  * 
To  a  contemptible  old  age  obscure  ? 
Here  rather  let  me  drudge  and  earn  my  bread 
Till  vermin,  or  the  draff '•  of  servile  food. 
Consume  me,  and  oft-invocated  death 
Hasten  the  welcome  end  of  all  my  pains. 

Man.  Wilt  thou  then  serve  the  Philistines  with  that  gift 
Which  was  expressly  given  thee  to  annoy  them  ? 
Better  at  home  lie  bed-rid,  not  only  idle. 
Inglorious,  unemploy'd,  with  age  outworn. 
But  God,  who  caused  a  fountain  at  thy  prayer 
From  the  dry  ground  to  spring,"  thy  thirst  to  allay 
After  the  brunt  of  battel ;  can  as  easy 
Cause  light  again  within  thy  eyes  to  spring, 
Wherewith  to  serve  him  better  than  thou  hast ; 
And  I  persuade  me  so :  why  else  this  strength 
Miraculous  yet  remaining  in  those  locks  ? 

«  B%tt  to  git  idle  on  the  household  hearth,  Ac. 
It  is  supposed,  with  probability  enough,  that  Milton  chose  Samson  for  his  subject, 
because  he  was  a  fellow-suflTerer  with  him  in  the  loss  of  his  eyes :  however,  one  may 
venture  to  say,  that  the  similitude  of  their  circumstances  has  enriched  the  poem  with 
several  very  pathetic  descriptions  of  the  misery  of  blindness. — Thyer. 

*-  a  Craze  my  limbs. 

He  uses  the  word  "craze"  much  in  the  same  manner  as  in  the  "Par.  Lost,"  b.  xiL 
210. — Newton. 

b  Draff. 
The  refuse.    See  "  Par.  Lost,"  b.  x.  630.    Thus  Chaucer,  "  Prol.  to  the  Parsones 
Tale  :"— 

Why  should  I  sowen  draf  out  of  ray  fist, 
When  I  may  sowen  whete  if  that  me  liste? 

And  Shakspeare,  "  Hen.  IV."  part  i.  a.  iv.  s.  2.  "  You  would  think  I  had  a  hundred 
and  fifty  tattered  prodigals,  lately  come  from  swine-keeping,  from  eating  draff  and 
husks." — Ddnster. 

e  But  God,  who  caused  a  fountain  at  thy  prayer 
From  the  dry  ground  to  spring,  Ac. 
See  Judges  xv.  18,  19.  But  Milton  differs  from  our  translation  of  the  Bible.  The 
translation  says,  that "  God  clave  a  hollow  place  that  was  in  the  jaw :"  Milton  says,  that 
"God  caused  a  fountain  from  the  dry  ground  to  spring;"  and  herein  he  follows  the 
Chaldee  parapfarast  and  the  best  commentators,  who  understand  it  that  God  made  a 
cleft  in  some  part  of  the  ground  or  rock,  in  the  place  called  Lehi;  Lehi  signifying  both 
a  jaw  and  a  place  so  called. — Newton. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  579 


His  might  continues''  in  thee  not  for  naught, 
Nor  shall  his  wondrous  gifts  be  frustrate  thus. 

Sam.  All  otherwise  to  me  my  thoughts  portend, 
That  these  dark  orbs  no  more  shall  treat  with  light, 
Nor  the  other  light  of  life  continue  long, 
But  yield  to  double  darkness  nigh  at  hand : 
So  much  I  feel  my  genial  spirits  droop,* 
My  hopes  all  flat.  Nature  within  me  seems 
In  all  her  functions  weary  of  herself; 
My  race  of  glory  run,  and  race  of  shame ; 
And  I  shall  shortly  be  with  them  that  rest. 

Man.  Believe  not  these  suggestions,  which  proceed 
From  anguish  of  the  mind  and  humours  black, 
That  mingle  with  thy  fancy.'    I  however 
Must  not  omits  a  father's  timely  care        • 
To  prosecute  the  means  of  thy  deliverance 
By  ransom,  or  how  else :  meanwhile  be  calm, 
And  healing  words  from  these  thy  friends  admit.  [Exit. 

Sam.  0,  that  torment  should  not  be  confined* 
To  the  body's  wounds  and  sores, 
With  maladies  innumerable 
In  heart,  head,  breast,  and  reins ; 
But  must  secret  passage  find 

d  His  might  continues,  &c, 
A  fine  preparative,  which  raises  our  expectation  of  some  great  erent  to  be  produced 
by  his  strength. — Warburtok. 

e  So  much  I  feel  my  genial  spirits  droop,  Ac. 

Here  Milton,  in  the  person  of  Samson,  describes  exactly  his  own  case,  what  he  feU^ 
and  what  he  thought,  in  some  of  his  melancholy  hours :  he  could  not  have  written  so 
well  but  from  his  own  feeling  and  experience ;  and  the  very  flow  of  the  verses  is  melan- 
choly, and  excellently  adapted  to  the  subject  As  Mr.  Tbyer  expresses  it,  there  is  a 
remarkable  solemnity  and  air  of  melancholy,  in  the  very  sound  of  these  verses ;  and 
the  reader  will  find  it  very  difficult  to  pronounce  them  without  that  grave  and  serious 
tone  of  voice  which  is  proper  for  the  occasion. — Newton. 

Every  reader  of  taste  must  subscribe  with  heartiness  to  this  testimony  of  Thyer  and 
Newton.    The  passage  is  truly  pathetic  and  melodious. 

t  And  humours  black, 
That  mingle  unth  thy  fancy. 
This  very  just  notion  of  the  mind  or  fancy's  being  affected,  and  as  it  were  tainted 
with  the  vitiated  humours  o?  the  body,  Milton  had  before  adopted  in  his  "  Paradise 
Lost,"  where  he  introduces  Satan  in  the  shape  of  a  toad  at  the  ear  of  Eve,  b.  iv.  804. 

Or  if,  inspiring  venom,  he  miglit  taint 
The  animal  spirits,  &c. 
So  again  in  "  Comus,"  v.  809. 

'Tis  but  the  lees 
And  settlings  of  a  melancholy  blood. — Thyer. 

s  I  however 
Must  not  omit,  &c. 

Such  is  also  the  language  of  Oceanus  to  his  nephew  Prometheus,  jEsch.  "Prom. 
Vinct." — DuNSTER. 

•>  0  that  torment  should  not  be  conjined. 
Milton,  no  doubt,  was  apprehensive  that  this  long  description  of  Samson's  grief  and 
miserv  might  grow  tedious  to  the  reader,  and  therefore  here  with  great  judgment 
varied  both  his  manner  of  expressing  it,  and  the  versification.  These  sudden  starts 
of  impatience  are  very  natural  to  persons  in  such  circumstances,  and  this  rough  and 
unequal  measure  of  the  verse  is  very  well  suited  to  it.— Thyeb, 


680  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


To  the  inmost  mind, 

There  exercise  all  his  fierce  accidents. 

And  on  her  purest  spirits  prey, 

As  on  entrails,  joints,  and  limbs, 

With  answerable  pains,  but  more  intense, 

Though  void  of  corporal  sense. 

My  griefs  not  only  pain  me  - 

As  a  lingering  disease. 
But  finding  no  redress,  ferment  and  rage  j 
Nor  less  than  wounds  immedicable 
Rankle,  and  fester,  and  gangrene, 
To  black  mortification. 

Thoughts,  my  tormentors,  arm'd  with  deadly  stings, 
Mangle '  my  apprehensive  tenderest  parts, 
Exasperate,  exulcerate,  and  raise 
Dire  inflammation,  which  no  cooling  herb 
Or  med'cinal  liquor  J  can  ass  wage. 
Nor  breath  of  vernal  air''  from  snowy  Alp.' 
Sleep  hath  forsook  and  given  me  o'er 
To  death's  benumbing  opium  as  my  only  cure : 
Thence  faintings,  swoonings  of  despair, 
And  sense  of  Heaven's  desertion. 

I  was  his  nursling  once,"  and  choice  delight, 

>  ThougTiU,  my  tormentors,  arm'd  with  deadly  stingij 
Mangle,  &c. 
This  descriptive  imagery  is  fine  and  well  pursued.    The  idea  is  taken  from  the  effects  of 
poisonous  salts  id  the  stomach  and  bowels,  which  stimulate,  tear,  inflame,  and  exulcerat* 
the  tender  fibres,  and  end  in  a  mortification,  which  he  calls  "  death's  benumbing  opium," 
US  in  that  stage  the  pain  is  over. — Wakbukton. 

J  Or  med'cinal  liquor. 
Here  "  medicinal"  is  pronounced  with  the  accent  upon  the  last  syllable  but  one,  as  iu 
Latin ;  which  is  more  musical  than  as  we  commonly  pronounce  it,  "  medicinal,"  with  the 
accent  upon  the  last  syllable  but  two,  or  "med'cinal"  as  Milton  has  used  it  in  "  Comus." 
The  same  pronunciation  occurs  in  Shakspeare,  "  Othello,"  a.  v.  s.  2 : — 

Drop  tears  as  fast  as  the  Arabian  trees 
Their  medicinal  gum. — Nkwton. 

"Medicinal"  is  not  the  reading  of  Milton's  own  edition:  in  that  it  is"medcinaL" 
The  supposed  emendation  of  "  medicinal"  is  made  in  the  folio  of  1688,  and  it  has  been 
since  invariably  followed. — Todd. 

k  Ifor  breath  of  vernal  air. 

So,  in  that  most  delightful  passage  in  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  iv.  264 : — 

airs,  vernal  airs. 
Breathing  the  smell  of  field  and  grove. — ^Todd. 

I  From  snowy  Alp. 
He  uses  "Alp"  for  mountain  in  general,  as  in  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  ii.  620.  "Alp,"  in 
the  strict  etymology  of  the  word,  signifies  a  mountain  white  with  snow.  We  have  indeed 
appropriated  the  name  to  the  high  mountains  which  separate  Italy  from  France  and 
Germany ;  but  any  high  mountain  may  be  so  called,  and  so  Sidonius  ApoUinaris  calU 
Mount  Athos,  speaking  of  Xerxes  cutting  through  i^  "  Carm."  ii.  510. — Newton. 

Milton  took  this  use  of  the  word  from  the  Italian  poets,  amongst  whom  it  was  very 
common. — Hued. 

»>  /  was  his  nursling  once,  &e. 
This  part  of  Samson's  speech  is  little  more  than  a  repetition  of  what  he  had  said 
before,  y.  23  :— 

O,  wherefore  was  my  birth  from  Heaven  foretold 
Twice  by  an  angel,  &o. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  581 


His  destined  from  the  womb, 

Promised  by  heavenly  message  twice  descending. 

Under  his  special  eye 

Abstemious  I  grew  up,  and  thrived  amain : 

He  led  me  on  to  mightiest  deeds. 

Above  the  nerve  of  mortal  arm. 

Against  the  uncircumcised,  our  enemies : 

But  now  hath  cast  me  off  as  never  known. 

And  to  those  cruel  enemies. 

Whom  I  by  his  appointment  had  provoked, 

Left  me  all  helpless,  with  the  irreparable  loss 

Of  sight,  reserved  alive  to  be  repeated 

The  subject  of  their  cruelty  or  scorn. 

Nor  am  I  in  the  list  of  them  that  hope : 

Hopeless  are  all  my  evils,  all  remediless : 

This  one  prayer  yet  remains,  might  I  be  heard, 

No  long  petition ;  speedy  death. 

The  close  of  all  my  miseries,  and  the  balm. 

€ho.  Many  are  the  sayings  of  the  wise, 
In  ancient  and  in  modern  books  inroll'd. 
Extolling  patience  as  the  truest  fortitude ; 
And  to  the  bearing  well  of  all  calamities. 
All  chances  incident  to  man's  frail  life, 
Consolatories  writ  , 

With  studied  argument,  and  much  persuasion  sought," 
Lenient  of  grief"  and  anxious  thought : 
But  with  the  afflicted  in  his  pangs  their  sound 
Little  prevails,  or  rather  seems  a  tune 
Harsh,  and  of  dissonant  mood'  from  his  complaint; 
Unless  he  feel  within 
Some  source  of  consolation  from  above, 
Secret  refreshings,  that  repair  his  strength, 
And  fainting  spirits  uphold. 

God  of  our  fathers,  what  is  man !« 

But  yet  it  cannot  justly  be  imputed  aa  a  fault  to  our  author.  Grief,  though  eloquent,  is 
not  tied  to  forms ;  and  is  besides  apt  in  its  own  nature  frequently  to  recur  to,  and 
repeat,  its  source  and  subject — Thyer. 

•    n  And  much  perBuasion  sought, 

I  suppose  an  error  of  the  press  for /ratigiAt. — Warbbrton. 

But  "  sought"  may  mean,  collected  studiously  or  with  pains ;  or  it  maybe  used  in  the 
sense  of  recherch6  in  French ;  curious,  refined,  far-fetched. — Dunster. 

0  Lenient  of  grief. 
Expressed  from  what  we  quoted  before  from  Horace,  "  Ep."  i.  L  34 : — 
Sunt  verba  et  voces,  quibus  hunc  lenire  dolorera 
PoBsii.— Nbwton  . 

p  Or  rather  seems  a  tune 
Harsh,  and  of  dissonant  mood,  Ac. 
Alluding  to  Ecolus.  xxii.  6 : — "  A  tale  out  of  season  is  as  music  in  mourning."— 
Thter. 

q  God  of  our  fathers,  what  is  man  !  Ac. 
This,  and  the  following  paragraph,  to  ver.  705,  seem  to  be  an  imitation  of  the  Chorus 
in  Seneca's  "  HippoJytus,"  where  the  immature  and  undeserved  fate  of  that  young  hero 
ii  lamented,  a.  iv.  971 : — 


582  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


That  thou  toward  him  with  hand  so  varous, 

Or  might  I  say  contrarious,' 

Temper'st  thy  providence  through  his  short  course, 

Not  evenly,  as  thou  rulest 

The  angelick  orders,  and  inferiour  creatures  mute, 

Irrational  and  brute  ? 

Nor  do  I  name  of  men  the  common  rout, 

That,  wandering  loose  about. 

Grow  up  and  perish,  as  the  summer  fly, 

Heads  without  name,  no  more  remember'd  j  • 

But  such  aa  thou  hast  solemnly  elected. 

With  gifts  and  graces  eminently  adorn' d, 

To  some  great  work,  thy  glory. 

And  people's  safety,  which  in  part  they  effect : 

Yet  toward  these  thus  dignified,  thou  oft. 

Amidst  their  highth  of  noon,* 

Changept  thy  countenance,  and  thy  hand,  with  no  regard 

Of  highest  favours  past 

From  thee  on  them,  or  them  to  thee  of  service. 

Nor  only  dost  degrade  them,  or  remit 
To  life  obscured,  which  were  a  fair  dismission  j 
But  throw' st  them  lower  than  thou  didst  exalt  them  high  j 
Unseemly  falls  in  human  eye, 
Too  grievous  for  the  trespass  or  omission ; 
Oft  leavest  them  to  the  hostile  sword 
Of  heathen  and  profane,  their  carcasses 
To  dogs  and  fowls  a  prey,*  or  else  captived ; 
Or  to  the  unjust  tribunals,  under  change  of  times,^ 

sed  car  idem, 
Qui  tanta  regis,  sub  quo  va«ti 
Pondera  mundi  librata  suos 
Ducunt  orbes,  hominum  nimium 
Securus  ades;  non  sollicitus 
Prodesse  bonis,  nocuisse  raitlis? — Tutkk. 

This  apostrophe  opens  with  a  sublime  pathos. 

'  Contrariout. 

This  seems  to  me  a  harsh  word,  though  Todd  shows  that  it  is  used  by  Chaaoer. 

•  Heads  without  name,  &o. 
So  Dryden  :— 

A  tribe  without  a  name.  ^ 

Milton  here  probably  had  in  view  the  Greek  term  for  this  lower  class  of  mortals. 
They  style  them  "  men  not  numbered,"  or  "  not  worth  the  numbering." — Thtkb. 

t  Amidst  their  highth  of  noon. 
This  forcible  expression  is  applied  in  the  same  manner  by  Sandys,  in  his  "  Para- 
phrase upon  Job,"  ed.  1648,  p.  34 : — 

When  men  are  from  their  noon  of  glory  thrown. 
Again  in  his  "Paraphrase  upon  the  Psalms,"  ed.  supr.  p.  127:— 

Thou  hast  on  slippery  heights  their  greatness  placed ; 
Down  headlong  from  their  noon  of  glory  cast. — Todd. 

"  Their  carcasse* 
To  dogs  and  /owls  a  prey. 
Plainly  alluding  to  Homer,  "  II."  i.  4.— Newton. 

»  Or  to  the  unjust  tribunah,  under  change  of  times,  Ac. 
Here,  no  doubt,  Milton  reflected  upon  the  trials  and  sufferings  of  his  party  after 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  583 


And  condemnation  of  the  ingrateful  multitude. 

If  these  they  'scape,  perhaps  in  poverty 

With  sickness  and  disease  thou  bow'st  them  down, 

Painful  diseases  and  deform' d, 

In  crude  old  age  j  "^ 

Though  not  disordinate,  yet  causeless  suffering 

The  punishment  of  dissolute  days :  in  fine. 

Just  or  unjust,  alike  seem  miserable, 

For  oft  alike  both  come  to  evil  end.* 

the  Bestoration ;  and  probably  he  might  'i\a,ve  in  mind  particularly  the  case  of  Sir 
Harry  Vane,  whom  he  has  so  highly  celebrated  in  one  of  his  sonnets.  "  If  these  they 
'scape,  perhaps  in  poverty,"  Ac. :  this  was  his  own  case ;  he  escaped  with  life,  but  lived 
in  poverty;  and  though  he  was  always  very  sober  and  temperate,  yet  he  was  much 
aiHicted  with  the  gout  and  other  "  painful  diseases  in  crude  old  age,"  cruda  senectxM> 
when  he  was  not  yet  a  very  old  man : — 

Though  not  disordinate,  yet  causeless  suffering 

The  punishment  of  dissolute  days. 

Some  time  after  I  had  written  this,  I  had  the  pleasure  to  find  that  I  had  fallen  into  the 
same  vein  of  thinking  with  Mr.  Warburton :  but  he  has  opened  and  pursued  it  much 
farther,  with  a  penetration  and  liveliness  of  fancy  peculiar  to  himself.  "  God  of  our 
fathers,"  to  ver.  704,  is  a  bold  expostulation  with  Providence  for  the  ill  success  of  the 
good  old  cause : — 

But  such  as  thou  hast  solemnly  elected, 

With  gifts  and  graces  eminently  adoru'd 

To  some  great  work  thy  glory. 

In  these  three  lines  are  described  the  characters  of  the  heads  of  the  independent 
enthusiasts :  "  which  in  part  they  effect ;"  that  is,  by  the  overthrow  of  the  monarchy, 
without  being  able  to  raise  their  projected  republic : — 

Vet  toward  these  thus  dignified,  thou  oft, 

Amidst  their  highth  of  noon, 

Changest  thy  countenance. 

After  Richard  had  laid  down,  all  power  came  into  the  hands  of  the  enthusiastic  inde- 
peitdent  republicans ;  when  a  sudden  revolution,  by  the  return  of  Charles  II.,  broke  all 
their  measures : — 

With  no  regard 

Of  highest  favours  past 

From  thee  on  them,  or  them  to  thee  of  service: 

that  is,  without  any  regard  of  those  favours  shown  by  thee  to  them  in  their  wonderfiil 
successes  against  tyranny  and  superstition,  [church  and  state]  or  of  those  services  they 
paid  to  thee  in  declaring  for  religion  and  liberty,  [independency  and  a  republic] 

Nor  only  dost  degrade,  &c. 

Too  grievous  for  the  trespass  or  omission. 

By  the  trespass  of  these  precious  saints,  Milton  means  the  quarrels  among  themselves ; 
and  by  the  omission,  the  not  making  a  clear  stage  in  the  constitution,  and  new-modelling 
the  law,  as  well  as  national  religion,  as  Ludlow  advised.  "  Captived :"  several  were 
condemned  to  perpetual  imprisonment,  as  Lambert  and  Martin.  "  Or  to  the  unjust 
tribunals,"  <tc.  The  trials  and  condemnation  of  Vane  and  the  regicides.  The  con- 
cluding verses  describe  his  own  case  : — 

If  these  they  'scape,  perhaps  in  poverty — 

Painful  diseases  and  deform'd — 

Though  not  disordinate,  yet  causeless  suffering 

The  punishment  of  dissolute  days  : 

his  losses  in  the  excise,  and  his  gout  not  caused  by  intemperance.  But  Milton  was  the 
most  heated  enthusiast  of  his  time :  speaking  of  Charles  I.'s  murder  in  his  "  Defence 
of  the  People  of  England,"  he  says : — "  Quanquam  ego  haec  divino  potius  instinctu  gesta 
esso  crediderim,  quoties  memoria  repeto,"  Ac. — Newton. 

y  In  crude  old  age. 
"Crude  old  age"  in  Virgil,  and  in  other  writers,  is  strong  and  robust, — "cruda  Deo 
viridisque  senectus :"  but  Milton  uses  here  "  crude"  for  premature,  and  coming  before 
its  time ;  as  "  cruda  funera"  in  Statins :  old  age  brought  on  by  poverty  and  by  sickness. 

— JORTIK. 

X  For  oft  alike  both  come  to  evil  end. 
This  may  seem  a  strange  sentiment  to  come  from  the  Choms;  bat  was  proper  to 


584  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


So  deal  not4idth  this  once  thy  glorious  champion, 
The  image  of  thy  strength,  and  mighty  minister. 
What  do  I  beg  ?  how  hast  thou  dealt  already  ! 
Behold  him  in  this  state  calamitous,  and  turn 
His  labours,  for  thou  canst,  to  peaceful  end.' 

But  who  is  this,  what  thing  of  sea  or  land  1 
Female  of  sex  it  seems, 
That  so  bedeck'd,  ornate,  and  gay, 
Comes  this  way  sailing  ^ 

Like  a  stately  ship ' 
Of  Tarsus,*  bound  for  the  isles 
Of  Javan  or  Gadire 

With  all  her  bravery  on,  and  tackle  trim, 
Sails  fiird,'  and  streamers  waving, 

consols  Samson,  who  suffered  chiefly  from  those  "thoughts  his  tormentors,"  which 
represented  his  calamity  as  a  decisive  mark  of  his  .superior  guilt,  and  of  Heaven's 
resentment.  Hence  those  "  swoonings  of  despair,  and  sense  of  Heaven's  desertion," 
for  which  there  was  no  cause,  if  the  just  might  sometimes  thus  suffer.  This  condescen* 
gion  is  of  the  character  of  the  Chorus :  "  Ille  bonis  faveat  et  consilietur  amice !"  We 
are  not  to  consider  the  sentiment  simply  in  itself,  but  as  adapted  to  present  circum- 
stances. The  purpose  of  the  Chorus  was  not  to  calumniate  Providence,  but  to  soothe 
the  unhappy  sufferer.  Besides,  the  general  moral  of  the  piece,  enforced  by  the  Chorus 
itself  at  the  end — "  All  is  best,  though  we  oft  doubt,"  Ac,  rectifies  all,  and  counteracts 
any  ill  impression  from  this  carnal  sentiment — Hurd. 

f  Behold  him  in  this  state  calamitous,  and  turn 
His  labours,  for  thou  canst,  to  peaceful  end. 

The  concluding  verses  of  this  beautiful  chorus  appear  to  me  particularly  affect- 
ing, from  the  persuasion  that  Milton,  in  composing  them,  addressed  the  last  two  imme- 
diately to  Heaven,  as  a  prayer  for  himself.  If  the  conjecture  of  this  application  be  just, 
we  may  add,  that  never  was  the  prevalence  of  a  righteous  prayer  more  happily  con- 
spicuous;  and  let  me  here  remark,  that  however  various  the  opinions  of  men  may  be 
concerning  the  merits  or  demerits  of  Milton's  political  character,  the  integrity  of  his 
heart  appears  to  have  secured  to  him  the  favour  of  Providence ;  since  it  pleased  the 
Giver  of  all  good  not  only  to  turn  his  labours  to  a  peaceful  end,  but  to  irradiate  his 
declining  life  with  the  most  abundant  portion  of  those  pure  and  sublime  mental  powers, 
for  which  he  had  constantly  and  fervently  prayed,  as  the  choicest  bounty  of  Heaven. — 
Hatley, 

*  Like  a  stately  ship,  &c. 

The  thought  of  comparing  a  woman  to  a  ship  is  not  entirely  new.  Plautus  has  it  in 
his  "  Paenulus,"  i.  ii.  1 : — 

Negotii  sibi  qui  volet  vim  parare, 

Navem  et  mulierem,  haec  duo  comparato,  &c. 

Mr.  Warburton,  in  a  note  on  the  "Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,"  a.  iii.  s.  8,  speaking  of 
the  ship-tire,  says,  "  it  was  an  open  head-dress,  with  a  kind  of  scarf  depending  from 
behind."  Its  name  of  ship-tire  was,  I  presume,  from  its  giving  the  wearer  some  resem- 
blance of  a  ship,  as  Shakspeare  says,  "in  all  her  trim;"  with  all  her  pennants  out,  and 
flags  and  streamers  flying.  Thus  Milton  paints  Dalila.  This  was  an  image  familiar  with 
the  poets  of  that  time.  Thus,  in  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  "  Wit  without  Money  :"— 
"  She  spreads  sattens  as  the  king's  ships  do  canvass." — Newton. 

a  Of  Tarsus. 
Thero  is  frequent  mention  in  Scripture  of  the  ships  of  Tarshish,  which  Milton  as  well 
as  some  commentators  might  conceive  to  be  the  same  as  Tarsus,  in  Cilicia : — "  bound 
for  the  isles  of  Javan,"  that  is,  Greece ;  for  Javan  or  Ion,  the  fourth  son  of  Japhet,  is 
said  to  have  peopled  Greece  and  Ionia,  or  Gadire,  Gades,  Cadiz. — Newton. 

•'  With  all  her  bravery  on,  and  tackle  trim. 
Sails  fill' d,  Ac. 
Gray  has  alsc  drawn  a  beautiful  comparison  of  a  ship  in  gallant  trim,  in  his  "  Bard," 
V.  71,  Ac.     I  beg  leave  to  introduce  to  the  reader's  notice  a  similar  description,  of 
remarkable  elegance  in  Giles  Fletcher's  "  Christ's  Victorie,"  b.  ii.  et,  35 : 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  585 


Courted  by  all  the  winds"  that  hold  them  play, 
An  amber  scent  of  odorous  perfume 
Her  harbinger,  a  damsel  train  behind  : 
Some  rich  Philistian  matron  she  may  seem; 
And  now,  at  nearer  view,  no  other  certain 
Than  Dalila  thy  wife. 

Sam.  My  wife  !  my  traitress :  let  her  not  come  near  me. 

Gho.  Yet  on  she  moves,""  now  stands  and  eyes  thee  fix'd, 
About  to  have  spoke ;  but  now,  with  head  declined 
Like  a  fair  flower «  surcharged  with  dew,  she  weeps, 
And  words  address'd  seem  into  tears  dissolved, 
Wetting  the  borders  of  her  silken  veil : 
But  now  again  she  makes  address  to  speak. 

Enter  Dalila. 
Dal.  With  doubtful  feet' and  wavering  resolution 
I  came,  still  dreading  thy  displeasure,  Samson  j 
Which  to  have  merited,  without  excuse, 
I  cannot  but  acknowledge ;  yet,  if  tears 
May  expiate,  (though  the  fact  more  evil  drew 
In  the  perverse  event  than  I  foresaw) 

Like  as  a  ship,  in  which  no  ballance  lieg, 
Without  a  pilot  on  the  sleeping  waves, 
Fairly  along  with  winde  and  water  flies, 
And  painted  masts  with  silken  sails  embraves, 
That  Neptune's  self  the  bragging  vessel  saves, 
To  laugh  awhile  at  her  so  proud  array  : 
Her  waving  streamers  loosely  she  lets  play. 
And  flagging  colours  shine  as  bright  as  smiling  day. 

Where  "  embraves"  ia  decorates ;  as  "  bravery"  in  the  text  is  finery  or  ornament ;  in 
which  sense  the  word  is  commonly  used  by  our  old  poets. — Todd. 

e  Streamers  waving, 
Courted  hy  all  the  winds. 
This  is  a  beautiful  image,  exquisitely  expressed.    The  whole  of  this  chorus  is  among 
the  finest  passages  in  this  grand  poem. 

<i  Yet  on  she  moves,  Ac. 
Like  Ismene  in  the  "  Antigone"  of  Sophocles,  v.  532. 

Mr.  Jortin  and  Mr.  Thyer  both  concurred  in  the  same  observation,  and  therefore  it  ia 
more  likely  to  be  true. — Newton. 

•  But  now,  with  head  declined, 
Like  a  fair  flower,  &o. 
Probably  from  Homer,  "H."  viii.  306. 

Dryden,  in  his  "  Aurengzebe,"  has  almost  literally  copied  Milton  :— 
Your  head  declined,  as  hiding  grief  from  view, 
Droops,  like  a  rose  surcharged  with  morning  dew. 

PhineaJ9  Fletcher  is  fond  of  this  classical  allusion.    See  his  "  Purple  Island, "  c.  xi 
St.  30,  and  particularly  st  38  : — 

go  have  1  often  seen  a  purple  flower, 

Fainting  through  heat,  bans  down  her  drooping  bead,  &c. 

Carew  has  also  a  similar  comparison : — 

As  lilies,  overcharged  with  rain,  they  bend 
Their  beauteous  heads,  &c. — Todd. 

*■  With  doubtful  feet^  &c. 
The  scene  between  Samson  and  Dalila  is  drawn  up  with  great  judgment  and  particu- 
lar beauty.  One  cannot  conceive  a  more  artful,  soft,  and  persuasive  eloquence  than 
that  which  is  put  into  the  mouth  of  Dalila ;  nor  is  the  part  of  Samson  less  to  be  admired 
for  that  stern  and  resolute  firmness  which  runs  through  it.  What  also  gives  both  parts 
a  great  additional  beauty,  is  their  forming  so  fine  a  contrast  to  each  other. — Thykb. 
74 


586  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


My  penance  hath  not  slacken'd,  though  my  pardon 

No  way  assured.     But  conjugal  affection, 

Prevailing  over  fear  and  timorous  doubt, 

Hath  led  me  on,  desirous  to  behold 

Once  more  thy  face,  and  know  of  thy  estate, 

If  aught  in  my  ability  may  serve 

To  lighten  what  thou  suffer' st,  and  appease 

Thy  mind  with  what  amends  is  in  my  power, 

Though  late,  yet  in  some  part  to  recompense 

My  rash,  but  more  unfortunate  misdeed. 

Sam.  Out,  out,  hyaena ! «  these  are  thy  wonted  arts, 
And  arts  of  every  woman  false  like  thee, 
To  break  all  faith,  all  vows,  deceive,  betray. 
Then  as  repentant  to  submit,  beseech. 
And  reconcilement  move  with  feign'd  remorse. 
Confess,  and  promise  wonders  in  her  change } 
Not  truly  penitent,  but  chief  to  try 
Her  husband,  how  far  urged  his  patience  bear?, 
His  virtue  or  weakness  which  way  to  assail : 
Then  with  more  cautious  and  instructed  skill 
Again  transgresses,  and  again  submits; 
That  wisest  and  best  men,  full  oft  beguiled, 
With  goodness''  principled  not  to  reject 
The  penitent,  but  ever  to  forgive. 
Are  drawn  to  wear  out  miserable  days,' 
Entangled  with  a  poisonous  bosom  snake, 
If  not  by  quick  destruction  soon  cut  off. 
As  I  by  thee,  to  ages  an  example. 

Dal.  Yet  hear  me,  Samson ;  not  that  I  endeavour 

R  Out,  out,  hycena. 
The  hyaena  is  a  creature  somewhat  like  a  wolf,  and  is  said  to  imitate  a  haman  voice 
so  artftillj  as  to  draw  people  to  it,  and  then  devour  them.  So  Solinus,  the  transcriber 
of  Pliny,  cap.  27 : — "  Multa  de  ea  mira :  primum,  quod  sequitur  stabula  pastornm,  et 
anditu  assiduo  addiseit  vocamen,  quod  exprimere  possit  imitatione  vocis  humanse,  ut  in 
hominem  astu  accitum  nocte  saeviat."  A  celebrated  tragic  writer  makes  use  of  the 
same  comparison,  "  Orphan,"  a.  iii. : — 

'Tis  thus  the  false  hyaena  makes  her  moan, 
To  draw  the  pitying  traveller  to  her  den  : 
Your  sex  are  so,  such  false  dissemblers  all,  &c. 

Milton  applies  it  to  a  woman,  but  Otway  to  the  man ;  which  with  the  greater  jus- 
tice, let  the  critics  and  the  ladies  determine. — Newton. 

•>  Th^  wisest  and  best  men,  full  oft  beguiled 
With  goodness,  &c. 
Milton  had  reason  to  lament  that  excess  of  indulgence,  with  which  he  forgave  and 
received  again  his  disobedient  and  long  alienated  wife ;  since  their  reunion  not  only 
disquieted  his  days,  but  gave  birth  to  daughters  who  seem  to  have  inherited  the  per- 
versity of  their  mother.  These  pathetic  lines  strike  me  as  a  forcible  allusion  to  his 
own  connubial  infelicity.— Hayley. 

^Are  drawn  to  wear  out  miserable  days. 
He  makes  the  same  reflection,  in  his  "  Doctrine  and  Discipline  of  Divorce,"  on  two 
persons  ill  embarkt  in  wedlock.     "  What  folly  is  it  to  stand  combating  and  battering 
against  invincible  causes  and  effects,  with  evil  upon  evil,  till  either  the  best  of  our 
days  be  lingered  out,  or  ended  with  some  speeding  sorrow !"  b.  i.  10. — Todd. 

This  passage  from  the  above  tract  about  invincible  causes  and  effects  confirms  the 
observation  with  regard  to  the  ill-assortment  of  Milton's  first  marriage. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


587 


To  lessen  or  extenuate  my  offence  j 

But  that,  on  the  other  side,  if  it  be  weigh'd 

By  itself,  with  aggravations  not  surcharged. 

Or  else  with  just  allowance  counterpoised, 

I  may,  if  possible,  thy  pardon  find 

The  easier  towards  me,  or  thy  hatred  less. 

First  granting,  as  I  do,  it  was  a  weakness 

In  me,  but  incident  to  all  our  sex, 

Curiosity,  inquisitive,  importune 

Of  secrets,  then  with  like  infirmity 

To  publish  them,  both  common  female  faults; 

Was  it  not  weakness  also  to  make  known 

For  importunity,  that  is,  for  naught. 

Wherein  consisted  all  thy  strength  and  safety  ? 

To  what  I  did  thou  show'dst  me  first  the  way. 

But  I  to  enemies  reveal'd,  and  should  not : 

Nor  shouldst  thou  have  trusted  that  to  woman's  frailty : 

Ere  I  to  thee,  thou  to  thyself  wast  cruel. 

Let  weakness  then  with  weakness' come  to  parle, 

So  near  related,  or  the  same  of  kind. 

Thine  forgive  mine ;  that  men  may  censure  thine 

The  gentler,  if  severely  thou  exact  not 

More  strength  from  me  than  in  thyself  was  found* 

And  what  if  love,  which  thou  interpret' st  hate, 

The  jealousy  of  love,  powerful  of  sway 

In  human  hearts,  nor  less  in  mine  towards  thee, 

Caused  what  I  did  ?     I  saw  thee  mutable 

Of  fency,  fear'd  lest  one  day  thou  wouldst  leave  me 

As  her  at  Tirana,  sought  by  all  means  therefore 

How  to  endear,  and  hold  thee  to  me  firmest ; 

No  better  way  I  saw  than  by  importuning 

To  learn  thy  secrets,  get  into  my  power 

Thy  key  of  strength  and  safety  :  thou  wilt  say, 

Why  then  reveal'd  ?     I  was  assured  by  those 

Who  tempted  me,  that  nothing  was  design'd 

Against  thee  but  safe  custody,  and  hold : 

That  made  for  me ;  I  knew  that  liberty 

Would  draw  thee  forth  to  perilous  enterprises, 

While  I  at  home  sat  full  of  cares  and  fears. 

Wailing  thy  absence  in  my  widow'd  bed : 

Here  I  should  still  enjoy  thee,  day  and  night, 

Mine  and  love's  prisoner,^  not  the  Philistines' ; 

Whole  to  myself,  unhazarded  abroad, 

Fearless  at  home  of  partners  in  my  love. 

J  Mine  and  love^t  prisoner. 

These  few  words  express  the  aubstance  of  Julief  s  beautiful  speech  to  Romeo : 

'Til  almost  morning ;  I  would  have  thee  gone ; 
And  yet  no  farther  than  a  wanton's  bird; 
Who  lets  it  hop  a  little  from  her  hand, 
Like  a  poor  prisoner  in  his  twisted  gyves; 
And  with  a  silk  thread  plucks  it  back  again, 
So  loving-jealous  of  his  liberty. — Todd. 


588  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


These  reasons  in  love's  law  have  pass'd  for  good, 

Though  fond  and  reasonless  to  some  perhaps ; 

And  love  hath  oft,  well  meaning,  wrought  much  woe, 

Yet  always  pity  or  pardon  hath  obtain' d. 

Be  not  unlike  all  others,  not  austere 

As  thou  art  strong,  inflexible  as  steel. 

If  thou  in  strength  all  mortals  dost  exceed. 

In  uncompassionate  anger  do  not  so. 

Sam.  How  cunningly  the  sorceress  displays 
Her  own  transgressions,  to  upbraid  me  mine  ! 
That  malice,  not  repentance,  brought  thee  hither, 
By  this  appears  :  I  gave,  thou  say'st,  the  example; 
I  led  the  way  :  bitter  reproach,  but  true : 
I  to  myself  was  false  ere  thou  to  me ; 
Such  pardon  therefore  as  I  give  my  folly, 
Take  to  thy  wicked  deed  j "  which  when  thou  seest 
Impartial,  self-severe,  inexorable, 
Thou  wilt  renounce  thy  seeking,  and  much  rather 
Confess  it  feign' d.     Weakness  is  thy  excuse, 
And  I  believe  it ;  weakness  to  resist 
Philistian  gold  :  if  weakness  may  excuse. 
What  murderer,  what  traitor,  parricide, 
Incestuous,  sacrilegious,  but  may  plead  it  ? 
All  wickedness  is  weakness  :  that  plea  therefore 
With  Grod  or  man  will  gain  thee  no  remission. 
But  love  constrain'd  thee ;  call  it  ftirious  rage 
To  satisfy  thy  lust :  love  seeks  to  have  love ; 
My  love  how  couldst  thou  hope,  who  took'st  the  waj 
To  raise  in  me  inexpiable  hate, 
Knowing,  as  needs  I  must,  by  thee  betray'd  ? ' 
In  vain  thou  strivest  to  cover  shame  with  shame. 
Or  by  evasions  thy  crime  uncover'st  more. 

Dal.  Since  thou  determinest  weakness  for  no  plea 
In  man  or  woman,  though  to  thy  own  condemning, 
Hear  what  assaults  I  had,  what  snares  besides, 
What  sieges  girt  me  round,  ere  I  consented ; 
Which  might  have  awed  the  best-resolved  of  men. 
The  constantest,  to  have  yielded  without  blame. 
It  was  not  gold,  as  to  my  charge  thou  layest. 
That  wrought  with  me  :  thou  know'st,  the  magistrates* 

^  Such  pardon  therefore  as  I  give  my  folly  ^ 
Take  to  thy  wicked  deed,  &c. 
These  sentiments  of  self-condemnation  are  expressed  with  •wonderful  dignity;  they 
reflect  all  the  noble  and  resolute  virtue  of  the  poet's  own  highly-principled  mind. — 

DCNSTEB. 

'  Knowing,  as  needs  I  must,  by  thee  betrayed? 
The  same  manner  of  speaking  as  in  "Paradise  Lost,"  b.  ix.  792. — 
And  knew  not  eating  death.— Newton. 
""  Thou  knowht,  the  magistrates,  &c. 
Judges  xvi.  5 :— "  And  the  lords  of  the  Philistines  came  up  unto  her,  and  said," 
&c.    So  exact  is  Milton  in  all  the  particulars  of.  the  story,  and  improves  every  inci- 
dent.—Newton.  J^  r  J 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  589 


And  princes  of  my  country  came  in  person, 

Solicited,  commanded,  threaten'd,  urged, 

Adjured  by  all  the  bonds  of  civil  duty 

And  of  religion,  press'd  how  just  it  was, 

How  honourable,  how  glorious,  to  entrap 

A  common  enemy,  who  had  destroy'd 

Such  numbers  of  our  nation  :  and  the  pritst 

Was  not  behind,"  but  ever  at  my  ear, 

Preaehing  how  meritorious  with  the  gods 

It  would  be  to  ensnare  an  irreligious 

Dishonourer  of  Dagon ;  what  had  I 

To  oppose  against  such  powerful  arguments  ? 

Only  my  love  of  thee  held  long  debate, 

And  combated  in  silence  all  these  reasons 

With  hard  contest :  at  length,  that  grounded  maxim, 

So  rife  and  celebrated  in  the  mouths 

Of  wisest  men,  that — To  the  publick  good 

Private  respects  must  yield — with  grave  authority 

Took  full  possession  of  me,  and  prevail'd ; 

Virtue,  as  I  thought,  truth,  duty,  so  enjoining. 

Sam.  I  thought  where  all  thy  circling  wiles  would  end  j 
In  feign' d  religion,  smooth  hypocrisy ! 
But  had  thy  love,  still  odiously  pretended. 
Been,  as  it  ought,  sincere,  it  would  have  taught  thee 
Far  other  reasonings,  brought  forth  other  deeds. 
I,  before  all  the  daughters  of  my  tribe 
And  of  my  nation,  chose  thee  from  among 
My  enemies,  loved  thee,  as  too  well  thou  knew'st; 
Too  well ;  unbosom'd  all  my  secrets  to  thee, 
Not  out  of  levity,  but  overpower' d 

Compare  the  account  related  by  Sallust,  of  Cicero,  who  secured  the  harlot  Fnlria  to 
hU  interest;  and  through  her  means  gained,  by  the  force  of  promises,  his  intelligence  of 
Catiline's  machinations  from  Q.  Curius,  who  was  engaged  in  the  conspiracy,  and  with 
who'oi  Fulvia  was  criminally  connected:  "A  principio  consulatus  sui,  multa  per  Ful- 
viam  pollicendo,  effecerat,  ut  Q.  Curius  (cai  cum  Fulvia  stupri  vetus  consuetude)  oon- 
Bilia  Catilinse  sibi  proderet" — Todd. 

n  And  the  prie»t 
Was  not  behind,  Ao. 

The  character  of  the  priest,  which  makes  a  conspicuous  figure  here,  is  the  poet's  own 
addition  to  the  scriptural  account.  It  is  obviously  a  satire  on  the  ministers  of  the 
church. — DuNSTER, 

0  Loved  thee,  at  too  well  thou  knew'st. 

There  is  an  inconsistency  here  with  what  Samson  had  said  before :  here  he  professes 
a  violent  affection  for  Dalila,  as  the  solo  motive  of  his  marrying  her;  whereas  he  had 
before  asserted  that  he  was  in  a  certain  degree  determined  to  it  by  hopes  of  finding 
occasion  thereby  to  oppress  the  Philistines,  ver.  234.  Manoah  likewise  says,  that  Sam- 
eon  pleaded  "  divine  impulsion"  for  both  his  marriages,  ver.  422.  But  Milton  may  be 
understood  to  have  imagined  Samson,  in  his  marriage  with  Dalila,  acting  merely  from 
inclination,  and  (as  people  who  do  so  are  apt  to  reason  falsely  in  their  own  vindication) 
falsely  attributing  and  ascribing  it  to  divine  impulse.  This  is  consistent  with  what  is 
said,  ver.  532,  where  Samson  describes  himself  "  swollen  with  pride,"  that  is,  at  his 
superior  strength  ;  and  on  that  account,  as  it  seems,  deserted  by  God,  and  falling  into 
the  "  snare  of  fair  fallacious  looks,"  Ac.  So  that  what  he  here  says  to  Dalila  is  true  ; 
and  the  real  motives  of  his  marrying  her  were,  that  he  "-loved  her,"  as  he  himself  says, 
"too  well." — Dpnsteb. 


590  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


By  thy  request,  who  could  deny  thee  nothing ; 

Yet  now  am  judged  an  enemy.     Why  then 

Didst  thou  at  first  receive  me  for  thy  husband, 

Then,  as  since  then,  thy  country's  foe  profess'd  ? 

Being  once  a  wife,p  for  me  thou  wast  to  leave 

Parents  and  country;  nor  was  I  their  subject, 

Nor  under  their  protection,  but  my  own ; 

Thou  mine,  not  theirs  :  if  aught  against  my  life 

Thy  country  sought  of  thee,  it  sought  unjustly, 

Against  the  law  of  nature,  law  of  nations  j 

No  more  thy  country,  but  an  impious  crew 

Of  men  conspiring  to  uphold  their  state 

By  worse  than  hostile  deeds ;  violating  the  ends 

For  which  our  country  is  a  name  so  dear ; 

Not  therefore  to  be  obey'd.     But  zeal  moved  thee ; 

To  please  thy  gods  thou  didst  it :  gods  unable 

To  acquit  themselves  and  prosecute  their  foes  > ' 

But  by  ungodly  deeds,  the  contradiction 

Of  their  own  deity,  gods  cannot  be ; 

Less  therefore  to  be  pleased,  obey'd,  or  fear'd. 

These  false  pretexts  and  varnish'd  colours  failing, » 

Bare  in  thy  guilt,  how  foul  must  thou  appear  I 

Dal.  In  argument  with  men  a  woman  ever 
Goes  by  the  worst,  whatever  be  her  cause. 

Sam.  For  want  of  words  no  doubt,  or  lack  of  breath : 
Witness  when  I  was  worried  with  thy  peals. 

Dal.  I  was  a  fool,  too  rash,  and  quite  mistaken 
In  what  I  thought  would  have  succeeded  best. 
Let  me  obtain  forgiveness  of  thee,  Samson ; 
AfFord  me  place  to  show  what  recompense 
Towards  thee  I  intend  for  what  I  have  misdone, 
Misguided ;  only  what  remains  past  cure 
Bear  not  too  sensibly,  nor  still  insist 
To  afflict  thyself  in  vain  :  though  sight  be  lost,' 
Life  yet  hath  many  solaces,  enjoy'd 
Where  other  senses  want  not  their  delights 
At  home  in  leisure  and  domestic  ease. 
Exempt  from  many  a  care  and  chance,  to  which 
Eye-sight  exposes  daily  men  abroad. 
I  to  the  lords  will  intercede,  not  doubting 

p  Being  once  a  wife. 
Here  seems  again  an  allusion  to  the  poet's  own  case  with  reference  to  the  cause  of 
the  parliamentarians  against  that  of  the  king,  to  which  his  wife  was  attached. 

q  And  varnish'' d  colours  failing. 
See  his  " Prose  "Works,"  vol.  i.  p.  161,  ed.  1698.     "Painting  his  lewd  and  deceitful 
principles  with  a  smooth  and  glossy  varnish  in  a  doctrinal!  way,  to  bring  about  his 
wickedest  purposes."    I  apprehend  that  Milton  might  employ  the  expression  in  al- 
lusion to  St.  James's  descnption  of  the  tongue,  which  is  called  "the  varnish  of  in- 
iquity," as  it  should  be  rendered.    See  "Wetstein  in  Jac.  iii.  6. — Todd. 
'  Though  sight  he  lost. 
We  have  a  similar  sentiment  in  Cicero,  "  Tusc.  Qusest."    "Animo  autem  multis  mo- 
dis  variis  que  delectori  licet,  etiam  si  non  adhibeatur  aspectus,"  1.  v.  c.  38.— Dunsteb. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  591 


Their  favourable  ear,  that  I  may  fetch  thee 

From  forth  this  loathsome  prison-house,  to  abide 

With  me,  where  my  redoubled  love  and  care 

With  nursing  diligence,  to  me  glad  office, 

May  ever  tend  about  thee  to  old  age 

With  all  things  grateful  cheer'd,  and  so  supplied, 

That,  what  by  me  thou  hast  lost,  thou  least  shalt  miss. 

Sam.  No,  no ;  of  my  condition  take  no  care  j 
It  fits  not ;  thou  and  I  long  since  are  twain  : 
Nor  think  me  so  unwary  or  accursed. 
To  bring  my  feet  again  into  the  snare 
Where  once  I  have  been  caught :  I  know  thy  trains, 
Though  dearly  to  my  cost,  thy  gins,  and  toils  : 
Thy  fair  enchanted  cup,  and  warbling  charms,* 
No  more  on  me  have  power ;  their  force  is  nuU'd ; 
So  much  of  adder's  wisdom  I  have  learn' d,* 
To  fence  my  ear  against  thy  sorceries. 
If  in  my  flower  of  youth  and  strength,  when  all  men 
Loved,  honour'd,  fear'd  me,  thou  alone  couldst  hate  me 
Thy  husband,  slight  me,  sell  me,  and  forego  me  j 
How  wouldst  thou  use  me  now,  blind,  and  thereby 
Deceivable,  in  most  things  as  a  child 
Helpless,  thence  easily  contemn'd,  and  scorn'd, 
And  last  neglected  t     How  wouldst  thou  insult, 
When  I  must  live  uxorious  to  thy  will 
In  perfect  thraldom ;  how  again  betray  me. 
Bearing  my  words  and  doings  to  the  lords 
To  gloss  upon,  and,  censuring,  frown  or  smile ! 
This  jail  I  count  the  house  of  liberty 
To  thine,  whose  doors  my  feet  shall  never  enter. 

Dal.  Let  me  approach  at  least,  and  touch  thy  hand. 

Sam.  Not  for  thy  life,  lest  fierce  remembrance  wake 
My  sudden  rage  to  tear  thee  joint  by  joint." 
At  distance  I  forgive  thee ;  go  with  that : 
Bewail  thy  falsehood,  and  the  pious  works 

•  Thy  fair  enchanted  cup,  and  warbling  charms. 

Alluding,  no  doubt,  to  the  story  of  Circe  and  the  sirens :  but  did  not  our  author's 
fondness  for  Greek  learning  make  him  here  forget  that  it  is  a  little  out  of  character  tc 
represent  Samson  acquainted  with  the  mythology  of  that  country?  It  seems  the  more 
odd,  as  the  allusion  to  the  adder,  immediately  following,  is  taken  from  Scripture. — 
Thyeb. 

He  nJight  as  well  be  supposed  to  know  the  story  of  Circe  and  the  sirens,  as  of  Tan- 
talus, Ac,  before,  v.  500 ;  and  there  is  no  more  impropriety  in  the  one  than  in  the  other. 
— Newton. 

Mr.  Thyer's  observation  is,  however,  just;  and  Dr.  Johnson  has  not  forgotten  to  notice 
the  impropriety  of  all  these  allusions.     Mr.  Glasse,  in  his  translation,  and  Mr.  Penn,  in 
his  alteration,  of  this  tragedy,  have  omitted  these  objectionable  passages. — Todd. 
'  t  So  much  of  adder's  loiidom  I  have  learn'd. 

The  allusion  is  to  Psalm  Iviii.  4,  5 : — "  They  are  like  the  deaf  adder  that  stoppeth  hei 
ear:  which  will  not  hearken  to  the  voice  of  charmers,  charming  never  so  wisely." — 
Newton. 

u  To  tear  thee  joint  by  joint. 

Milton  perhaps  recollected  blind  Polymostor's  desire  of  revenge  upoa  Heoaba,  In  tho 
play  of  that  name  by  Euripides,  v.  1126,  ed.  Barnes. — Todd. 


592  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


It  hath  brought  forth  to  make  thee  memorable 
Among  illustrious  women,  faithful  wives ! 
Cherish  thy  hasten' d  widowhood^  with  the  gold 
Of  matrimonial  treason  !  so  farewell. 

Dal.  I  see  thou  art  implacable,  more  deaf 
To  prayers  than  winds  and  seas ;  yet  winds  to  sear 
Arc  reconciled  at  length,  and  sea  to  shore : 
Thy  anger,  unappeasable,  still  rages, 
Eternal  tempest,  never  to  be  calm'd. 
Why  do  I  humble  thus  myself,  and,  suing 
For  peace,  reap  nothing  but  repulse  and  hate; 
Bid  go  with  evil  omen,  and  the  brand 
Of  infamy  upon  my  name  denounced  ? 
To  mix  with  thy  concernments  I  desist 
Henceforth,  nor  too  much  disapprove  my  own. 
Fame,  if  not  double-faced,  is  double-mouth'd, 
And  with  contrary  blast  proclaims  most  deeds  j 
On  both  his  wings,  one  black,  the  other  white,* 
Bears  greatest  names  in  his  wild  aery  flight.^ 
My  name  perhaps  among  the  circumcised 
In  Dan,  in  Judah,  and  the  bordering  tribes,  s' 

To  all  posterity  may  stand  defamed, 
With  malediction  mention' d,  and  the  blot 

V  Oherish  thy  haaten'd  xoidowhood. 
This  Baroastical  irony  is  very  fine. 

w  On  both  his  icings,  one  black,  the  other  white. 
Milton,  in  his  poem,  "  In  Quint  Nov."  speaking  of  Fame,  says, 
Induit  et  variig  exilia  corpora  plumis. 
I  do  not  recollect  any  instance  of  Fame  having  two  wings  of  difierent  colours  assigned 
by  any  of  the  Koman  poets.    Milton  seems  to  have  equipped  his  deity  very  character- 
istically, by  borrowing  one  wing  from  Infamy,  and  another  from  Victory  or  Glory,  as 
they  are  both  described  by  Silius  Italicus ;  where  Virtue  contrasts  herself  with  Pleasaro, 
or  Dissipation,  1.  xv.  95 : — 

atris 
Circa  te  semper  voUtans  Infamia  pennis; 
Mecum  Honor,  et  Laudes,  «t  laeto  Gloria  vultu, 
Et  Decus,  ei  niveis  Victoria  concolor  alis. 

Bon  Jonson,  in  one  of  his  Masks,  introduces  Fama  Bona  attired  in  white,  with  white 
wings;  and  she  terms  herself  "the  white-wing'd  maid." — Dunster. 

X  Bears  greatest  names  in  his  wild  aery  flight. 
I  think  Fame  has  passed  for  a  goddess  ever  since  Hesiod  deified  her.    Milton  makes 
her  a  god,  I  know  not  why,  unless  secundum  cos,  qui  dicunt'Utriusque  sexus  participa- 
tlonem  habere  numina.    So,  in  his  "  Lycidas,"  he  says,  unless  it  be  a  false  print, 

So  may  some  gentle  Muse 

With  lucky  words  favour  my  destined  nm, 

And  as  he  passes  turn; 

where  Muse  in  the  masculine  for  poet  is  very  bold. 
Perhaps  it  should  here  also  be. 

Bears  greatest  names  in  his  wide  aery  flight. 
VHitA  Milton  says  of  Fame's  bearing  great  names  on  his  wings,  seems  to  be  partly  from 
Horace,  "  Od."  ii.  ii.  7 : — 

Ilium  aget  penna  metuente  solvi 
Fama  superstes — Jortin. 

I  apprehend  that  "wild"  is  full  as  applicable  as  "wide"  to  the  character  and  office 
of  Fame  j  and  thus  Shakspeare,  "  Othello,"  a.  ii.  s.  1 : — 

That  paragons  description  and  wild  fame.— ToSB. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


593 


Of  falsehood  most  unconjugal  traduced: 

But  in  my  country,  where  I  most  desire, 

In  Ecron,  Gaza,  Asdod,  and  in  Gath, 

I  shall  be  named  ^  among  the  famousest 

Of  women,  sung  at  solemn  festivals, 

Living  and  dead  recorded,  who,  to  save 

Her  country  from  a  fierce  destroyer,  chose 

Above  the  faith  of  wedlock-bands ;  my  tomV 

With  odours  visited  and  annual  flowers ;  • 

Not  less  renown'd  than  in  mount  Ephraim 

Jael,*  who  with  inhospitable  guile 

Smote  Sisera  sleeping,  through  the  temples  nail'd 

Nor  shall  I  count  it  heinous  to  enjoy 

The  publick  marks  of  honour  and  reward, 

Conferr'd  upon  me  for  the  piety. 

Which  to  my  country  I  was  judged  to  have  shovra. 

At  this  whoever  envies  or  repines,** 

I  leave  him  to  his  lot,  and  like  my  own. 

Cho.  She's  gone,  a  manifest  serpent  by  her  sting,* 
Discover'd  in  the  end,  till  now  conceal'd. 


\IkoU 


y  I  »hall  be  named,  Ac. 
See  the  "  Heraclida"  of  Euripides,  t.  698. — Dunstbr. 

*  My  tomb, 
With  odours  visited,  and  annual  flowers. 
What  is  said  in  Scripture  of  the  daughter  of  Jephthah,  "  that  the  daughters  of  Israel 
trent  yearly  to  lament  her,"  seems  to  imply  that  this  solemn  and  periodical  visitation 
of  the  tombs  of  eminent  persons  was  an  eastern  custom. — Thter. 

This  affectionate  custom  of  decorating  the  tombs  of  departed  friends  has  descended 
to  later  times.  See  the  "  Iphigenia  in  Tauris"  of  Euripides,  v.  632,  ed.  Barnes.  It  still 
exists  in  some  parts  of  this  island.  Shakspeare  alludes  to  it  in  "  Cymbeline,"  a.  iv. 
s.  5:— 

With  fairest  flowers. 
Whilst  summer  lasts  and  I  live  here,  Pidele, 
I'll  sweeten  thy  sad  grave. 

Whence  Collins,  with  remarkable  taste  and  pathos ; — 

To  fair  Fidele's  grassy  tomb, 

Soft  maids  and  village  hinds  shall  bring 
£ach  opening  sweet  ot  earliest  bloom, 

And  rifle  all  the  blooming  spring. 

I  take  this  opportunity  of  observing  that  Collins  may  probably  have  been  indebted  to  a 
fine  passage  in  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  "  The  Lover's  Progress,"  a.  iv.  a.  1 : — 

I  will  kneel  by  him, 
And  on  his  hallow'd  earth  do  my  last  duties : 
I'll  gather  all  the  pride  of  spring  to  deck  him : 
Woodbmes  shall  grow  upon  his  honour'd  grave: 
And,  as  they  prosper,  clasp,  to  show  our  friendship; 
And,  when  they  wither,  I'll  die  too. — Todd. 

»  Not  less  renown'd  than  in  Mount  Ephraim 
Jael. 
Jael  is  celebrated  in  the  noble  song  of  Deborah  and  Barak,  Judg.  v.   "And  Deborah 
dwelt  between  Kamab  and  Bethel  in  Mount  Ephraim,"  Judg.  iv.  6. — Newtoh. 

•>  At  this  whoever  envies  or  repines, 
I  leave  him  to  his  lot,  and  like  my  oion. 
See  Teucer  to  the  Chorus  in  Sophocles,  "Ajax,"  v.  1060. — Caltom. 

e  A  manifest  serpent  by  her  sting. 
The  son  of  Sirach  makes  a  similar  observation  on  "an  evil  wife,"  Ecclns.  zxtL  7>— 
"  He  that  hath  hold  of  her  is  as  though  he  held  a  scorpion." — Todd. 
75 


594  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


Sam.  So  let  her  go ;  God  sent  her  to  debase  me, 
And  aggravate  my  folly,  who  committed 
To  such  a  viper  his  most  sacred  trust 
Of  secrecy,  my  safety  and  my  life. 

Cho.  Yet  beauty,  though  injurious,  hath  strange  power,* 
After  offence  returning,  to  regain 
Love  once  possess'd,  nor  can  be  easily 
Hepulsed,  without  much  inward  passion  felt, 
And  secret  sting  of  amorous  remorse. 

Sam.  Love-quarrels  oft  in  pleasing  concord  end,» 
Not  wedlock  treachery  endangering  life. 

Cho.  It  is  not  virtue,'  wisdom,  valour,  wit, 
Strength,  comeliness  of  shape,  or  amplest  merit, 
That  woman's  love  can  win  or  long  inherit ; 
But  what  it  is,  hard  is  to  say, 
Harder  to  hit 

Which  way  soever  men  refer  it ;  " 

Much  like  thy  riddle,  Samson,  in  one  day 
Or  seven,  though  one  should  musing  sit. 

If  any  of  these,  or  all,  the  Timnian  bride 
Had  not  so  soon  preferr'd 
Thy  paranymph,6  worthless  to  theq  compared, 
Successour  in  thy  bed, 
Nor  both  so  loosely  disallied 
Their  nuptials,  nor  this  last  so  treacherously 
Had  shorn  the  fatal  harvest  of  thy  head.  ^ 

Is  it  for  that  such  outward  ornament 
Was  lavish'd  on  their  sex,  that  inward  gifts 
Were  left  for  haste  unfinish'd,  judgment  scant, 
Capacity  not  raised  to  apprehend 

•J  Yet  heauty,  though  injurious,  hath  strange  power. 
This  truth  Milton  has  finely  exemplified  in  Adam  forgiving  Eve ;  and  he  had  taH 
experiense  of  it  in  his  own  case.    See  "Paradise  Lost,"  b.  x.  940. — Newton. 

*  Love-quarrela  oft  in  pleasing  concord  end. 

Terence,  "  Andria,"  iii.  iii.  23  : — 

Amejitium  irae  amoris  integratio  OBt.^NEWTON. 
f  It  is  not  virtue,  Ac. 

However  just  the  observation  may  be  that  Milton,  in  his  "  Paradise  Lost,'  seems  to 
court  the  favour  of  the  female  sex,  it  is  very  certain  that  he  did  not  carry  the  same 
complaisance  into  this  performance.  What  the  Chorus  here  says,  outgoes  the  very 
bitterest  satire  of  Euripides,  who  was  called  the  "woman-hater."  It  may  be  said, 
Indeed,  in  excuse,  that  the  occasion  was  very  provoking;  and  that  these  reproaches 
are  rather  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  sudden  start  of  resentment,  than  cool  and  sober  rea- 
son irg. — Thyer. 

These  reflections  are  the  more  severe,  as  they  are  not  spoken  by  Samson,  who  might 
be  supposed  to  utter  them  out  of  pique  and  resentment,  but  are  delivered  by  the 
Chorus  as  serious  and  important  truths.  But,  by  all  accounts,  Milton  himself  had  suf- 
fered some  uneasiness  through  the  temper  and  behaviour  of  two  of  his  wives ;  and  no 
wonder  therefore,  that,  upon  so  tempting  an  occasion  as  this,  he  indulges  his  spleen  a 
little,  depreciates  the  qualifications  of  the  women,  and  asserts  the  superiority  of  the 
men;  and,  to  give  these  sentiments  the  greater  weight,  puts  them  into  the  mouth  of  the 
Chorus. — Newton. 

s  Thy  paranymph. 

Bride-man.  "But  Samson's  wife  was  given  to  his  companion,  whom  he  had  used  aa 
his  friend,"  Judg.  xiv  20.— Bichardson. 


Or  value  what  is  best 

In  choice,  but  oftest  to  affect  the  wrong  ? 

Or  was  too  much  of  self-love  mix'd, 

Of  constancy  no  root  infix' d, 

That  either  they  love  nothing,  or  not  long  ? 

Whate'er  it  be,  to  wisest  men  and  besf* 
Seeming  at  first  all  heavenly  under  virgin  veil', 
Soft,  modest,  meek,  demure, 
Once  join'd,  the  contrary  she  proves,  a  thorn 
Intestine,  far  within  defensive  arras 
A  cleaving  mischief,-!  in  his  way  to  virtue 
Adverse  and  turbulent,  or  by  her  charms 
Draws  him  awry  enslaved 
With  dotage,  and  his  sense  depraved 
To  folly  and  shameful  deeds,  which  ruin  ends. 
What  pilot  so  expert  but  needs  must  wreck, 
Imbark'd  with  such  a  steers-mate  at  the  helm? 

Favour'd  of  Heaven,  who  finds  " 
One  virtuous,  rarely  found. 
That  in  domestick  good  combines ; 
Happy  that  house  !  his  way  to  peace  is  smooth : 
But  virtue,  which  breaks  through  all  opposition, 
And  all  temptation  can  remove. 
Most  shines,  and  inost  is  acceptable  above. 

Therefore  God's  universal  law 
Gave  to  the  man  despotick  power 
Over  his  female  in  due  awe. 
Nor  from  that  right  to  part  an  hour, 
Smile  she  or  lour : 
So  shall  he  least  confusion  draw 
On  his  whole  life,  not  sway'd 
By  female  usurpation,  nor  dismay'd. 

But  had  we  best  retire  ?    -I  see  a  storm. 

Sam.  Fair  days  have  oft  contracted  wind  and  rain. 

Gho.  But  this  another  kind  of  tempest  brings. 

b  To  wisest  men  and  best. 
Read  "to  the  wisest  man."    See  the  following  expressions:  "in  his  way;"  "draws 
him  awry." — Meadowcourt. 

We  have  such  a  change  of  the  number  in  the  "Paradise  Lost,"  b.  ix.  1183. — Newton. 
I  see  no  cause  for  this  alteration. 

i  Under  virgin  veil.  - 
Perhaps  Milton  here  alludes  to  the  Jewish  virgins,  who,  being  kept  secluded  from  the 
eight  of  men,  were  called  hidden  or  concealed;  and  when  they  were  first  presented  to  their 
husbands,  covered  their  heads  with  a  veil.     But  see  his  "  Doctrine  and  Discipline  of 
Divorce,"  b.  i.  chap.  3 ;  where  he  is  speaking  of  the  disappointments  which  may  happen 
In  choosing  a  wife,  to  "the  sober  man,  honouring  the  appearance  of  modesty,  and 
hoping  well  of  every  social  virtue  under  the  veil." — Todd. 
i  A  cleaving  mischief. 
These  words  allude  to  the  poisoned  shirt  sent  to  Hercules  by  his  wife  Dejanira,— 
Meadowcotjrt. 

k  Favoured  of  Heaven,  tohofindi,  Ac. 
If  Milton,  like  Solomon,  and  the  son  of  Sirach,  satirizes  the  women  in  general,  like 
tiiem  too  he  commends  the  virtuous  and  good;  and  esteems  a  good  wife  a  blessing  from 
the  Lord.    See  Prov.  xviii.  22,  xix.  14,  and  Ecclus.  xxvi.  1,  2.— Newton. 


596  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


Sam.  Be  less  abstruse;  my  riddling  days  are  past. 

Cho.  Look  now  for  no  enchanting  voice,  nor  fear 
The  bait  of  honied  words ;  a  rougher  tongue 
Draws  hitherward ;  I  know  him  by  his  stride, 
The  giant  Harapha  of  Gath,  his  look 
Haughty,  as  is  his  pile  high-built  and  proud. 
Comes  he  in  peace  ?  what  wind  hath  blown  him  hither 
I  less  conjecture  than  when  first  I  saw 
The  sumptuous  Dalila  floating  this  way : 
His  habit  carries  peace,  his  brow  defiance. 

Sam.  Or  peace  or  not,  alike  to  me  he  comes. 

Cho.  His  fraught  we  soon  shall  know  :  he  now  arrives. 

Enter  Harapha. 

Bar.  I  come  not,  Samson,  to  condole  thy  chance, 
As  these  perhaps,  yet  wish  it  had  not  been. 
Though  for  no  friendly  intent.     I  am  of  Gath ', 
Men  call  me  Harapha,'  of  stock  renown'd 
As  Og,  or  Anak,  and  the  Emims  old 
That  Kiriathaim  held :  thou  know'st  me  now, 
If  thou  at  all  art  known."     Much  I  have  heard 
Of  thy  prodigious  might  and  feats  perform'd, 
Incredible  to  me,  in  this  displeased, 
That  I  was  never  present  on  the  place 
Of  those  encounters,  where  we  might  have  tried 
Each  other's  force  in  camp  or  listed  field ; 
And  now  am  come  to  see  of  whom  such  noise 
Hath  walk'd  about,  and  each  limb  to  survey. 
If  thy  appearance  answer  loud  report. 

Sam.  The  way  to  know  were  not  to  see,  but  taste. 

Har.  Dost  thou  already  single  me  ?     I  thought 
Gyves"  and  the  mill  had  tamed  thee.     0,  that  fortune 
Had  brought  me  to  the  field,  where  thou  art  famed 
To  have  wrought  such  wonders  with  an  ass's  jaw  ! 
I  should  have  forced  thee  soon  wish  other  arms, 

1  Men  call  me  Harapha,  Ac. 
This  character  is  fictitious,  bnt  is  properly  introduced  by  the  poet,  and  not  without 
some  foundation  in  Scripture.  Arapha,  or  rather  Rapha  (says  Calmet),  was  father  of 
the  giants  of  Rephaim.  The  word  Rapha  may  lii..ewi8e  signify  simply  a  giant.  "  Of 
Stock  renown'd  as  Og;"  see  Deut.  iii.  11.  "Or  Anak,  and  the  Emims  old;"  see  Deut. 
li.  10, 11.     "That  Kiriathaim  held;"  see  Gen.  xiv.  5. — Newton. 

ra  7%oM  know'tt  me  now. 
If  thou  at  all  art  known. 
He  is  made  to  speak  in  the  spirit,  and  almost  in  the  language  of  Satan,  "  Paradise 
Lost,"  b.  iv.  830  :— 

N3t  to  know  me  argues  yoarsclveB  unknown. — ^Newton. 

n  Oyves. 

Chains.    So,  in  '•  Cymbeline,"  a.  v.  s.  3  :— 

Must  I  repent  1 
I  cannot  do  it  better  than  in  gyves. 

And  in  Fairfax's  "  Tasso,"  b.  v.  st.  42 : — 

These  hands  M'ere  made  to  shake  sharp  spears  and  BWOtds 
Not  to  be  tied  in  gyves,  &c. — Nkwtom. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  59t 


Or  left  thy  carcase  where  the  ass  lay  thrown : 

So  had  the  glory  of  prowess  been  recover'd 

To  Palestine,  won  by  a  Philistine 

From  the  unforeskinn'd  race  of  whom  thou  bear'st 

The  highest  name  for  valiant  acts :  that  honour, 

Certain  to  have  won  by  /nortal  duel  from  thee, 

I  lose,  prevented  by  thy  eyes  put  out. 

Sam.  Boast  not  of  what  thou  wouldst  have  done,  but  d!> 
What  then  thou  wouldst ;  thou  seest  it  in  thy  hand. 

Har.  To  combat  with  a  blind  man  I  disdain ; 
And  thou  hast  need  much  washing  to  be  touch'd. 

Sam.  Such  usage  as  your  honourable  lords 
Afford  me,  assassinated  and  betray'd, 
Who  durst  not  with  their  whole  united  powers 
In  fight  withstand  me  single  and  unarm' d, 
Nor  in  the  house  with  chamber-ambushes 
Close-banded  durst  attack  me,  no,  not  sleeping, 
Till  they  had  hired  a  woman  with  their  gold, 
Breaking  her  marriage  faith  to  circumvent  me. 
Therefore,  without  feign'd  shifts  let  be  assign'd 
Some  narrow  place  enclosed,  where  sight  may  give  thee, 
Or  rather  flight,"  no  great  advantage  on  me ; 
Then  put  on  all  thy  gorgeous  arms,  thy  helmet 
And  brigandine  of  brass,?  thy  broad  habergeon, 
Vant-brace,  and  greves,  and  gauntlet ;  add  thy  spear, 
A  weaver's  beam,'  and  seven-times-folded  shield :' 
I  only  with  an  oaken  staff  will  meet  thee, 
And  raise  such  outcries  on  thy  clattor'd  iron. 
Which  long  shall  not  withhold  me  from  thy  head. 
That  in  a  little  time,  while  breath  remains  thee, 

0  Sight  may  give  thee, 
Or  rather  flight. 
This  play  on  words  is  beneath  Milton. 

p  And  brigandine  of  brass,  Ac. 
"  Brigandine,"  a  coat  of  mail.     Jer.  xlvi.  4 : — "  Furbish  the  spears  and  put  on  the 
brigandines."    See  also  li.  3.     "  Habergeon,"  a  coat  of  mail  for  the  neck  and  shoaldore. 
"Faer.  Qu."  ii.  vi.  29:— 

Their  mighty  strokes  their  habergeons  dismiiil'd, 
And  naked  made  each  others  manly  spalles : 

"  Spalles,"  that  is,  jhoulders.  And  see  Fairfax,  b.  i.  st.  72.  "  Vant-brace,"  avant-bras, 
armour  for  the  arms.     So,  in  "  Troil.  and  Ores."  a.  i.  s.  6,  Nestor  speaks  • — 

I'll  hide  my  silver  beard  in  a  (fold  beaver, 
And  in  my  vant-brace  put  this  witlier'd  brawn. 

And  see  Fairfax,  b.  xx.  st.  139 : — "  Greves,"  armour  for  the  legs.  1  Sam.  xvii.  6 : — 
"  And  he  had  greves  of  brass  upon  his  legs."  "  Gauntlet,"  an  iron  glove.  "  Hen.  IV." 
p.  II.  a.  i.  s.  3,  old  Northumberland  speaks : — 

Hence  therefore,  thou  nice  crutch ; 

A  soaly  gauntlet  now,  M-lth  joints  of  steel, 

Must  glove  this  hand. — Nbwton. 

<t  A  weaver's  beam. 
Afl  the  spear  of  Goliath  was. — T.  Wahton. 

■■  And  teven-times-folded  shield. 
As  was  Ajax's,  Of  Id,  "Met."  xiii.  2: — "Clypei  dominus  septempliciB." — Newtom. 


508  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


Thou  oft  shalt  wish  thyself  at  Gath,  to  boast 
Again  in  safety  what  thou  wouldst  have  done 
To  Samson,  but  shalt  never  see  Gath  more. 

Har.  Thou  durst  not  thus  disparage  glorious  arms, 
Which  greatest  heroes  have  in  battle  worn, 
Their  ornament  and  safety,  had  not  spells 
And  black  enchantments,  some  magician's  art, 
Arm'd  thee  or  charm'd  thee  strong,"  which  thou  from  Heave 
Feign'dst  at  thy  birth  was  given  thee  in  thy  hair, 
Where  strength  can  least  abide,  though  all  thy  hairs 
Were  bristles  ranged  like  those  that  ridge  the  back 
Of  chafed  wild  boars,  or  ruffled  porcupines.* 

Sam.  I  know  no  spells,  use  no  forbidden  arts : 
My  trust  is  in  the  Living  God,  who  gave  me 
At  my  nativity  this  strength,  diffused 
No  less  through  all  my  sinews,  joints,  and  bones, 
Than  thine,  while  I  preserved  these  locks  unshorn, 
The  pledge  of  my  unviolated  vow. 
For  proof  hereof,  if  Dagon  be  thy  god. 
Go  to  his  temple,  invocate  his  aid 
With  solemnest  devotion,  spread  before  him 
How  highly  it  concerns  his  glory  now 
To  frustrate  and  dissolve  these  magick  spells. 
Which  I  to  be  the  power  of  Israel's  God 
Avow,  and  challenge  Dagon  to  the  test, 
Offering  to  combat  thee  his  champion  bold. 
With  the  utmost  of  his  godhead  seconded  : 
Then  thou  shalt  see,  or  rather,  to  thy  sorrow, 
Soon  feel  whose  God  is  strongest,  thine  or  mine. 

Har.  Presume  not  on  thy  God,  whate'er  he  be ; 

•  Arm'd  thee  or  charm'd  thee  strong, 
Mr.  Thyer  here  observes,  it  is  very  probable  that  Milton  adopted  this  notion  from 
the  Italian  epics,  who  are  very  full  of  enchanted  arms,  and  sometimes  represent  their 
heroes  invulnerable  by  this  art.  But  as  Mr.  Warton  remarks,  the  poet's  idea  is  im- 
mediately and  particularly  taken  from  the  ritual  of  the  combat  in  chivalry.  See 
"  Comus,"  V.  647.     Samson  replies, — 

I  know  no  spells,  use  no  forbidden  arts ; 
My  trust  is  in  the  living  God. 

Here,  it  must  be  observed,  is  a  direct  allusion  to  the  oath  taken  before  the  judges  of 
the  combat  by  the  champion  : — "  I  do  swear  that  I  have  not  upon  me,  nor  on  any  of 
the  arms  I  shall  use,  words,  charms,  or  enchantments,  to  which  I  trust  for  help  to 
conquer  my  enemy ;  but  that  I  do  only  trust  in  God,  in  my  right,  and  in  the 
strength  of  my  body  and  arms."  Cockburn's  "Hist,  of  Duels^"  p.  115.  The  poet 
here  says  "  black  enchantments,"  in  like  manner  as  Machin,  introducing  the  same 
ancient  oath  in  his  "  Dumb  Knight,"  1633.     "  Here  you  shall  swear,"  &c. 

That  here  you  stand,  not  arm'd  with  any  guile 
Of  philters,  charms,  of  night-Kpells,  characters, 
And  other  black  infernal  vantages. 

Milton's  Harapha,  as  Mr.  Warton  observes,  is  as  much  a  Gothic  giant  as  any  in  Ama- 
di  de  Gaul ;  and  like  a  Gothic  giant,  engages  in  a  just  cause  against  a  virtuous  cham- 
pion.— Todd. 

t  Or  ruffled  porcupines. 
Who  can  doubt  that  Milton  here  had  Shakspeare  in  mind  ?    "  Hamlet,"  a.  i.  s.  8  :— 
And  each  particular  hair  to  stand  on  end, 
Like  quills  upon  the  fretful  porcupine.— Newton. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  599 


Thee  he  regards  not,  owns  not,  hath  cut  oflF 

Quite  from  his  people,  and  deliver'd  up 

Into  thy  enemies'  hand,  permitted  them 

To  put  out  both  thine  eyes,  and  fetter'd  send  thee 

Into  the  common  prison,  there  to  grind 

Among  the  slo^ves  and  asses,  thy  comrades," 

As  good  for  nothing  else ;  no  better  service 

With  those  thy  boisterous  locks,  no  worthy  match 

For  valour  to  assail,  nor  by  the  sword 

Of  noble  warriour,  so  to  stain  his  honour, 

But  by  the  barber's  razor  best  subdued. 

Sam.  All  these  indignities,  for  such  they  are 
From  thine,  these  evils  I  deserve,  and  more, 
Acknowledge  them  from  Grod  inflicted  on  mo 
Justly,  yet  despair  not  of  his  final  pardon, 
Whose  ear  is  ever  open,  and  his  eye 
Gracious  to  re-admit  the  suppliant : 
In  confidence  whereof  I  once  again 
Defy  thee  to  the  trial  of  mortal  fight. 
By  combat  to  decide  whose  god  is  God, 
Thine,  or  whom  I  with  Israel's  sons  adore. 

Mar.  Fair  honour  that  thou  dost  thy  God,  in  trusting 
He  will  accept  thee  to  defend  his  cause, 
A  murderer,  a  revSlter,  and  a  robber ! 

Sam.  Tongue-doughty  giant,  how  dost  thou  prove  me  these? 

Sixr.  Is  not  thy  nation  subject  to  our  lords  ? 
Their  magistrates  confess'd  it  when  they  took  thee 
As  a  league-breaker,  and  deliver'd  bound 
Into  our  hands :  for  hadst  thou  not  committed 
Notorious  murder  on  those  thirty  men 
At  Ascalon,  who  never  did  thee  harm. 
Then  like  a  robber  stripp'dst  them  of  their  robes? 
The  Philistines,  when  thou  hadst  broke  the  league, 
Went  up  with  armed  powers  thee  only  seeking. 
To  others  did  no  violence  nor  spoil. 

Sam.  Among  the  daughters  of  the  Philistines 
I  chose  a  wife,  which  argued  me  no  foe ; 
And  in  your  city  held  my  nuptial  feast  : 
But  your  ill-meaning  politician  lords, 
Under  pretence  of  bridal  friends  ^  and  guests. 
Appointed  to  await  me  thirty  spies. 
Who,  threatening  cruel  death,  constrain' d  the  bride 

»  There  to  grind 
Among  the  slaves  and  asses,  thy  comrades. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  tbat  Milton  had  here  Apuleius's  description  of  a  pistrinum  in 
his  mind.     See  "  Met"  ix.  ad  init.,  where  the  ass,  who  is  the  speaker,  says, — "  Jam  de 
meo  jumentario  oontubernio  quid,  vel  ad  quern  modum,  memorem  ?" — Dunster. 

■f  Under  pretence  of  bridal  friends. 
The  attendant  young  men  at  Samson's  marriage  are  said  to  have  belonged  to  his 
wife's  family,  and  not  to  have  been,  as  was  usual,  his  own  relations  or  acquaintance. 
Josephus  relates  that  under  the  pretence  of  honour,  they  sent  these  thirty  companions 
to  watoh  over  him,  lest  he  should  commit  any  disturbance. — Todd. 


600  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


To  wring  from  me,  and  tell  to  them,  my  secret, 

That  solved  the  riddle  which  I  had  proposed. 

When  I  perceived  all  set  on  enmity, 

As  on  my  enemies,  wherever  chanced, 

I  used  hostility  and  took  their  spoil. 

To  pay  my  underminers  in  their  coin. 

My  nation  was  subjected  to  your  lords; 

It  was  the  force  of  conquest :  force  with  force 

Is  well  ejected  when  the  conquer'd  can. 

But  I,  a  private  person,  whom  my  country 

As  a  league-breaker  gave  up  bound,  presumed 

Single  rebellion,  and  did  hostile  acts. 

I  was  no  private,  but  a  person  raised 

With  strength  sufficient,  and  command  from  Heaven, 

To  free  my  country :  if  their  servile  minds 

Me,  their  deliverer  sent,  would  not  receive. 

But  to  their  masters  gave  me  up  for  naught. 

The  unworthier  they ;  whence  to  this  day  they  servo. 

I  was  to  do  my  part  from  Heaven  assign'd. 

And  had  perform'd  it,  if  my  known  offence 

Had  not  disabled  me,  not  all  your  force  : 

These  shifts  refuted,  answer  thy  appellant,'' 

Though  by  his  blindness  maim'd  for  high  attempts, 

Who  now  defies  thee  thrice  *  to  single  fight, 

As  a  petty  enterprise  of  small  enforce. 

Mar.  With  thee  ?  a  man  condemn'd,  a  slave  intoU'd, 
Due  by  the  law  to  capital  punishment  ? 
To  fight  with  thee,  no  man  of  arms  will  deign. 

Sam.  Camest  thou  for  this,  vain  boaster,  to  survey  me, 
To  descant  on  my  strength,  and  give  thy  verdict  ? 
Come  nearer ;  part  not  hence  so  slight  informed ; 
But  take  good  heed  my  hand  survey  not  thee. 

Har.  0  Baal-zebub  !  y  can  my  ears  unused 
Hear  these  dishonours,  and  not  render  death  ? 

Sam.  No  man  withholds  thee,  nothing  from  thy  hand 
Fear  I  incurable ;  bring  up  thy  van  : 
My  heels  are  fetter' d,  but  my  fist  is  free. 

Har.  This  insolence  other  kind  of  answer  fits. 

Sam.  Go,  baffled  coward !  lest  I  run  upon  thee, 

"  Answer  thy  appellant. 
Thy  challenger.     The  defendant,  in  like  manner,  signifies  the  person  challenged. 
Thus,  in  Shakspeare's  "  King  Henry  VI."  p.  ii.  a.  ii.  s.  3 : — 
This  is  the  day  appointed  for  the  combat ; 
And  ready  are  the  appellant  and  defendant, 
The  armourer  and  his  man. — Todd. 

«  Who  now  defiet  thee  thrice. 
This  was  the  custom  and  the  law  of  arms,  to  give  the  challenge  and  to  sonnd  the 
trumpet  thrice.     In  allusion  to  the  same  practice,  Edgar  appears,  to  fight  with  the  Ba»- 
tard,  "by  the  sound  of  the  third  trumpet,"  King  Lear,  a.  v.  s.  7. — Newton. 

7  0  Baal-zehuh. 
He  is  properly  made  to  invoke  Baal-zebub,  as  afterwards  to  swear  by  Astsroth }  that 
is,  the  deities  of  the  Philistines  and  neighbouring  nations. — Newton. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  :  601 


Though  in  these  chains,  bulk  without  spirit  vast, 
And  with  one  buffet  lay  thy  structure  low, 
Or  swing  thee  in  the  air,  then  dash  thee  down 
To  the  hazard  of  thy  brains  and  shatter'd  sides. 

Har.  By  Astaroth,  ere  long  thou  shalt  lament 
These  braveries,*  in  irons  loaden  on  thee.  ^Exit, 

Cho.  His  giantship  is  gone  somewhat  crest-fallen, 
Stalking  with  less  unconscionable  strides, 
And  lower  looks,  but  in  a  sultry  chafe. 

Siim.  I  dread  him  not,  nor  all  his  giant  brood, 
Though  Fame  divulge  him  father  of  five  sons,' 
All  of  gigantick  size,  Goliath  chief. 

Cho.  He  will  directly  to  the  lords,  I  fear. 
And  with  malicious  counsel  stir  them  up 
Some  way  or  other,  yet  farther  to  afflict  thee. 

Sam.  He  must  allege  some  cause,  and  offer'd  fight 
Will  not  dare  mention,  lest  a  question  rise 
Whether  he  durst  accept  the  offer  or  not ; 
And,  that  he  durst  not,  plain  enough  appear'd 
Much  more  affliction  than  already  felt 
They  cannot  well  impose,  nor  I  sustain ; 
If  they  intend  advantage  of  my  labours. 
The  work  of  many  hands,  which  earns  my  keeping 
With  no  small  profit  daily  .to  my  owners. 
But  come  what  will,  my  deadliest  foe  will  prove 
My  speediest  friend,  by  death  to  rid  me  hence ; 
The  worst  that  he  can  give  to  me  the  best.  ■♦ 

Yet  so  it  may  fall  out,  because  their  end 
Is  hate,  not  help  to  me,  it  may  with  mine 
Draw  their  own  ruin  who  attempt  the  deed. 

Cho.  0,  how  comely  it  is,  and  how  reviving 
To  the  spirits  of  just  men  long  oppress'd. 
When  God  into  the  hands  of  their  deliverer 
Puts  invincible  might 

To  quell  the  mighty  of  the  earth,  the  oppressour, 
The  brute  and  boisterous  force  of  violent  men, 
Hardy  and  industrious  to  support 
Tyrannick  power,  but  raging  to  pursue 
The  righteous,  and  all  such  as  honour  truth ! 
He  all  their  ammunition 
And  feats  of  war  defeats. 
With  plain  heroick  magnitude  of  mind 

*  Ere  long  thou  shalt  lament 
These  braveries^  &c. 
This  connects  Harapha  with  the  business  of  the  drama,  by  making  his  revenge  for 
the  threatening  and  contemptuous  language  of  Samson  the  cause,  why  the  latter  is  to 
be  brought  before  the  public  assembly  to  make  sport  for  them. — Dunsteb. 

*  Father  of  five  sons,  &c. 
The  story  of  Goliath  of  Gath  is  very  well  known ;  and  the  other  four  are  mentioned 
2  Sam.  xxi.  15-22 : — "These  four  were  bom  to  the  giant  [or  to  Herapha]  in  Gath,  and 
fell  by  the  hand  of  David  and  by  the  hand  of  his  servants."— Nbwtok. 

76 


602  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


And  celestial  vigour  arm'd ; 

Their  armouries  and  magazines  contemns, 

Renders  them  useless ;  while 

With  winged  expedition, 

Swift  as  the  lightning  glance,  he  executes 

His  errand  on  the  wicked,  who,  surprised. 

Lose  their  defence,  distracted  and  amazed 

But  patience  is  more  oft  the  exercise 
Of  saints,*"  the  trial  of  their  fortitude. 
Making  them  each  his  own  deliverer, 
And  victor  over  all 
That  tyranny  or  fortune  can  inflict. 
Either  of  these  is  in  thy  lot, 
Samson,  with  might  endued 
Above  the  sons  of  men ;  but  sight  bereaved 
May  chance  to  number  thee  with  those 
Whom  patience  finally  must  crown. 

This  idol's  day  hath  been  to  thee  no  day  of  rest, 
Labouring  thy  mind 
More  than  the  working  day  thy  hands. 
And  yet  perhaps  more  trouble  is  behind, 
For  I  descry  this  way 
Some  other  tending ;  in  his  hand 
A  sceptre  or  quaint  staff  he  bears, 
Comes  on  amain,  speed  in  his  look. 
By  his  habit  I  discern  him  now 
A  publick  officer,  and  now  at  hand  : 
His  message  will  be  short  and  voluble. 

Enter  OflScer. 

Off.  Hebrews,  the  prisoner  Samson  here  I  seek. 

Cho.  His  manacles  remark  him ;  there  he  sits. 

Off.  Samson,  to  thee  our  lords  thus  bid  me  say : 
This  day  to  Dagon  is  a  solemn  feast. 
With  sacrifices,  triumph,  pomp,  and  games : 
Thy  strength  they  know  surpassing  human  rate. 
And  now  some  public  proof  thereof  require 
To  honour  this  great  feast  and  great  assembly : 
Rise  therefore  with  all  speed,  and  come  along. 
Where  I  will  see  thee  hearten'd,  and  fresh  clad, 
To  appear,  as  fits,  before  the  illustrious  lords. 

Sam.  Thou  know'st  I  am  an  Hebrew,  therefore  tell  them. 
Our  law  forbids  at  their  religious  rites 
My  presence ;  for  that  cause  I  cannot  come. 

Off.  This  answer,  be  assured,  will  not  content  them 

Sam.  Have  they  not  sword-players,  and  every  sort 
Of  gymnic  artists,  wrestlers,  riders,  runners, 
Juglers,  and  dancers,  anticks,  mummers,  mimicks, 

•>  Of  taintt. 
The  fanatical  language  of  the  republican  party. — Dcnstkb. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


603 


But  they  must  pick  me  out,  with  shackles  tiredi 

And  over-labour'd  at  their  publick  mill, 

To  make  them  sport  with  blind  activity  ? 

Do  they  not  seek  occasion  of  new  quarrels 

On  my  refusal  to  distress  me  more, 

Or  make  a  game  of  my  calamities  ? 

Return  the  way  thou  earnest ;  I  will  not  come. 

Off.  Regard  thyself;  this  will  offend  them  highly.  ' 

Bam.  Myself?  my  conscience  and  internal  peace. 
Can  they  think  me  so  broken,  so  debased 
With  corporal  servitude,  that  my  mind  ever 
Will  condescend  to  such  absurd  commands  ? 
Although  their  drudge,  to  be  their  fool  or  jester, 
And  in  my  midst  of  sorrow  and  heart-grief 
To  show  them  feats,  and  play  before  their  god, 
The  worst  of  all  indignities,  yet  on  me 
Join'd  with  extreme  contempt  ?  I  will  not  come. 

Off.  My  message  was  imposed  on  me  with  speed. 
Brooks  no  delay  :  is  this  thy  resolution  ? 

Sam.  So  take  it  with  what  speed  thy  message  needs. 

Off.  I  am  sorry  what  this  stoutness  will  produce.  \Ex'U. 

Sam.  Perhaps  thou  shalt  have  cause  to  sorrow  indeed." 

Cho.  Consider,  Samson ;  matters  now  are  strain'd 
Up  to  the  highth,  Whether  to  hold  or  break : 
He's  gone,  and  who  knows  how  he  may  report 
Thy  words  by  adding  fuel  to  the  flame  ? 
Expect  another  message  more  imperious, 
More  lordly  thundering  than  thou  well  wilt  bear. 

Sam.  Shall  I  abuse  this  consecrated  gift 
Of  strength,  again  returning  with  my  hair 
After  my  great  transgression ;  so  requite 
Favour  renew'd,  and  add  a  greater  sin 
By  prostituting  holy  things  to  idols  ? 
A  Nazarite  in  place  abominable 
Vaunting  my  strength  in  honour  to  their  Dagon  ! 
Besides,  how  vile,  contemptible,  ridiculous  ! 
What  act  more  execrably  unclean,  profane  ? 

Cho.  Yet  with  this  strength  thou  servest  the  Philistines, 
Idolatrous,  uncircumcised,  unclean. 

Sam.  Not  in  their  idol-worship,  but  by  labour 
Honest  and  lawful  to  deserve  my  food 
Or  those,  who  have  me  in  their  civil  power. 

e  Perhaps  thou  ahalt  have  caune  to  soi-row  indeed. 
Here  the  catastrophe  is  anticipated,  as  before,  v.  1266  : — 

It  may  with  mine 
Draw  their  own  ruin  who  attempt  the  deed. 

And  such  anticipations  are  usual  with  the  best  dramatic  writers,  who  knowing  their 
own  plan,  open  it  by  degrees,  and  drop  such  hints  as  cannot  be  perfectly  compre- 
hended till  they  are  fully  explained  by  the  event.  The  speaker  himself  can  only  be 
supposed  to  have  some  general  meaning,  and  not  a  distinct  conception  of  all  the  par- 
ticulars ;  somewhat  like  the  high-priest  in  the  Gospel,  who  prophesied  without  his 
knowing  it. — Newton. 


604  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


Chxi.  Where  the  heart  joins  not,  outward  acts  defile  not. 

Sam.  Where  outward  force  constrains,  the  sentence  holds. 
But  who  constrains  me  to  the  temple  of  Dagon, 
Not  dragging  ?  the  Philistian  lords  command. 
Commands  are  no  constraints.     If  I  obey  them, 
I  do  it  freely,  venturing  to  displease 
God  for  the  fear  of  man,  and  man  prefer. 
Set  God  behind  :  which  in  his  jealousy 
Shall  never,  unrepented,  find  forgiveness. 
Yet  that  he  may  dispense*  with  me,  or  thee, 
Present  in  temples  at  idolatrous  rites 
For  some  important  cause,  thou  need'st  not  doubt. 

Cho.  How  thou  wilt  here  come  off  surmounts  my  reach. 

Sam.  Be  of  good  courage ;  I  begin  to  feel 
Some  rousing  motions  in  me,  which  dispose 
To  something  extraordinary  my  thoughts. 
I  with  this  messenger  will  go  along," 
Nothing  to  do,  be  sure,  that  may  dishonour 
Our  law,  or  stain  my  vow  of  Nazarite. 
If  there  be  aught  of  presage  in  the  mind,^ 
This  day  will  be  remarkable  in  my  life 
By  some  great  act,  or  of  my  days  the  last. 

Cho.  In  time  thou  hast  resolved ;  the  man  returns. 

Off.  Samson,  this  second  message  from  our  lords 
To  thee  I  am  bid  say.     Art  thou  our  slave. 
Our  captive,  at  the  publick  mill  our  drudge. 
And  darest  thou  at  our  sending  and  command 
Dispute  thy  coming  ?  come  without  delay ; 
Or  we  shall  find  such  engines  to  assail 
And  hamper  thee,  as  thou  shalt  come  of  force. 
Though  thou  wert  firmlier  fasten'd  than  a  rock. 

Sam.  I  could  be  well  content  to  try  their  art, 
Which  to  no  few  of  them  would  prove  pernicious : 
Yet,  knowing  their  advantages  too  many, 

"1  Yet  that  he  may  dispense,  Ac. 

Milton  here  probably  had  in  view  the  story  of  Naaman  the  Syrian  begging  a  dispen- 
sation of  this  sort  from  Elisha,  which  he  seemingly  grants  him.  See  2  Kings,  v.  18, 
19.— Thyer. 

e  /  with  this  messenger  will  go  along. 

With  what  messenger?  It  was  not  expressly  said  before  that  the  messenger  was 
coming :  it  was  implied  indeed  in  what  the  Chorus  had  said : — 

How  thou  wilt  here  come  off  surmounts  my  reach : 
and  this  might  very  well  be  understood  by  a  man,  who  could  see  the  messenger  coming 
as  well  as  the  Chorus ;  but  seems  hardly  a  suflBcient  intimation  to  a  blind  man,  unless 
we  suppose  him  to  know  that  the  messenger  was  coming  by  the  same  impulse,  that  he 
felt  rousing  him  to  something  extraordinary. — Newton. 

But  the  Chorus  had  also  said,  v.  1352,  after  the  officer  is  departed, — "  Expect  another 
message  more  imperious,"  Ac.  These  words  of  Samson  may  perhaps  be  considered, 
therefore,  as  an  expectation  of  the  return  of  the  officer,  and  his  determination  how  to 
act  accordingly. — Todd, 

t  If  there  he  aught  of  presage  in  the  mind. 
This  ckange  of  purpose,  from  a  sudden  internal  presage  of  the  mind,  is  magnificently 
imagined,  and  the  hinge  on  whiijh  the  whole  catastrophe  tarns. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  605 


Because  they  shall  not  trail  me  through  their  streets 

Like  a  wild  beast,  I  am  content  to  go. 

Masters'  commands*  come  with  a  power  resistless 

To  such  as  owe  them  absolute  subjection ; 

And  for  a  life  who  will  not  change  his  purpose  ? 

(So  mutable  are  all  the  ways  of  men  !) 

Yet  this  be  sure,  in  pothing  to  comply 

Scandalous  or  forbidden  in  our  law. 

Off.  I  praise  thy  resolution  :  doff  these  links : 
By  this  compliance  thou  wilt  win  the  lords 
To  favour,  and  perhaps  to  set  thee  free. 

Sam.  Brethren,  farewell ;  your  company  along 
I  will  not  wish,  lest  it  perhaps  offend  them 
To  see  me  girt  with  friends ;  and  how  the  sight 
Of  me,  as  of  a  common  enemy. 
So  dreaded  once,  may  now  exasperate  them, 
I  know  not :  lords  are  lordliest  in  their  wine  j  * 
And  the  well-feasted  priest  then  soonest  fired 
With  zeal,  if  aught  religion  seem  concern' d; 
No  less  the  people,  on  their  holy-days, 
Impetuous,  insolent,  unquenchable : 
Happen  what  may,  of  me  expect  to  hear 
Nothing  dishonoui;fible,  impure,  unworthy 
Our  Grod,  our  law,  ray  nation,  or  myself, 
The  last  of  me  or  no  I  cannot  warrant.  \Exit,  with  the  Officer. 

Cho.  Go,  and  the  Holy  One' 
Of  Israel  be  thy  guide 

To  what  may  serve  his  glory  best,  and  spread  his  name 
Great  among  the  heathen  round ; 
Send  thee  the  angel  of  thy  birth,  to  stand 
Fast  by  thy  side,  who  from  thy  father's  field 
Rode  up  in  flames  after  his  message  told 
Of  thy  conception,  and  be  now  a  shield 
Of  fire ;  that  spirit,  that  first  rush'd  on  thee 
In  the  camp  of  Dan, 

K  Maatert'  commands,  &c. 
This  was  a  feint;  but  it  had  betrayed  itself  had  it  not  been  covered  by  v.  1408:— 

Yet  this  be  sure,  &c.— Warburton. 
But  this  last  passage  must  have  been  intended  by  the  author  to  be  addressed  only 
to  the  Chorus :  the  officer  certainly  answers  Samson's  speech,  as  if  he  had  not  heard 
these  words  :  and  as  to  the  verses  1404  and  1405  before  us,  they  are  in  fact  so  far  from 
being  a  feint,  that  they  are  marked  with  the  most  indignant  spirit  of  irony  ;  indeed, 
so  palpable,  as  to  require  what  follows  ("And  for  a  life,"  &c.)  to  soften  it  down  to  the 
messenger. — Dunsteb. 

•>  Lords  are  lordliest  in  their  wine,  &c. 
Milton  here  insinuates,  that  holy-days  are  of  heathen  institution.  The  passage  is 
a  concealed  attack  on  the  church  of  England :  but  he  first  expresses  Iiis  contempt  of 
a  nobility,  and  an  opulent  clergy,  that  is,  lords  both  spiritual  and  teraporal,_who  by 
no  means  coincided  with  his  levelling  and  narrow  prmciples  of  republicanism  and 
Calvanism ;  and  whom  he  tacitly  compares  with  the  lords  and  priests  of  the  idol 
Dagon.— T.  Wabton. 

'  Go,  and  the  Holy  One. 

This,  and  the  thirteen  following  lines,  are  in  the  highest  strain  of  divine  poetry ; 
and  such  as  no  one  but  Milton  coiud  have  written. 


606  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


Be  efficacious  in  thee  now  at  need  ! 
For  never  was  from  Heaven  imparted 
Measure  of  strength  so  great  to  mortal  seed, 
As  in  thy  wondrous  actions  hath  been  seen. 
But  wherefore  comes  old  Manoah  in  such  haste 
With  youthful  steps  ?  much  livelier  than  erswhile 
He  seems ;  supposing  here  to  find  his  son, 
Or  of  him  bringing  to  us  some  glad  news  ? 

Enter  Manoah. 

Man.  Peace  with  you,  brethren ;  my  inducement  hither 
Was  not  at  present  here  to  find  my  son. 
By  order  of  the  lords  new  parted  hence 
To  come  and  play  before  them  at  their  feast. 
I  heard  all  as  I  came ;  the  city  rings. 
And  numbers  thither  flock  :  I  had  no  will. 
Lest  I  should  see  him  forced  to  things  unseemly. 
But  that,  which  moved  my  coming  now,  was  chiefly 
To  give  ye  part  with  me  what  hope  I  have 
With  good  success  to  work  his  liberty. 

Cho.  That  hope  would  much  rejoice  us  to  partake 
With  thee  ;  say,  reverend  sire ;  we  thirst  to  hear. 

Man.  I  have  attempted  one  by  one  the  lords 
Either  at  home,  or  through  the  high  street  passing, 
With  supplication  prone  and  father's  tears, 
To  accept  of  ransom  for  my  son  their  prisoner. 
Some  much  averse  I  found  and  wondrous  harsh. 
Contemptuous,  proud,  set  on  revenge  and  spite; 
That  part  most  reverenced  Dagon  and  his  priests  'J 
Others  more  moderate  seeming,''  but  their  aim 
Private  reward,  for  which  both  God  and  state 
They  easily  would  set  to  sale  :  a  third 
More  generous  far  and  civil,  who  confess'd 
They  had  enough  revenged ;  having  reduced  *. 

Their  foe  to  misery  beneath  their  fears,  ^ 

The  rest  was  magnanimity  to  remit. 
If  some  convenient  ransom  were  proposed. 
What  noise  or  shout  was  that  ?  it  tore  the  sky.* 

Cho.  Doubtless,  the  people  shouting  to  behold 

J  That  part  moat  reverenced  Dagon  and  his  priests. 

Milton,  I  doubt  not,  in  this  place  indulges  that  inveterate  spleen  which  he  always  had 
against  public  and  established  religion :  he  might  also  perhaps,  in  this  description  of 
Manoah's  application  for  Samson's  deliverance,  glance  at  his  own  case  after  tho  Ee- 
storation. — Thyek. 

k  Others  more  moderate  seeming,  Ac. 

The  Presbyterian  party,  who  had  joined  the  royalists  and  courtiers. — Dunsteb. 

1  It  tore  the  sky. 
So,  in  "Paradias  Lost,"  b.  i.  542 : — 

A  shout  that  tore  hell's  concave: 
which  Pope  has  copied,  "  Iliad,"  xiii.  1059:— 

A  shout  that  tore  heaven's  concave. — Todd. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


eoT 


Their  once  great  dread,  captive  and  blind  before  them; 
Or  at  some  proof  of  strength  before  them  shown. 

Man.  His  ransom,  if  my  whole  inheritance 
May  compass  it,  shall  willingly  be  paid 
And  numbered  down  :  much  rather  I  shall  choose 
To  live  the  poorest  in  my  tribe,  than  richest, 
And  he  in  that  calamitous  prison  left. 
No,  I  am  fix'd,  not  to  part  hence  without  him. 
For  his  redemption  all  my  patrimony, 
If  need  be,  I  am  ready  to  forego 
And  quit :  not  wanting  him,  I  shall  want  nothing 

Cho.  Fathers  are  wont  to  lay  up  for  their  sons 
Thou  for  thy  son  art  bent  to  lay  out  all : 
Sons  wont  to  nurse  their  parents  in  old  age, 
Thou  in  old  age  carest  how  to  nurse  thy  son, 
Made  older  than  thy  age  through  eye-sight  lost. 

Man.  It  shall  be  my  delight""  to  tend  his  eyes. 
And  view  him  sitting  in  the  house  ennobled 
With  all  those  high  exploits  by  him  achieved. 
And  on  his  shoulders  waving  down  those  locks, 
That  of  a  nation  arm'd  the  strength  contain'd ; 
And  I  persuade  me,  Grod  had  not  permitted 
His  strength  again  to  grow  up  with  his  hair, 
Garrison'd  round  about  him  like  a  camp 
Of  faithful  soldiery ;  were  not  his  purpose 
To  use  him  farther  yet  in  some  great  service ', 
Not  to  sit  idle  with  so  great  a  gift 
Useless,  and  thence  ridiculous,  about  him. 
And  since  his  strength  with  eye-sight  was  not  lost, 
God  will  restore  him  eye-sight  to  his  strength. 

Cho.  Thy  hopes  are  not  ill  founded,  nor  seem  vain 
Of  his  delivery,"  and  thy  joy  thereon 
Conceived,  agreeable  to  a  father's  love, 
In  both  which  we,  as  next,  participate. 


»  It  shall  be  my  delight,  Ac. 

Tho  character  of  a  fond  parent  is  extremely  well  supported  in  the  person  of  Manoah 
quite  through  the  whole  performance;  but  there  is  in  my  opinion  something  particularly 
natural  and  moving  in  this  speech.  The  circumstance  of  the  old  man's  feeding  and 
soothing  his  fancy  with  the  thoughts  of  tending  his  son,  and  contemplating  him,  enno- 
oled  with  so  many  famous  exploits,  is  vastly  expressive  of  the  doting  fondness  of  an  old 
father.  Nor  is  the  poet  lees  to  be  admired  for  his  making  Manoah,  under  the  influence 
of  this  pleasing  imagination,  go  on  still  farther,  and  flatter  himself  even  with  the  hopes 
of  God's  restoring  his  eyes  again.  Hope  as  naturally  arises  in  the  mind  in  such  a  situa- 
tion, as  doubts  and  fears  do  when  it  is  overclouded  with  gloominess  and  melancholy. — 
Thter. 

0  Thy  hopes  are  not  ill  founded,  nor  teem  vain 
Of  his  delivery. 

This  is  very  proper,  and  becoming  the  gravity  of  the  Chorus,  as  much  as  to  intimate 
that  his  other  hopes  were  fond  and  extravagant:  and  the  art  of  the  poet  cannot  be  suf- 
ficiently admired,  in  raising  the  hopes  and  expectations  of  his  persons  to  the  highest 
pitch,  just  before  the  dreadful  catastrophe.  How  great  and  how  sudden  is  the  change 
from  good  to  had!  the  one  renders  the  other  more  striking  and  affecting. — Newton. 


G08  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


Man.  I  know  your  friendly  minds,  and — 0,  what  noise  1  • 
Mercy  of  heaven  !  what  hideous  noise  was  that  ? 
Horribly  loud,  unlike  the  former  shout. 

Cho.  Noise  call  you  it,  or  universal  groan, 
As  if  the  whole  inhabitation  p  perish'd  ! 
Blood,  death,  and  deathful  deeds  are  in  that  noise, 
Ruin,  destruction  at  the  utmost  point. 

Man.  Of  ruin  indeed  methought  I  heard  the  noise : 
0  !  it  continues  :  they  have  slain  my  son. 
'  Gho.  Thy  son  is  rather  slaying  them ;  that  outcry 

From  slaughter  of  one  foe  could  not  ascend. 

Man.  Some  dismal  accident  it  needs  must  be : 
What  shall  we  do ;  stay  here,  or  run  and  see  ? 

Cho.  Best  keep  together  here,  lest,«  running  thither, 
We  unawares  run  into  danger's  mouth. 
This  evil  on  the  Philistines  is  fallen ; 
From  whom  could  else  a  general  cry  be  heard  ? 
The  sufferers  then  will  scarce  molest  us  here ; 
From  other  hands  we  need  not  much  to  fear. 
What  if,  his  eye-sight  ■■  (for  to  Israel's  God 
Nothing  is  hard)  by  miracle  restored, 
He  now  be  dealing  dole  among  his  foes. 
And  over  heaps  of  slaughter'd  walk  his  way? 

Man.  That  were  a  joy  presumptuous  to  be  thought 

Gho.  Yet  God  hath  wrought  things  as  incredible 
For  his  people  of  old ;  what  hinders  now  ? 

o  And — 0,  what  noise!  Ac. 
It  must  be  very  pleasing  to  the  reader  to  observe  with  what  art  and  judgment  Milton 

Prepares  him  for  the  relation  of  the  catastrophe  of  this  tragedy.  This  abrupt  start  of 
lanoah  upon  hearing  the  hideous  noise,  and  the  description  of  it  by  the  Chorus  in  their 
answer,  in  terms  so  full  of  dread  and  terror,  naturally  fill  the  mind  with  a  presaging 
horror  proper  for  the  occasion :  this  is  still  kept  up  by  their  suspense  and  reasoning 
about  it,  and  at  last  raised  to  a  proper  pitch  by  the  frightened  and  distracted  manner 
of  the  messenger's  coming  in,  and  his  hesitation  and  backwardness  in  telling  what  had 
happened.  What  gives  it  the  greater  strength  and  beauty,  is  the  sudden  transition  from 
that  soothing  and  flattering  prospect,  with  which  Manoah  was  entertaining  his  thoughts, 
to  a  scene  so  totally  opposite. — Thyer. 

Nothing  can  be  more  impressive,  more  calculated  to  excite  pity,  than  the  revolution 
of  Samson's  fate,  which  is  now  developed:  for,  as  a  learned  writer  observes,  "while 
everything  appears  tending  to  his  release,  a  horrible  crash  announces  his  destruction." 
See  Harris's  "  Philolog.  Inq."  part  ii.  p.  209. — Todd. 

p  Inhabitation. 
OlK9r>n4vr}. — Richardson. 

q  Beat  keep  togetlier  here,  lest,  Ac. 
In  this  passage,  as  is  constantly  the  practice  of  Sophocles  and  Euripides,  a  reason  is 
assigned  for  the  Chorus  continuing  on  the  stage.     There  should  always  be  a  reason  for 
the  exit  and  entrance  of  every  person  in  the  drama. — Jos.  Warton. 

f  What  if,  his  eye-sight,  Ac. 
The  Chorus  here  entertains  the  same  pleasing  hope  of  Samson's  eye-sight  being  by 
miracle  restored,  which  he  had  before  tacitly  reproved  in  Manoah ;  and  Manoah,  who 
had  before  encouraged  the  same  hope  in  himself,  now  desponds,  and  reckons  it  pre- 
sumptuous in  another.  Such  changes  of  our  thoughts  are  natural  and  common,  espe- 
cially in  any  change  of  our  situation  and  circumstances.  Fear  and  hope  usually  su^ 
ceed  each  other,  like  ague  and  fever :  and  it  was  not  a  slight  observation  of  mankind 
that  could  have  enabled  Milton  to  have  understood  and  described  the  human  passions 
80  exactly. — Nbwton. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  609 


Man.  He  can,  I  know,  but  doubt  to  think  he  ■will  j 
Yet  hope  would  fain  subscribe,  and  tempts  belief. 
A  little  stay  will  bring  some  notice  hither. 

Cho.  Of  good  or  bad  so  great,  of  bad  the  sooner  j 
For  evil  news  rides  post,»  while  good  news  baits : 
And  to  our  wish  I  see  one  hither  speeding; 
An  Hebrew,  as  I  guess,  and  of  our  tribe. 

Enter  Messenger. 

Mes.  0,  whither  shall  I  run,  or  which  way  fly 
The  sight  of  this  so  horrid  spectacle, 
Which  erst  my  eyes  beheld,  and  yet  behold  ? 
For  dire  imagination  still  pursues  me. 
But  providence  or  instinct  of  nature  seems. 
Or  reason,  though  disturb' d,  and  scarce  consulted, 
To  have  guided  me  aright,  I  know  not  how, 
To  thee  first,  reverend  Manoah,  and  to  these 
My  countrymen,  whom  here  I  knew  remaining, 
As  at  some  distance  from  the  place  of  horrour,  "*- 

So  in  the  sad  event  too  iftuch  concerned. 

Man.  The  accident  was  loud,  and  here  before  thee 
With  rueful  cry,  yet  what  it  was  we  hear  not: 
No  preface  needs ;  thou  seest  we  long  to  know. 

Mes.  It  would  burst  forth,  but  I  recover  breath 
And  sense  distract,  to  know  well  what  I  utter. 

Man.  Tell  us  the  sum,  the  circumstance  defer. 

Mes.  G-aza  yet  stands,  but  all  her  sons  are  fallen. 
All  in  a  moment  overwhelm'd  and  fallen. 

Man.  Sad,  but  thou  know'st  to  Israelites  not  saddest 
The  desolation  of  a  hostile  city. 

Mes.  Feed  on  that  first :  there  may  in  grief  be  surfeit. 

Man.  Relate  by  whom. 

Mes.  By  Samson. 

Man.  That  still  lessens 

The  sorrow,  and  converts  it  nigh  to  joy. 

Mes.  Ah  !  Manoah,  I  refrain*  too  suddenly 
To  utter  what  will  come  at  last  too  soon; 
Lest  evil  tidings  with  too  rude  irruption 
Hitting  thy  aged  ear  should  pierce  too  deep. 

Man.  Suspense  in  news  is  torture ;  speak  them  out. 

Mes.  Take  then  the  worst  in  brief : .  Samson  is  dead. 

Man.  The  worst  indeed  !  0,  all  my  hope's  defeated 
To  free  him  hence  !  but  death,  who  sets  all  free, 
Hath  paid  his  ransom  now  and  full  discharge. 

•  For  evil  news  rides  post. 

So,  in  Statics : — 

Spargitur  in  tnrmaa  aolito  pernicior  index, 
Cum  lugenda  refert. — Todd. 

t  /  refrain,  &c. 

The  reader  cannot  fail  to  observe  and  to  feel  the  art  of  the  poet  im  very  gradually 
unfolding  the  catastrophe. — Jos.  Wabtoh. 

77 


610  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


What  windy  joy  this  day  had  I  conceived 

Hopeful  of  his  delivery,  which  now  proves 

Abortive  as  the  first-born  bloom  of  spring," 

Nipp'd  with  the  lagging  rear  of  winter's  frost ! 

Yet  ere  I  give  the  i  eins  to  grief,  say  first, 

How  died  he ;  death  to  life  is  crowa  or  shame.  * 

All  by  him  fell,  thou  say'st ;  by  whom  fell  he  ? 

What  glorious  hand  gave  Samson  his  death's  wound  ? 

Mes.  Unwounded  of  his  enemies  he  fell. 
^  Man.  Wearied  with  slaughter  then,  or  how  ?  explain. 

Mes.  By  his  own  hands. 

Man.  Self-violence  ?  what  cause 

Brought  him  so  soon  at  variance  with  himself 
Among  his  foes  ? 

Mes.  Inevitable  cause, 

At  once  both  to  destroy,  and  be  deptroy'd. 
The  edifice  where  all  were  met  to  see  him. 
Upon  their  heads  and  on  his  own  he  puU'd. 

Man.  0,  lastly  over-strong  against  thyself! 
A  dreadful  way  thou  took'st  to  thy  revenge. 
More  than  enough  we  know ;  but  while  things  yet 
Are  in  confusion,  give  us,  if  thou  canst. 
Eye-witness  of  what  first  or  last  was  done, 
Relation  more  particular  and  distinct. 

Mes.  Occasions  drew  me  early  to  this  city  j '' 

u  Abortive  as  the  firgt-horn  bloom  of  spring. 
As  Mr.  Thyer  says,  this  similitude  is  to  be  admired  for  its  remarkable  justness  and 

Kropriety :  one  cannot  possibly  imagine  a  more  exact  and  perfect  image  of  the  dawning 
ope,  which  Manoah  had  conceived  from  the  favourable  answer  he  had  met  with  from 
eome  of  the  Philistian  lords,  and  of  its  being  so  suddenly  extinguished  by  this  return  of 
ill  fortune,  than  that  of  the  early  bloom,  which  the  warmth  of  a  few  fine  days  frequently 
pushes  forward  in  the  spring,  and  then  it  is  cut  oflF  by  an  unexpected  return  of  winterly 
weather.  As  Mr.  Warburton  observes,  this  beautiful  passage  seems  to  be  taken  from 
Shakspeare,  "  Henry  VIII."  a.  iii.  s.  2  : — 

This  is  the  state  of  man  :  to-day  he  puts  forth 
The  tender  leaves  of  hope  ;  to-morrow  blossoms, 
And  bears  his  blushing  honours  thick  upon  him  : 
'  The  third  day,  comes  a  frost,  a  killing  frost ; 

And,  when  he  thinks,  good  easy  man,  full  surely 
His  greatness  is  a-ripening,  nips  his  root ; 
And  then  he  falls,  as  I  do. 

Upon  which  Mr.  Warburton  remarks,  that  as  spring-frosts  are  not  injurious  to  the  roots 
of  fruit-trees,  he  should  imagine  the  poet  wrote  "shoot;"  that  is,  the  tender  shoot  on 
which  are  the  young  leaves  and  blossoms.  The  comparison,  as  well  as  expression  of 
"nips,"  is  juster  too  in  this  reading.  Shakspeare  has  the  same  thought  in  "Love's 
Labour's  Lost :" — 

Byron  is  like  an  envious  sneaping  frost. 

That  bites  the  first-born  infants  of  the  spring. — Nkwton. 

See  also  "  Titus  Andronicus,"  a.  iv.  s.  4 : — 

These  tidings  nip  me,  and  I  hang  the  head, 

As  flowers  with  frost,  or  grass  beat  down  with  storms. — Tonn. 

I  think  this  comparison,  though  poetical  in  itself,  is  out  of  place,  as  coming  from 
Manoah  in  his  state  of  distraction. 

»  Occasions  dratt  me  early  to  this  city. 
As  I  observed  before,  that  Milton  had,  with  great  art,  excited  the  reader's  attention 
to  tills  grand  event,  so  here  he  is  no  less  careful  to  gratify  it  by  the  relation.     It  is  cir- 
cumstantial, as  the  importance  of  it  required;  but  not  so  as  to  be  tedioas,  or  too  long- 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  611 


And  as  the  gates  I  enter'd  •with  sunrise, 

The  morning  trumpets  festival  proclaim'd 

Through  each  high  street :  little  I  had  despatched, 

When  all  abroad  was  rumour' d  that  this  day 

Samson  should  be  brought  forth  to  show  the  people 

Proof  of  his  mighty  strength  in  feats  and  games : 

I  sorrow'd  at  his  captive  state,  but  minded 

Not  to  be  absent  at  that  spectacle. 

The  building  was  a  spacious  theatre 

Half-round,  on  two  main  pillars  vaulted  high,^ 

With  seats,  where  all  the  lords,  and  each  degree 

Of  sort,  might  sit  in  order  to  behold ; 

The  other  side  was  open,  where  the  throng 

On  banks  and  scaffolds  under  sky  might  stand; 

I  among  these  aloof  obscurely  stood. 

The  feast  and  noon  grew  high,  and  sacrifice 

Had  fill'd  their  hearts  with  mirth,  high  cheer,  and  wine, 

When  to  their  sports  they  turn'd.     Immediately 

Was  Samson  as  a  publick  servant  brought. 

In  their  state  livery  clad ;  before  him  pipes 

And  timbrels,  on  each  side  went  armed  guards, 

Both  horse  and  foot,  before  him  and  behind. 

Archers  and  slingers,  cataphracts  ^  and  spears. 

to  del.ay  our  expectation.  It  would  be  found  difficult,  I  believe,  to  retrench  one  article 
without  making  it  defective,  or  to  add  one  which  should  not  appear  redundant.  The 
picture  of  Samson  in  particular,  "with  head  inclined  and  eyes  fixed,"  as  if  he  was 
addressing  himself  to  that  God  who  had  given  him  such  a  measure  of  strength,  and 
was  summing  up  all  his  force  and  resolution,  has  a  very  fine  effect  upon  the  imagination. 
Milton  is  no  less  happy  in  the  sublimity  of  his  description  of  this  grand  exploit,  than 
judicious  in  the  choice  of  the  circumstances  preceding  it.  The  poetry  rises  as  the  sub- 
ject becomes  more  interesting ;  and  one  may  without  rant  or  extravagance  say,  that  the 
poet  seems  to  exert  no  less  force  of  genius  in  describing,  than  Samson  does  strength  of 
body  in  executing. — Thyer. 

w  The  building  was  a  spacious  theatre 

Half-round,  on  two  main  pillars  vaulted  high,  Ac. 

Milton  has  finely  accounted  for  this  dreadful  catastrophe,  and  has  with  great  judg- 
ment obviated  the  common  objection.  It  is  commonly  asked,  how  so  great  a  building, 
containing  so  many  thousands  of  people,  could  rest  upon  two  pillars  placed  so  near 
together ;  and  to  this  it  is  answered,  that  instances  are  not  wanting  of  far  more  large 
and  capacious  buildings  than  this,  that  have  been  supported  only  by  one  pillar.  Par- 
ticularly, Pliny,  in  the  fifteenth  chapter  of  the  thirty-sixth  book  of  his  "Natural  His- 
tory," mentions  two  theatres'  built  by  one  C.  Ourio,  who  lived  in  Julius  Caesar's  time ; 
each  of  which  was  supported  only  by  one  pillar,  or  pin,  or  hinge,  though  very  many 
thousands  of  people  did  sit  in  it  together.  See  Poole's  "  AnnotfWions."  Mr.  Thyer 
fiirther  adds,  that  Dr.  Shaw,  in  his  "  Travels,"  observing  upon  the  eastern  method  of 
building,  says,  that  the  place  where  they  exhibit  their  diversions  at  this  day  is  an 
advanced  cloister,  made  in  the  fashion  of  a  large  penthouse,  supported  only  by  one  or 
two  contiguous  pillars  in  the  front,  or  else  at  the  centre ;  and  that,  upon  a  supposition 
therefore,  that,  in  the  house  of  Dagon,  there  was  a  cloistered  structure  of  this  kind,  the 
pulling  down  the  front  or  centre  pillars  only  which  supported  it  would  be  attended  with 
the  like  catastrophe  that  happened  to  the  Philistines.  See  Shaw's  "  Travels,"  p.  283.— 
Newton. 

^  Cataphracts. 

That  iSj  men  and  horses  in  armour.  "  Cataphracti  equites  dicuntur,  qui  et  ipsi 
ferre  muniti  sunt,  et  equos  similiter  munitos  habent."  Servius  in  Virg.  ^n.  xi.  770. 
The  word  has  been  before  employed  in  English  poetry.  See  Lisle's  "Faire  .lEthio- 
pian,"  4to,  1631,  p.  150  :— 

The  archers  follow  nimble,  and  arm'd  light : 
And  after  them  came  other  bowes  and  slings,  &c. 


612  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


At  sight  of  him,  the  people  with  a  shout 

Rifted  the  air,  clamouring  their  god  with  praise, 

Who  had  made  their  dreadful  enemy  their  thrall. 

He,  patient,  but  undaunted,  where  they  led  him, 

Came  to  the  place  j  and  what  was  set  before  him, 

Which  without  help  of  eye  might  be"  assay' d, 

To  heave,  pull,  draw,  or  break,  he  still  perform'd 

All  with  incredible,  stupendous  force ; 

None  daring  to  appear  antagonist. 

At  length  for  intermission  sake  they  led  him 

Between  the  pillars ;  he  his  guide  requested 

(For  so  from  such  as  nearer  stood  we  heard) 

As  over-tired  to  let  him  lean  awhile 

With  both  his  arms  on  those  two  massy  pillars, 

That  to  the  arched  roof  gave  main  support.^ 

He,  unsuspicious,  led  him ;  which  when  Samson 

Felt  in  his  arms,  with  head  awhile  inclined, 

And  eyes  fast  fix'd  he  stood,*  as  one  who  prayed, 

Or  some  great  matter  in  his  mind  revolved : 

At  last  with  head  erect  thus  cried  aloud : — 

Hitherto,  lords,  what  your  commands  imposed 

I  have  perform'd,  as  reason  was,  obeying. 

Not  without  wonder  or  delight  beheld  : 

Now  of  my  own  accord  such  other  trial 

I  mean  to  show  you  of  my  strength,  yet  greater, 

As  with  amaze  shall  strike  all  who  behold." 

This  utter' d,  straining  all  his  nerves  he  bow'd : 

As  with  the  force  of  winds  and  waters  pent. 

When  mountains  tremble,  those  two  massy  pillars 

With  horrible  convulsion  to  and  fro 

He  tugg'd,  he  shook,  till  down  they  came,  and  drew 

The  whole  roof  after  them,  with  burst  of  thunder 

Upon  the  heads  of  all  who  sat  beneath. 

His  strong  phalanges  inarch  on  either  side  ; 

And  troopes  of  cataphracts  before  him  ride. — Toco. 

y  Thai  to  the  arched  roof  gave  main  support. 
Milton,  we  see,  retains,  in  his  last  production,  his  early  attachment  to  this  kind  of 
ancient  architecture.  Thus,  in  his  "  Ode  Nativ."  st.  xix.  "  Runs  through  the  arched 
roof,"  (fee:  again  in  "II  Pens."  v.  157,  "And  love  the  high  erabowed  roof:"  see  also 
"  Par.  Lost,"  b.  i.  726,  "  From  the  arch'd  roof,"  Ac.  I  must  observe,  however,  that 
Quarles,  in  his  poetical  "  Hist,  of  Sampson,"  relates  the  same  circumstance  of  the  build- 
ing in  which  Samson  displayed  his  strength,  and  fell,  edit.  1632,  p.  378 : — 

her  arched  roofe  was  all 
Builded  with  niassie  stone.— Todd. 

*  And  eye»  fast  fix'd  he  stood. 
Samson  having  had  his  eyes  put  out,  this  only  means  to  describe  his  attitude,  by  his 
countenance  being  fixed  on  the  ground,  as  it  must  be  when  "his  head  was  inclined." 
"  Eyes  fast  fix'd"  is  a  classical  phrase. — Dunster. 

»  As  with  amaze  shall  strike  all  who  behold. 
I  am  not  without  a  painful  suspicion,  that  there  is  an  intended  pun  in  the  word 
"strike."     It  too  much  resembles  the  language  of  the  evil  angels,  in  the  sixth  book  of 
"Paradise  Lost,"  on  producing  their  artillery,  and  witnessing  the  sucoeseful  eflfect  of 
it. — Dunster. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  613 


Lords,  ladies,  captains,  counsellors,  or  priests, 
Their  choice  nobility  and  flower,  not  only 
Of  this,  but  each  Philistian  city  round. 
Met  from  all  parts  to  solemnize  this  feast. 
Samson,  with  these  inmix'd,,  inevitably 
Pull'd  down  the  same  destruction  on  himself; 
The  vulgar  only  'scaped  who  stood  without, 

Cho.  0  dearly-bought  revenge,*  yet  glorious  I 
Living  or  dying  thou  hast  fulfill'd 
The  work  for  which  thou  wast  foretold 
To  Israel,  and  now  liest  victorious 
Among  thy  slain  self-kill'd. 
Not  willingly,"  but  tangled  in  the  fold 
Of  dire  necessity,  whose  law  in  death  conjoin'd 
Thee  with  thy  slaughter'd  foes  in  number  more 
Than  all  thy  life  had  slain  before.** 

1  Semi.  While  their  hearts  were  jocund  and  sublime, 
Drunk  with  idolatry,  drunk  with  wine," 
And  fat  regorged  of  bulls  and  goats, 
Chanting  their  idol,  and  preferring 
Before  our  Living  Dread  who  dwells 
In  Silo,'  his  bright  sanctuary ; 
Among  them  he  a  spirit  of  phrenzy  sent, 
Who  hurt  their  minds. 
And  urged  them  on  with  mad  desire, 
To  call  in  haste  for  their  destroyer : 
They,  only  set  on  sport  and  play, 
Unweetingly  importuned 

b  0  dearly-honght  revenge,  &c. 
It  is  judicious  to  make  the  Chorus  and  Semi-Chorus  speak  after  this  dreadful  account 
of  Samson's  death,  and  not  his  father  Manoah,  who  makes  no  answer  till  after  a  con- 
siderahle  pause ;  as  he  may  be  supposed  to  be  struck  dumb  with  the  unexpected  event. 
—Jos.  Wartox. 

e  Self-kill'd, 
Not  willingly, 
"  This  suicide  of  Samson,"  says  a  learned  author,  "  was  of  that  nature,  which  respects 
not  self  immediately,  or  primarily  seeks  to  compass  its  own  death.  Had  Samson  only 
sought  his  own  death,  he  would  probably  have  found  means  of  destroying  himself  in 
prison,  before  he  was  brought  forth  to  be  made  a  show  and  a  spectacle :  but  a  renewal 
of  the  glory  of  God  in  the  destruction  of  the  Philistines  was  his  principal  object;  which 
glory  had  been  apparently  violated  by  their  general  usage  of  his  servant  Samson,  and 
the  particular  indignity  they  had  made  him  sufiFer  in  the  loss  of  his  eyes.  His  own  de^ith 
was  an  accidental  circumstance  connected  with  his  point  in  view,  but  not  the  first  and 
direct  aim  of  the  action.  It  was  necessary  indeed  for  -him  to  put  his  own  life  into  the 
utmost  hazard,  with  scarce  a  possibility  of  escape ;  but  he  cheerfully  submitted  to  fall 
with  his  enemies,  rather  than  not  accomplish  his  great  design."  Moore's  "Full 
Inquiry  into  the  subject  of  Suicide,"  vol.  i.  p.  89. — Todd. 

<!  In  number  more 
Than  all  thy  life  had  slain  be/ore. 
"So  the  dead  which  he  slew  at  his  death,  were  more  than  they  which  ha  slew  in  his 
life,"  Judges  xvi.  30. — Newton. 

e  Drunk  with  idolatry,  drunk  with  wine. 
This  distinction  of  drunkenness  is  scriptural.     See  Isaiah  xxix.  9. — Dunster. 

f  In  Silo. 
Where  the  tabernacle  and  ark  were  at  that  time. — Nkwtoh. 


614  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


Their  own  destruction  to  come  speedy  upon  them. 

So  fond  are  mortal  men,« 

Fallen  into  wrath  divine, 

As  their  own  ruin  on  themselves  to  invite, 

Insensate  left,  or  to  sense  reprobate, 

And  with  blindness  internal  struck. 

2  Semi.  But  he  though  blind  of  sight, 
Despised,  and  though  extinguish'd  quite. 
With  inward  eyes  illuminated, 
His  fiery  virtue  roused 
From  under  ashes  into  sudden  flame. 
And  as  an  evening  dragon  came,'' 
Assailant  on  the  perched  roosts 
And  nests  in  order  ranged 
Of  tame  villatick  fowl :'  but  as  an  eagle  ^ 
His  cloudless  thunder  bolted  on  their  heads. 
So  Virtue,  given  for  lost, 
Depress' d  and  overthrown,  as  seem'd, 
Like  that  self-begotten  bird  ^ 

s  So  fond  are  mortal  men,  Ac. 
Agreeable  to  the  common  maxim,  "Quos  Deus  vult  perdere,  dementat  prins."— 
Thter. 

h  And  a»  an  evening  dragon  came,  Ac. 
Mr.  Calton  says  that  Milton  certainly  dictated 

And  not  as  an  evening  dragon  came. 

Samson  did  not  set  upon  them  like  an  evening  dragon,  but  darted  ruin  on  their  heads, 
like  the  thunder-bearing  eagle.    Mr.  Sympson,  to  the  same  purpose,  proposes  to  read. 

And  not  as  an  evening  dragon  came, 
but  as  an  eagle,  &c. 

Mr,  Thyer  understands  it  otherwise,  and  explains  it  without  any  alteration  of  the  text, 
to  which  I  rather  incline.  One  might  produce,  says  he,  authorities  enough  from  the 
naturalists,  to  show  that  serpents  devour  fowls :  that  of  Aldrovandus  is  sufficient,  and 
serves  fully  to  justify  this  simile.  Speaking  of  the  food  of  serpent,  she  says,  "Etenim 
Bves,  et  potissimum  avium  puUos  in  nidis  adhuc  degentes  libenter  furantur."  Aldrov. 
"de  Serp.  et  Drac."  lib.  i.  c.  3.  It  is  common  enough  among  the  ancient  poets,  to  meet 
with  several  similes  brought  in  to  illustrate  one  action,  when  one  cannot  be  found  that 
will  hold  in  every  circumstance.  Milton  does  the  same  here ;  introducing  the  simile 
of  the  dragon  merely  in  allusion  to  the  order  in  which  the  Philistines  were  placed  in 
the  amphitheatre;  and  the  subsequent  one  of  the  eagle,  to  express  the  rapidity  of  that 
vengeance  which  Samson  took  of  his  enemies. — Newton. 

'  Villatick  /owl. 
"  Villaticas  alites,"  Plin.  lib.  xxiii.  sect.  17.— Richardson. 

J  But  as  an  eagle,  Ac. 
In  the  "Ajax"  of  Sophocles,  it  is  said,  that  his  enemies,  if  they  saw  him  appear, 
would  be  terrified  like  birds  at  the  appearance  of  the  vulture  or  the  eagle,  v.  167. — 

JORTIN. 

Apuleius  describes  an  eagle,  "  in  prsedam  supeme  sese  mere,  fulminis  vice,"  Florid, 
lib.  i.  ad  init.  The  ancients  described  heroes  of  ^eat  prowess  and  activity  in  war  as 
thunderbolts.  See  Spanheim  "  De  Usu  et  Praestantia  Numismatum,"  Dissert,  v.,  whore 
he  treats  of  the  epithets  bestowed  on  the  successors  of  Alexander,  and  among  others 
that  of  "  thunderer." — DrNSTER. 

•t  Like  that  self-begotten  bird. 
The  introduction  of  the  phoenix  is  particularly  censured  by  Dr.  Johnson.    Tertnllian, 
Ambrose,  and  others  of  the  Fathers,  have  however  cited  the  phoenix  as  a  rational 
argument  of  a  resurrection. — Dunsteb. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  615 


In  the  Arabian  woods  embost,* 

That  no  second  knows  nor  third, 

And  lay  erewhile  a  holocaust," 

From  out  her  ashy  womb  now  teem'd, 

Revives,  reflourishes,  then  vigorous  most 

When  most  unactive  deem'd ; 

And,  though  her  body  die,  her  fame  survives 

A  secular  bird  ages  of  lives." 

Man.  Come,  come,"  no  time  for  lamentation  noW;* 
Nor  much  more  cause  ;  Samson  hath  quit  himself 
Like  Samson,  and  heroickly  hath  finish'd 
A  life  heroick ;  on  his  enemies 
Fully  revenged,  luith  left  them  years  of  mourning, 
And  lamentation  to  the  sons  of  Caphtor' 
Through  all  Philistian  bounds ;  to  Israel  f 

Honour  hath  left,  and  freedom,  let  but  them 
Find  courage  to  lay  hold  on  this  occasion  j 
To  himself  and  father's  house  eternal  fame; 
And,  which  is  best  and  happiest  yet,  all  this 
With  God  not  parted  from  him,  as  was  fear'd, 
But  favouring  and  assisting  to  the  end. 
Nothing  is  here  for  tears,'  nothing  to  wail 
Or  knock  the  breast ;  no  weakness,  no  contempt, 

1  Emho8t. 
Probably  from  the  Italian  "emboscare,"  to  enclose  in  a  thicket,  as  Dr.  Johnson 
observes.    It  appears  to  have  been  used  by  our  old  poets  as  a  term  of  hunting,  applied 
more  particularly  to  the  hart — Todd. 

»>  A  holocaust. 
An  entire  burnt-offering.    Else,  generally,  only  part  of  the  beast  was  bumt^RiCH- 

AKDSOir. 

n  Her  fame  survives 
A  secular  bird  ages  of  lives. 

The  construction  and  meaning  of  the  whole  period  I  conceive  to  be  this : — Virtue, 
given  for  lost,  like  the  phcenix  consumed  and  now  teemed  from  out  her  ashy  womb, 
revives,  reflourishes ;  and  though  her  body  die,  which  was  the  case  of  Samson,  yet  her 
fame  survives  a  phoenix  many  ages :  for  the  comma  after  "  survives"  in  all  the  editions 
should  be  omitted,  as  Mr.  CtUton  has  observed  as  well  as  myself.  The  phoenix,  says 
he,  lived  a  thousand  years  according  to  some,  and  hence  it  is  called  here  "  a  secular 
bird," — "  Ergo  quoniam  sex  diebus  cuncta  Dei  opera  perfecta  sunt ;  per  secula  sex,  id 
est,  annorum  sex  millia,  manere  hoc  statu  mundum  necesse  est."  Lactantius,  "  Div. 
Inst."  lib.  vii.  c.  14.  The  fame  of  virtue,  the  Semi-Chorus  saith,  "survives,"  outlives, 
this  "  secular  bird"  many  ages.  The  comma,  which  is  in  all  the  editions  after  "sur- 
vives," breaks  the  construction. — Newton. 

0  JVb  time  for  lamentation  -note,  &C. 

In  the  "  Hecuba"  of  Euripides,  Hecuba,  when  she  is  informed  of  the  heroical  death 
of  her  daughter  Polyxena,  after  expressing  her  grief,  corrects  it  with  similar  reflections, 
ver.  591. — Dunster. 

p  To  the  sons  of  Gaphtor. 

Caphtor  it  should  be,  and  not  Ohaptor,  as  in  several  editions  :  and  the  sons  of  Caphtor 
are  Philistines,  originally  of  the  island  Caphtor  or  Crete.  The  people  were  called 
Caphtorim,  Cheretim,  Ceretim,  and  afterwards  Cretians.  A  colony  of  them  settled  in 
Palestine,  and  there  went  by  the  nam©  of  Philistim. — Meadowcoubt. 

q  Nothing  is  here  for  tears,  Ac. 
The  whole  of  this  speech  of  Manoah  is  in  a  high  degree  pleasing  and  interesting ; 
from  this  place  to  the  conclusion  it  gradually  rises  in  beauty,  so  as  to  form  one  of  the 
most  captivating  parts  of  this  admirable  tragedy. — Dunstsb. 


616  SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


Dispraise,  or  blame  ;  nothing  but  well  and  fair, 

And  what  may  quiet  us  in  a  death  so  noble. 

Let  us  go  find  the  body  "■  where  it  lies 

Soak'd  in  his  enemies'  blood ;  and  from  the  stream, 

With  layers  pure  and  cleansing  herbs,  wash  oflF 

The  clotted  gore.     I,  with  what  speed  the  while, 

(Gaza  is  not  in  plight  to  say  us  nay) 

Will  send  for  all  my  kindred,  all  my  friends,^ 

To  fetch  him  hence,  and  solemnly  attend 

With  silent  obsequy,  and  funeral  train, 

Home  to  his  father's  house ;  there  will  I  build  him 

A  monument,  and  plant  it  round  with  shade 

Of  laurel  ever  green,  and  branching  palm, 

With  all  his  trophies  hung,*  and  acts  inroll'd 

In  copious  legend,  or  sweet  lyric  song. 

Thither  shall  all  the  valiant  youth  resort," 

And  from  his  memory  inflame  their  breasts 

To  matchless  valour,  and  adventures  high : 

The  virgins  also  shall,  on  feastful  days. 

Visit  his  tomb  with  flowers ;  only  bewailing 

His  lot  unfortunate  in  nuptial  choice, 

From  whence  captivity  and  loss  of  eyes. 

Cho.  All  is  best,  though  we  oft  doubt '' 
What  the  unsearchable  dispose 
Of  Highest  Wisdom  brings  about, 

r  Let  us  go  find  the  body,  Ac. 
When  Sarpedon  is  slain  in  the  Iliad,  Jupiter  gives  Phoebus  a  commission  to  find  the 
body,  and  have  all  due  obsequies  and  funeral  rites  paid  it     See  "  H."  xvi.  667,  Ac. 
Compare  also  the  rites  paid  to  the  corpses  of  Patrocles  and  Hector,  "  H."  xviii.  xxiv. 

— DnNSTER. 

•  Will  send  for  all  my  kindred,  all  my  friends,  Ac. 

This  is  founded  upon  what  the  Scripture  saith,  Judges  xvi.  31,  which  the  poet  has 
finely  improved : — "  Then  his  brethren,  and  all  the  house  of  his  father,  came  down 
and  took  him,  and  brought  him  up,  and  buried  him  between  Zorah  and  Ashtaol,  in  the 
burying-place  of  Manoah  his  father." — Newton. 

The  poet,  by  "  silent  obsequy,"  in  this  description  of  the  last  respect  intended  to  be 
paid  to  Samson,  alludes  to  the  custom  observed  at  the  Jewish  funerals;  at  which  all  the 
near  relations  of  the  deceased  came  to  the  house  in  their  mourning  dress,  and  sat  down 
upon  the  ground  in  silence  :  whilst  in  another  part  of  the  house  were  heard  the  voices 
of  mourners,  and  the  sound  of  instruments,  hired  for  the  purpose :  these  exclamations 
continued  till  the  rites  were  performed,  when  the  nearest  relations  resumed  their 
melancholy  posture  —Todd. 

t  With  all  his  trophies  hung. 
Chivalry  was  now  again  in  Milton's  mind.     He  might  here  allude  to  the  custom  of 
hanging  the  sword,  helmet,  and  armorial  ensigns  over  the  tombs  of  eminent  persons, — 
Todd. 

1  Thither  shall  all  the  valiant  youth  resort. 
Mason,  who  was  a  great  admirer  of  this  tragedy,  introduces  Caractacus  thus  consoling 
himself  over  the  body  of  his  son  Arviragus : — 

Here  in  high  Mona  shall  thy  noble  limbs 

Rest  in  a  noble  grave  ;  posterity 

Shall  to  thy  tomb  with  annual  reverence  bring 

Sepulchral  stones,  and  pile  them  to  the  clouds. — Todd. 

T  All  is  best,  though  we  oft  doubt,  Ac. 
There  ia  a  great  resemblance  betwixt  this  speech  of  Milton's  Chorus,  and  that  of  th 
Chorus  in  ^chylus's  "  Supplices,"  beginning  at  ver.  90.  to  ver.  109. — Tbteb. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  617 


And  ever  best  found  in  the  close. 

Oft  he  seems  to  hide  his  face, 

But  unexpectedly  returns, 

And  to  his  faithful  champion  hath  in  place 

Bore  witness  gloriously  ;  whence  Gaza  mourns, 

And  all  that  band  them  to  resist 

His  uncontroulable  intent : 

His  servants  he,  with  new  acquist 

Of  true  experience  from  this  great  event. 

With  peace  and  consolation  hath  dismiss' d. 

And  calm  of  mind,  all  passion  spent.' 

"  With  peace  and  consolation  hath  dismiga'd, 
And  calm  of  mind,  all  passion  spent. 
This  moral  lesson  in  the  conclusion  is  very  fine,  and  excellently  suited  to  the  begin- 
ning: for  Milton  had  chosen  for  the  motto  to  this  piece  a  passage  out  of  Aristotle,  which 
may  show  what  was  his  design  in  writing  this  tragedy,  and  the  sense  of  which  he  hath 
expressed  in  the  preface,  that  "tragedy  is  of  power,  by  raising  pity  and  fear,  or 
terrour,  to  purge  the  mind  of  those  and  such  like  passions,"  Ac,  and  he  exemplifies  it 
here  in  Manoah  and  the  Chorus,  after  their  various  agitations  of  passion,  acquiescing 
in  the  divine  dispensations,  and  thereby  inculcating  a  most  instructive  lesson  to  the 
reader. — Newton, 

Of  the  general  character  of  this  poem  it  may  be  proper  to  cite  the  opinions  of  my 
predecessors. 

"  Samson  Agonistes"  is  the  only  tragedy  that  Milton  finished,  though  he  sketched  out 
the  plans  of  several,  and  proposed  the  subjects  of  more,  in  his  manuscript  preservde  in 
Trinity  College,  Cambridge  :  anAwe  may  suppose  that  he  was  determined  to  the  choice 
of  this  particular  subject  by  the  similitude  of  his  own  circumstances  to  those  of  Samson 
blind  and  among  the  Philistines.  This  I  conceive  to  be  the  last  of  his  poetical  pieces  ; 
and  it  is  written  in  the  very  spirit  of  the  ancients,  and  equals,  if  not  exceeds,  any  of 
the  most  perfect  tragedies  which  were  ever  exhibited  on  the  Athenian  stage,  when 
Greece  was  in  its  glory.  As  this  work  was  never  intended  for  the  stage,  the  division 
into  acts  and  scenes  is  omitted.  Bishop  Atterbury  had  an  intention  of  getting  Pope  to 
divide  it  into  acts  and  scenes,  and  of  having  it  acted  at  Westminster;  but  his  com- 
mitment to  the  Tower  put  an  end  to  that  design.  It  has  since  been  brought  upon  the 
stage  in  the  form  of  an  Oratorio ;  and  Handel's  music  is  never  emplo3'ed  to  greater 
advantage,  than  when  it  is  adapted  to  Milton's  words.  That  great  artist  has  done 
equal  justice  to  our  author's  "L' Allegro"  and  "H  Penseroso;"  a?  if  the  same  spirit 
possessed  both  masters,  and  as  if  the  god  of  music  and  of  verse  was  still  one  and  the 
same. — Ne  wton. 

"  Samson  Agonistes"  is  but  a  very  indiflferent  subject  for  a  dramatic  fable :  however, 
Milton  has  made  the  best  of  it  He  seems  to  have  chosen  it  for  the  sake  of  the  satire 
on  bad  wives-  — Warburtoh. 

It  would  be  hardly  less  absurd  to  say,  that  he  chose  the  subject  of  "  Paradise  Lost," 
for  the  sake  of  describing  aconnubial  altercation.  The  nephew  of  Milton  has  told  us, 
that  he  could  not  ascertain  the  time  when  this  drama  was  written ;  but  it  probably 
flowed  from  the  heart  of  the  indignant  poet  soon  after  his  spirit  had  been  wounded  by 
the  calamitous  destiny  of  his  friends,  to  which  he  alludes  with  sO  much  energy  and 
pathos,  in  the  Chorus,  v.  652,  <fcc.  He  did  not  design  the  drama  for  a  theatre,  nor  has 
it  the  kind  of  action  requisite  for  theatrical  interest ;  but  in  one  point  of  view  the 
"  Samson  Agonistes"  is  the  most  singularly  afiecting  composition  that  was  ever  pro- 
duced by  sensibility  of  heart  and  vigour  of  imagination.  To  give  it^this  particular 
effect,  we  must  rememl>3r,  that  the  lot  of  Milton  had  a  marvellous  coincidence  with 
that  of  his  hero  in  thr»  remarkable  points :  first  (but  we  should  regard  this  as  th« 
most  inconsiderable  article  of  resemblance),  he  had  been  tormented  by  a  beautiful,  but 
disaSectionate  and  disobedient  wife ;  secondly,  he  had  been  the  great  champion  of  hii 
country,  and  as  such  the  idol  of  public  admiration ;  lastly,  he  had  fallen  from  that 
height  of  unrivalled  glory,  and  had  experienced  the  most  humiliating  reverse  of  for- 
tune. In  delineating  the  greater  part  of  Samson's  sensations  under  calamity,  he  had 
only  to  describe  his  own.  No  dramatist  can  have  ever  conformed  so  literally  as  Milton 
to  the  Horatian  precept.  Si  vis  meflere,  Ac,  and  if,  in  reading  the  "  Samson  Agonistes," 
we  observe  how  many  passages,  expressed  with  tiie  most  energetic  sensibility,  exhibi* 


618  .     SAMSON  AGONISTES. 


to  OUT  fancy  the  sufferings  and  real  sentiments  of  the  poet,  as  well  as  those  of  his  hero, 
we  may  derive  from  this  extraordinary  composition  a  kind  of  pathetic  delight,  that  on 
other  drama  can  afford ;  we  may  applaud  the  felicity  of  genius,  that  contrived,  in  this 
manner,  to  relieve  a  heart  overburdened  with  anguish  and  indignation,  and  to  pay  a 
naif-concealed,  yet  hallowed  tribute,  to  the  memories  of  dear  though  dishonoured 
friends,  whom  the  state  of  the  times  allowed  not  the  afflicted  poet  more  openly  to 
deplore. — Haylet. 

Dr.  Johnson  thought  differently  about  this  tragedy,  written  evidently  and  happily  in 
the  style  and  manner  of  ^schylus ;  and  said,  "  that  it  was  deficient  in  both  requisites 
of  a  true  Aristotelic  middle.  Its  intermediate  parts  have  neither  cause  nor  conse- 
quenee,  neither  hasten  nor  retard  the  catastrophe."  To  which  opinion  the  judicious 
Mr.  Twining  accedes.  What  Dr.  Warburton  said  of  it  is  wonderfully  ridicnlous,  that 
Milton  "chose  the  subject  for  the  sake  of  the  satire  on  bad  wives j"  and  that  the  sub- 
jects of  "  Samson  Agonistes"  and  "  Paradise  Lost"  were  not  very  different, — "  the  fall 
of  two  heroes  by  a  woman."  Milton,  in  this  drama,  has  given  an  example  of  every 
species  of  measure  which  the  English  language  is  capable  of  exhibiting,  not  only  in 
the  choruses,  but  in  the  dialogue  part.  The  chief  parts  of  the  dialogue  (though  there 
is  a  great  \ariety  of  measure  in  the  choruses  of  the  Greek  tragedy)  are  in  iambic 
verse.  I  recollect  but  three  places  in  which  hexameter  verses  are  introduced  in  the 
Greek  tragedies;  once  in  the  " Trachiniae,"  once  in  the  "Philoctetes"  of  Sophocles, 
and  once  in  the  "  Troades"  of  Euripides.  Voltaire  wrote  an  opera  on  this  Subject  of 
Samson,  1732,  which  was  sot  to  music  by  Rameau,  but  was  never  performed :  he  has 
Inserted  choruses  to  Venus  and  Adonis ;  and  the  piece  finishes  by  introducing  Samson 
actually  pulling  down  the  temple,  on  the  stage,  and  crushing  all  the  assembly,  which 
Milton  has  flung  into  so  fine  a  narration  ;  and  the  opera  is  ended  by  Samson's  saying, 
"  J'ai  rdpare  ma  honte,  et  j'expire  en  vainqueur."  And  yet  this  was  the  man  that  dared 
to  deride  the  irregularities  of  Shakspeare. — Jos.  Warton. 

Of  the  style  of  this  poem,  it  is  to  be  observed  that  it  is  often  inexact  and  almost 
ungrammatical ;  and  of  the  metre,  that  it  is  very  licentious  :  both  with  design  and  the 
most  consummate  judgment.  An  irregular  construction  carries  with  it  an  air  of  negli- 
gence, well  suited  to  this  drama,  and  yet  prevents  the  expression  from  falling  into  vul- 
garity ;  and  a  looseness  of  measure  gives  grace  and  ease  to  the  tragic  dialogue :  but 
this  apology  does  not  extend  to  such  inaccuracies  in  the  mask  of  "  Comus  ;"  which,  as 
a.  work  of  delight  and  ostentation,  should  have  been  everywhere  laboured,  as  indeed 
for  the  most  part  it  is,  into  the  utmost  polish  of  style  and  metre.  Milton  learned  the 
secret  he  has  here  so  successfully  practised  from  his  strict  attention  to  the  Gieek  tra- 
gedians, especially  Euripides.  The  modern  critics  of  this  poet  arc  perpetually  tamper- 
ing with  his  careless  expression,  careless  numbers,  &c.,  unconscious  that  both  were  the 
effect  of  art     It  is  on  these  occasions  we  may  apply  the  observation, — 

It  is  not  Homer  nods,  but  we  that  dream. 
The  "  Samson  Agonistes"  is,  in  every  view,  the  most  artificial  and  highly-finished  of 
all  Milton's  poetical  works. — Hcrd. 

Dr.  Warton,  in  a  concluding  note  on  "  Lycidas,"  assigns  to  "  Samson  Agonistes"  the 
third  place  of  rank  among  the  poet's  works.  Lord  Monboddo,  still  more  enamoured  of 
its  excellencies,  says,  that  it  is  the  "last  and  the  most  faultless,  in  my  judgment,  of  all 
Milton's  poetical  works,  if  not  the  finest." — Orig.  and  Prog,  of  Language,  2d  edit.  vol. 
lii.  p.  71.  It  is  certainly,  as  Mr.  Mason  long  since  observed,  an  excellent  piece,  to 
which  posterity  has  not  yet  given  its  full  measure  of  popular  and  universal  fame. 
"  Perhaps,"  says  this  judicious  writer  in  a  letter  to  a  friend  concerning  his  own  impres- 
sive tragedy  of  "Elfrida,"  "in  your  closet,  and  that  of  a  few  more,  who  unaffectedly 
admire  genuine  nature  and  ancient  simplicity,  the  '  Agonistes'  may  hold  a  distinguished 
rank :  yet  surely,  we  cannot  say,  in  Hamlet's  phrase,  '  that  it  pleases  the  million ;  it  is 
still  caviare  to  the  general.'"     "Elfrida,"  edit.  1752.     Lett.  ii.  p.  vi.  vii. — Todd. 

Dr.  JohnsoD  has  criticised  in  the  "  Rambler,"  No.  139,  140,  "  Samson  Agonistes"  as 
wanting  a  middle,  though  he  allows  it  a  beginning  and  an  end.  He  says, — "  The  tra- 
gedy of  '  Samson  Agonistes'  has  been  celebrated  as  the  second  work  of  the  great  author 
of  '  Paradise  Lost,'  and  opposed  with  all  the  confidence  of  triumph  to  the  dramatic 
performances  of  other  nations.  It  contains  indeed  just  sentiments,  maxims  of  wisdom, 
and  oracles  of  piety,  and  many  passages  written  with  the  ancient  spirit  of  choral  poetry, 
in  which  there  is  a  just  and  pleasing  mixture  of  Seneca's  moral  declamation  with  the 
wild  enthusiasm  of  the  Greek  writers  :  it  is  therefore  worthy  of  examination,  whether 
a  performance,  thus  illuminated  with  genius  and  enriched  with  learning,  is  composed 
according  to  the  indispensable  laws  of  Aristotelian  criticism  ;  and,  omitting  at  present 
all  other  considerations,  whether  it  exhibits  a  beginning,  a  middle,  and  an  end. 


SAMSON  AGONISTES.  619 


"  The  poem  has  a  beginning  and  an  end  which  Aristotle  himself  could  not  have 
disapproved ;  but  it  must  be  allowed  to  want  a  middle,  since  nothing  passes  between 
the  hrst  act  and  the  last,  that  either  hastens  or  delays  the  death  of  Samson.  The 
whole  drama,  if  its  superfluities  were  cut  off,  would  scarcely  fill  a  single  act ;  yet  this 
is  the  tragedy  which  ignorance  has  admired,  and  bigotry  applauded. 

"  Such  are  the  faults,  and  such  the  beauties,  of  '  Samson  Agonistiea ;'  which  I  have 
shown  with  no  other  purpose  than  to  promote  the  knowledge  of  true  criticism.  The 
everlasting  verdure  of^Milton's  laurels  nas  nothing  to  fear  from  the  blasts  of  malignity ; 
nor  can  such  attempt  produce  any  other  effect  than  to  strengthen  their  shoots  by  lop- 
ping their  luxuriance." 

Cumberland,  in  his  "  Observer,"  vol.  iv.  No.  Ill,  verv  properly  defends  the  middle 
of  this  drama  against  Johnson's  attack.  He  contends  that  the  captious  critic  has  mis- 
understood Aristotle's  rule ;  and  concludes  thus : — 

"  Of  the  character,  I  may  say  in  a  few  words,  that  Samsonpossesses  all  the  terrific 
majesty  of  Prometheus  Cnainedj  the  mysterious  death  of  CEdipus,  and  the  pitiable 
wretchedness  of  Philoctetes.  His  properties,  like  those  of  the  first,  are  something 
above  human ;  his  misfortunes,  like  those  of  the  second,  are  deriveable  from  the  plea- 
sure of  Heaven,  and  involved  in  oracles ;  his  condition,  like  that  of  the  last,  is  the  most 
abject,  which  human  nature  can  be  reduced  to  from  a  state  of  dignity  and  splendour. 

''  Or  the  catastrophe,  there  remains  only  to  remark,  that  it  is  or  unparalleled  ma- 
jesty and  terror." 


COMUSi 


A  MASK, 
PRESENTED  AT  LUDLOW  CASTLE,  1634, 

BEFORE 

JOHN,    EARL    OF   BRIDGEWATER, 

THEN  PRESIDENT  OF  WALES. 


LUDLOW  CASTLE. 
Todd  lias  given  a  copious  historical  account  of  this  castle,  which  I  shall  omit.  It 
had  long  been  the  palace  of  the  princes  of  Wales,  and  was  inhabited  by  Prince  Ar- 
thur, eldest  son  of  Henry  VII. ;  it  was  built  by  Eoger  de  Montgomery,  about  1112. 
Sir  Henry  Sidney,  when  lord  president  of  Wales,  expended  large  sums  upon  this 
building.  The  castle  was  delivered  to  the  parliament  in  1646  ;  the  court  of  marches 
was  afterwards  abolished,  and  the  lords  presidents  discontinued  in  1688 :  from  that 
time  the  castle  fell  into  decay. 


JOHN,  EAEL  OF  BRIDGEWATER. 

The  family  of  Egerton  is  of  the  most  undoubted  antiquity,  and  was  one  of  the 
first  of  the  rank  of  commoners  in  Cheshire,  being  among  the  barons  of  the  earl  pala- 
tine of  the  county  at  the  Conquest.  The  Cholmondeleys  are  from  the  same  male 
stock  :  the  male  line  of  the  eldest  branch  of  the  family  still  survives  in  Sir  Philip  de 
Malpas  Egerton,  bart.,  but  the  founder  of  the  nobility  of  the  Bridgewater  branch  was 
lord  chancellor  Egerton,  born  about  1540.  He  was  a  natural  son  of  Sir  Richard  Eger- 
ton of  Ridley,  who  died  1579,  son  of  Sir  Ralph  Egerton  of  Ridley  in  Cheshire, 
standard-bearer  of  England,  by  an  heiress  of  one  of  the  Bassets  of  Blore,  m  the 
county  of  Stafford.*  Sir  Thomas  Egerton  was  made  solicitor-general,  2d  June,  1581 ; 
attorney-general,  2d  June,  1592 ;  master  of  the  rolls,  10th  April,  86  Eliz. ;  lord  keeper, 
6th  May,  1596 ;  created  baron  of  Ellesmere,  2l8t  July,  1603,  by  king  James,  and  three 
days  afterwards  constituted  lord  high  chancellor  of  England  ;  advanced  to  the  dig- 
nity of  Viscount  Brackley,  7th  November,  1616 ;  and  died  full  of  years  and  honours, 
at  the  age  of  seventy-seven,  on  the  15th  of  March,  1677,  and  was  buried  at  Doddle- 
ston,  in  the  county  of  Cheshire. + 

This  is  not  the  place  to  enter  into  a  long  examination  of  this  celebrated  man's  public 
character.  The  late  Francis  Henry  Egerton,  the  last  Earl  of  Bridgewater,  who  died 
in  1829,  printed  in  folio  a  large  collection  of  materials  for  his  life,  of  which  a  great 
part  have  been  introduced  mto  the  last  edition  of  the  "Biographia  Britannica."    He 

*  The  last  heiress  of  the  elder  branch  of  the  Bassets  of  Blore  married  William  Cavendish, 
Duke  of  Newcastle,  whose  daughter  by  her  married  John  Egerton,  second  Earl  of  Bridgewater. 

The  ancestor  of  these  Bassets  married  the  heiress  of  the  elder  branch  of  the  Byrons.  In 
the  church  of  Blore  was  the  brass  plate  recording  this  marriage,  when  I  visited  that  church  in 
autumn  1789. 

t  By  some  extraordinary  neglect,  no  memorial  was  erected  over  this  great  man's  remains,  till 
the  present  learned,  accomplished,  and  amiable  archdeacon  Wrangham,  the  rector  of  the  parish, 
placed  an  epitaph  at  his  own  expense. 

620 


(JOMUS.  621 

was  a  man  remarkable  for  discretion,  sagacity,  and  wisdom  in  perilous  times.  He  was 
the  founder  of  the  present  system  of  equity  in  chancery ;  and  his  contest  with  chief 
justice  Coke,  and  triumph  over  the  great  learning  and  abilities  of  that  bad-tempered 
man,  is  alone  matter  of  high  fame.  In  all  the  pages  of  history  which  have  gained  any 
credit,  his  reputation  stands  bright  and  clear :  he  accumulated  a  large  fortune  for  his 
posterity,  which  was  vastly  augmented  by  the  illustrious  marriage  which  his  son  made 
with  Lady  Frances  Stanley,  daughter  and  coheir  of  Ferdinando,  Earl  of  Derby,  and 
the  Lady  Alice,  before  whom  Milton's  "Arcades"  was  acted. 

This  son  John,  second  Viscount  Brackley,  was  created  Earl  of  Bridgewater  27th  May 
1617,  two  months  after  his  father's  death.  From  this  time,  this  earl  was  by  his  mar- 
riage lifted  at  once  to  the  very  first  and  most  illustrious  rank  of  nobility.  The  blood 
of  the  Stanleys,  Cliffords,  Brandons,  Wodevilles,  Tudors,  and  Plantagenets,  all  centred 
in  his  children. 

In  1631  be  was  appointed  lord  president  of  "Wales.  "I  have  been  informed  from  a 
manuscript  of  Oldys,"  says  Mr.  Warton,  "that  Lord  Bridgewater,  being  appointed  lord 
president  of  Wales,  entered  upon  his  ofBcial  residence  at  Ludlow  castle  with  great 
solemnity :  on  this  occasion  he  was  attended  by  a  large  concourse  of  the  neighbouring 
nobility  and  gentry.  Among  the  rest  came  his  children ;  in  particular.  Lord  Brackley, 
Mr.  Thomas  Egerton,  and  Lady  Alice, 

To  attend  their  father's  state 
And  new-entrusted  sceptre. 

They  had  been  on  a  visit  at  a  house  of  their  relations,  the  Egerton  family  in  Hereford- 
shire ;  and  in  passing  through  Haywood  forest  were  benighted,  and  the  Lady  Alice  was 
even  lost  for  a  short  time.  This  accident,  which  in  the  end  was  attended  with  no  bad 
consequences,  fiirnished  the  subject  of  a  mask  for  a  Michaelmas  festivity,  and  produced 
'Comus.'  Lord  Bridgewater  w%s  appointed  [rather,  as  I  apprehend,  installed]  lord 
president,  May  12th,  1633.  When  the  perilous  adventure  in  Haywood  forest  happened, 
if  true,  cannot  now  be  told  :  it  must  have  been  soon  after.  The  mask  was  acted  at 
Michaelmas,  1634."  Sir  John  Hawkins  has  also  observed,  that  this  elegant  poem  is 
founded  on  a  real  story ;  his  account  of  which,  though  less  particular,  agrees  with  that 
of  Oldys.  "Hist  of  Music,"  vol.  iv.  p.  52.  Lawes,  in  his  dedication  to  Lord  Brackley, 
perhaps  alludes  to  the  accident,  in  stating  that  the  "poem  received  its  first  occasion  of 
birth  from  himself,  and  others  of  his  noble  family." 

This  first  Earl  of  Bridgewater  died  4th  December,  1649,  aged  seventy:  his  counteps 
died  11th  March,  1635-6,  aged  fifty-two.* 

Of  Lady  Alice  Egerton,  the  youngest  daughter,  Warton  has  given  an  account. 

John  Egerton,  second  Earl  of  Bridgewater,  was  the  Elder  Brother  in  "  Comus," 
under  the  name  of  Lord  Brackley  :  he  was  a  man  of  literature,  very  studious,  very 
accomplished  and  very  amiable.  Sir  Henry  Chauncy,  in  his  "History  of  Hertford- 
shire," has  given  a  very  interesting  and  attractive  character,  and  a  lively  description 
of  his  person.  He  died  26th  October,  1686,  aged  sixty-four :  he  was  consequently 
born  in  1622.  He  married.  Lady  Elizabeth  Cavendish,  daughter  of  William  Caven- 
dish, Duke  of  Newcastle,  a  lady  of  incomparable  beauty,  talents,  and  virtue ;  of 
whose  "  Prayers  and  Meditations,"  a  manuscript  copy  has  descended  to  me.+  She 
died  14th  June,  1638,  aged  thirty-seven. 

In  the  epitaphs  of  these  two  generations,  at  little  Gadsden,  near  Ashridge,  there  is 
a  singular  strain  of  plaintive  eloquence. 

The  Earl's  afiection  for  his  wife,  and  regret  for  her  loss,  even  till  his  death, J  were 
extreme. § 

*  His  daughter,  Lady  Catherine,  married  William  Courteen,  Esq.,  son  and  heir  of  Sir  William 
Courteen,  knight,  a  merchant  of  London.  See  the  curious  and  elaborate  lives  of  the  Courteens, 
in  the  last  edition  of  the  "  Biographia  Britannica."  The  last  of  them  took  the  name  of  Charl- 
ton, and  was  a  man  of  scientific  fame. 

t  It  is  particularized  in  Todd,  p.  208,  from  my  communication. 

:  See.  in  "  Censura  Literaria,"  an  account  of  George  Wither's  "  Hallelujah,"  with  the  manu- 
script notes  of  this  Earl's  own  copy. 

$  1  have  mentioned  the  funeral  certificate  by  the  heralds :  their  inaccuracy  is  always  pro- 


622  COMTJS. 

John^  third  Earl  of  Bridgewater,  died  23d  May,  1716,  aged  sixty-one. 

His  son  Scroop,  fourth  earl,  having  married  Lady  Elizabeth  Churchill,  one  of  the 
coheirs  of  the  famous  John,  Duke  of  Marlborough,  was  raised  to  a  dukedom  18th  June, 
1720  :  she  died  however  in  her  twenty-sixth  year,  before  this  promotion,  on  22d  March, 
1714.  The  duke  died  11th  January,  1745;  his  eldest  son  John,  by  his  marriage  with 
Lady  Rachel  Russell,  succeeded,  and  died  26th  February,  1748,  aged  twenty-one.  He 
(vas  succeeded  by  his  only  brother,  Francis,  third  and  last  duke,  who  died  unmarried, 
1803,  aged  sixty-seven.     This  was  the  celebrated  founder  of  canal  navigation. 

General  John  William  Egerton,  grandson  of  Henry,  bishop  of  Hereford,  who  died 
1 746,  fifth  son  of  John,  third  Earl  of  Bridgewater,  succeeded  to  the  earldom.  His  father 
ivas  Bishop  of  Durham,  and  married,  in  1748,  Lady  Anne  Sophia  Gray,  daughter  of 
Henry,  last  Duke  of  Kent  of  that  family :  he  died  1823,  and  was  succeeded  by  his  bro- 
ther, the  Rev.  Francis  Henry  Egerton,  who  died  at  Paris,  unmarried,  1829. 

Lady  Louisa  Egerton,*  born  30th  April,  1723,  sister  of  the  whole  blood  to  the  last 
Duke  of  Bridgewater,  married  28th  March,  1748,  Granville  Levison,  afterwards  Earl 
Gower,  and  created  Marquis  of  Stafford,  whose  son  by  her,  the  second  Marquis  of  Staf- 
ford, was  latterly  created  Duke  of  Sutherland,  and  was  father  of  the  present  Duke  of 
Sutherland  and  of  Lord  Francis  Gower,  on  whom  the  Duke  of  Bridgewater  entailed  a 
large  portion  of  his  immense  property,  in  consequence  of  which  he  has  now  assumed 
the  name  of  Egerton. 

Sophia  Egerton,  sister  of  the  last  two  earls,  married  Sir  Abraham  Hume,  bart,  and 
left  two  daughters,  of  whom  one  married  the  Duke  of  Brownlow,  and  was  mother  of 
the  present  Lord  Alford ;  and  the  other  married  Mr.  Charles  Long,  created  Lord  Fam- 
borough ;  but  without  issue. 

I  would  not  have  gone  into  these  dry  genealogical  details,  if  the  title  had  not  now 
disappeared  from  the  modem  peerages. 

On  the  illustrious  founder  of  canal  navigation,  a  great  national  benefactor,  it  is  unne* 
cessary  to  enlarge  :  perhaps  he  did  not  take  the  literary  turn  of  his  ancestors,  which,  if 
not  more  useful,  would  have  been  more  congenial  to  the  pursuits  which  I  admire.  He 
was  a  man  of  retired,  and  somewhat  eccentric  habits ;  and  wrapped  up  exclusively  in 
the  mighty  works  which  he  was  meditating,  and  carrying  on.  He  was  not  a  man  of 
visionary  talents ;  and  cared  little,  I  believe,  about  the  history  of  his  ancestors,  or  the 
glories  of  past  times :  he  felt  no  interest  in  the  curious  library,f  amassed  by  his  fore- 
fathers, nor  in  the  long  galleries  of  the  portraits  of  the  great  cliancellor's  Elizabethan 
contemporaries.  His  ancient  mansion  of  Ashridge,  which  before  the  Reformation  had 
been  a  monastery,  he  suffered  to  fall  to  decay,  inhabiting  only  a  few  rooms  in  the  por- 
ter's lodge.J 

General  John  Egerton,  who  succeeded  to  the  earldom  and  ancient  portion  of  the 
Bridgewater  estates,  inherited  none  of  the  old  family  love  of  literature.  He  was  of 
manners  chillingly  cold,  and  a  reserved  pride,  mixed  with  something  of  concealed 
sarcasm,  which  was  apt  to  give  great  offence :  he  piqued  himself  upon  his  proprieties, 
and  would  never  do  anything  out  of  rule  or  fashion :  he  rebuilt  the  mansion  of  Ash- 
ridge most  magnificently,  but  was  fond  of  money,  and  over-thrifty  in  many  of  his 
habits.  He  never  had  any  children,  but  left  the  principal  property  to  his  widow  for 
her  life,  who  still  enjoys  it 

His  brother  and  successor,  Francis  Henry  Egerton,  was  prebendary  of  Durham,  and 

verbial.  The  earl  survived  his  son  Thomas  a  year;  yet  though  the  son's  marriage  and  issue 
are  given,  no  notice  is  taken  of  his  death.  I  found  it  in  a  memorandum  in  an  account-book  of 
his  widowr.  Afterwards  I  found,  by  Clutterbuck's  "History  of  Hertfordshire,"  that  he  was 
buried  at  Little  Gadsden,  in  the  family  vault.    His  widow,  Esther  Busby,  survived  till  1724. 

*  The  fic^t  Duke  of  Bridgewater  had  a  daughter  by  his  first  lady,  who  first  married  Wrio- 
thesly  Russell,  third  Duke  of  Bedford,  who  died  1732,  without  issue  ;  and  afterwards  William 
Villiers,  Earl  of  Jersey,  from  which  marriage  the  present  Earl  of  Jersey  is  descended. 

f  From  the  useof  this  library  Mr.  Todd  derived  a  great  part  of  his  bibliographical  knowledge 
in  old  English  poetrj',  and  of  the  predecessors  and  contemporaries  of  Milton ;  many  of  the 
volumes  had  probably  gone  through  the  hands  of  the  illustrious  poet. 

J I  visited  It  in  August  1789,  and  took  a  hasty  list  of  the  portraits.  See  "  Topographer," 
1789, 1790,  870.  four  vols. 


COMUS. 


623 


rector  of  the  rich  family  living  of  Whitechurch  in  Shropshire.  For  about  twenty  of 
the  last  years  of  his  life  he  resided  at  Paris,  having  bought  the  grand  hotel  of  the  Dues 
de  Noailles,  between  the  Rue  St.  Honore  and  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  where  he  lived  at  a 
great  expense,  and  in  much  pomp.  He  was  a  strange  man,  the  reverse  of  his  brother : 
an  admirable  classical  scholar,  a  great  lover  of  books,  with  many  flashes  of  genius,  and 
fitful  acts  of  generosity  and  munificence ;  in  short,  many  of  his  habits  were  so  singular 
as  only  to  be  accounted  for  by  the  obliquities  of  mental  disease.  By  his  will  he  became 
a  public  benefactor,  enriching  the  library  of  the  British  Museum,  ana  leaving  a  large 
sum  to  be  expended  in  the  authorship  and  publication  of  what  have  since  appeared 
under  the  title  of  the  "Bridgewater  Treatises."  He  delighted  in  the  history  of  his 
family,  and  the  glory  of  his  ancestors :  he  caused  to  be  printed  a  translation  of  "  Comus," 
in  Italian  verse ;  and  was  at  the  expense  of  many  other  privately-printed  gifts  to  litera- 
ture. It  cannot  be  denied  that  he  was  both  vain  and  proud :  but  let  his  learning,  his 
talents,  and  acts  of  public  benefit  veil  his  foibles. 

Lord  Francis  Gower,  now  Egerton,  who  represents  and  possesses  a  magnificent  portion 
of  the  Bridgewater  property,  with  the  library,  splendid  collection  of  pictures,  and  other 
reliques,  embellishes  his  descent  by  his  literary  accomplishments,  his  genius,  and  his 
devotion  to  the  Muses. 

Thus  has  passed  away  the  male  line  of  this  illustrious  family.*  The  length  of  Mr. 
Todd's  note,  in  his  Milton,  upon  the  subject,  has  set  me  an  example  which  will  apologize 
for  my  substituting  in  its  room  another  which  fills  less  space.  Considering  the  early 
connexion  of  Milton  with  this  house,  aild  that  hence  came  the  exquisite  mask  of 
"  Comus,"  I  venture  to  hope  that  it  will  not  be  deemed  irrelevant  Descent  is  nothing 
unless  it  stimulates  to  accomplish  the  mind  with  high  decorations,  to  nurse  high  pursuits, 
and  to  cherish  high  emotions  of  the  heart.  Who  sleeps  upon  his  honours — who  reliei 
only  on  reflected  glory, — ^is  an  imbecile  and  culpable  cipher. 

I  believe  that  only  fire  males  are  now  living:  who  are  half  Egertons,  viz.,  whose  mothers 
were  Egertons,  of  whom  my  brother  and  myself  are  two.  Lord  Francis  is  only  an  Egerton 
by  his  paternal  grandmother  ;  the  same  is  the  case  with  Mr.  Egerton  of  Tatton. 


624 


COMUS. 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE*  JOHN  LORD  VISCOUNT  BRACLT, 

SON  AND  HEIR   APPABENT   TO   THE   EARL   OF  BRISGEWATBS,  StC.b 
MY  LORD, 

This  poem,  which  received  its  occasion  of  birth  from  yourself  and  others  of  your 
noble  family,  and  much  honour  from  your  own  person  in  the  performance,  now  returns 
again  to  make  a  finall  dedication  of  itself  to  you.  Although  not  openly  acknowledged 
by  the  author,":  yet  it  is  a  legitimate  offspring,  so  lovely,  and  so  much  desired,  that  the 
often  copying  of  it  hath  tired  my  pen  to  give  my  severall  friends  satisfaction,  and 
brought  me  to  a  necessity  of  producing  it  to  the  publike  view;  and  now  to  offer  it  up 
in  all  rightful!  devotion  to  those  fair  hopes,  and  rare  endowments  of  your  much  pro- 
mising youth,  which  give  a  full  assurance,  to  all  that  know  you,  of  &  future  excellence. 
Live,  sweet  Lord,  to  be  the  honour  of  your  name,  and  receive  this  as  your  own,  from 
the  hands  of  him,  who  hath  by  many  favours  been  long  obliged  to  your  most  honoured 
parents;  and  as  in  this  representation  your  attendant  Thyrsis,  so  now  in  all  real 
expression 

Your  faithfull  and  most  hamble  servant, 

H.  Lawes.* 

a  This  is  the  dedication  to  Lawes's  edition  of  the  Mask,  1637,  to  which  the  following  motto 
was  prefixed,  from  Virgil's  second  Eclogue  :— 

Eheu  !  quid  volui  misero  mihi?  floribus  austrum 
Perditus — 

This  motto  is  omitted  by  Milton  himself  in  the  editions  of  1645  and  1673. — T.  Warton. 

This  motto  is  delicately  chosen,  whether  we  consider  it  as  being  spoken  by  the  author  him- 
self, or  by  the  editor.  If  by  the  former,  the  meaning,  I  suppose,  is  this : — "  I  have,  by  giving 
way  to  this  publication,  let  in  the  breath  of  public  censure  on  these  early  blossoms  of  my 
poetry,  which  were  before  secure  in  the  hands  of  my  friends,  as  in  a  private  enclosure."  If. 
we  suppose  it  to  come  from  the  editor,  the  application  is  not  very  different ;  only  to  floribui 
we  must  then  give  an  encomiastic  sense.  The  choice  of  such  a  motto,  so  far  from  vulgar  in 
itself,  and  in  its  application,  was  worthy  Milton. — Hurd. 

*>  The  first  brother  in  the  Mask. — T.  Warton. 

c  It  never  appeared  under  Milton's  name  till  the  year  1645. — T.  Warton. 

d  This  dedication  does  not  appear  m  the  edition  of  Milton's  poem,  printed  in  1673,  when  Lord 
Brackley,  under  the  title  of  Earl  of  Bridgewater,  was  still  living.  Milton  was  perhaps 
unwilling  to  own  his  early  connexions  with  a  family,  conspicuous  for  its  unshaken  loyalty, 
and  now  highly  patronized  by  King  Charles  II. — T.  Warton. 

Milton  in  his  edition  of  1673  omitted  also  the  letter  written  by  Sir  Henry  Wooten :  yet  it  has 
not  been  supposed  that,  by  withdrawing  the  letter,  ho  intended  any  disrespect  to  the  memory 
of  his  learned  friend;  nor  might  the  dedication  perhaps  have  been  withdrawn  through  any 
Dnwillingness  to  own  his  early  connexions  with  the  Egerton  family :  it  might  have  been 
inexpedient  for  him  at  that  time  openly  to  avow  them  ;  but  he  would  not,  I  think,  forget  them. 
He  had  lived  m  the  neighbourhood  of  Ashridge,  the  seat  of  the  Earl  of  Bridgewater;  for  his 
father's  house  and  lands  at  Horton  near  Colnbrook,  in  Buckinghamshire,  were  held  under 
the  earl,  before  whom  "  Comus"  was  acted.  Milton  afterwards  lived  in  Barbican,  where  the 
earl  had  great  property,  as  well  as  his  town  residence,  Bridgewater-house  :  and  though  Dr. 
Johnson  observes  that  Milton  "  had  taken  a  larger  house  in  Barbican  for  the  reception  of 
scholars/'  it  is  not  improbable  that  he  might  have  been  accommodated  with  it  rent-free,  by 
that  nobleman,  who,  it  may  be  supposed,  would  gladly  embrace  an  opportunity  of  having  in 
bis  neighbourhood  the  admirable  author  of  "Comus,"  and  of  promoting  his  acquaintance 
witli  that  finished  scholar,  who,  being  "  willing,"  says  his  nephew  Phillips,  "  to  impart  his 
learning  and  knowledge  to  his  relations,  and  the  sons  of  l^entlemen  who  were  his  intimate 
friends,"  might  afford  to  his  family  at  least  the  pleasure  of  his  conversation,  if  not  to  some  of 
them  the  advantage  of  his  instruction.  This  dedication  does  not  appear  in  Tickell's  and 
Fenton's  editions  of  Milton's  poetical  works.    It  was  restored  by  Dr.  Newton. — Todd. 

Henry  I.awes,  who  composed  the  music  for  "  Comus,"  and  performed  the  combined 
characters  of  the  Spirit  and  the  shepherd  Thyrsis  m  this  drama,  was  the  son  of  Thomas 
Lawes,  a  vicar  choral  of  Salisbury  cathedral :  he  was  perhaps  at  first  a  choir-boy  of  that 
church.  With  his  brother  William,  he  was  educated  in  music  under  Giovanni  Coperario, 
(supposed  by  Fenton,  in  his  notes  on  Waller,  to  be  an  Italian,  but  really  an  Rnglishman  under 
the  piain  name  of  John  Cooper,)  at  the  expense  of  Edward,  Earl  of  Hertford.  lu  January, 


COMUS.  625 

THE  COPY  OF  A  LETTER  WRITTEN  BY  SIR  HENRY  WOOTTON,  TO  THE 
AVTHOA,  UPON  THE  FOLLOWING  POEM. 
6lE,  From  the  Colledge,  thia  13.  of  April,  1638.« 

It  was  a  special  favour,  when  you  lately  bestowed  upon  me  here  the  first  taste  of 
your  acquaintance,  though  no  longer  than  to  make  me  know  that  I  wanted  more  time 
to  value  it,  and  to  enjoy  it  rightly ;  and  in  truth,  if  I  could  then  have  imagined  youi 
farther  stay  in  these  parts,  which  I  understood  afterwards  by  Mr.  H.,f  I  would  have 
been  bold,  in  our  vulgar  phrase,  to  mend  my  draught  (for  you  left  me  with  an  extreme 
thirst)  and  to  have  begged  your  conversation  again,  joyntly  with  your  said  learned 
friend,  at  a  poor  meal  or  two,  that  we  might  have  banded  together  som  good  authors  of 
the  ancient  time ;  among  which,  I  observed  you  to  have  been  familiar. 

Since  your  going,  you  have  charged  me  with  new  obligations,  both  for  a  very  kinde 
letter  from  you  dated  the  sixth  of  this  month,  and  for  a  dainty  peece  of  entertainment 
which  came  therewith ;  wherin  I  should  much  commend  the  tragical  part,?  if  the  lyri- 
cal did  not  ravish  me  with  a  certain  Dorique  delicacy  in  your  songs  and  odes ;  where- 
unto  I  must  plainly  confess  to  have  seen  yet  nothing  parallel  in  our  language :  ipta 
mollitiea,^    But  I  must  not  omit  to  tell  you,  that  I  now  onely  owe  you  thanks  for  inti- 

1625,  he  was  appointed  pistoler,  or  epistoler,  of  the  royal  chapel ;  in  November  following  he 
became  one  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  choir  of  that  chapel ;  and  soon  afterwards,  clerk  of  the 
cheque,  and  one  of  the  court-musicians  to  King  Charles  I. 

Cromwell's  usurpation  put  an  end  to  masks  and  music  :  and  Lawes,  being  dispossessed  of  all 
his  appointments,  by  men  who  despised  and  discouraged  the  elegances  and  ornaments  of  life, 
chiefly  employed  tliat  gloomy  period  in  teaching  a  few  young  ladies  to  sing  and  play  on  the 
lute.  Yet  he  was  still  greatly  respected  :  for  before  the  troubles  began,  his  irreproachable 
life,  ingenuous  deportment,  engaging  manners,  and  liberal  connexions,  had  not  only  established 
his  character,  but  raised  even  the  credit  of  his  profession.  Wood  says,  that  his  most  benefi- 
cent friends,  during  his  suflerings  fffr  the  royal  cause,  in  the  rebellion  and  afterM'ards,  were  the 
ladies  Alice  and  Mary,  the  Earl  of  Bridgewater's  daughters  before  mentioned  ;  but  in  the  yeai 
1660,  he  was  restored  to  his  places  and  practice ;  and  had  the  happiness  to  compose  the  coro- 
nation anthem  for  the  exiled  monarch.  He  died  in  1662,  and  was  buried  in  Westminster  Abbtiy. 
Of  all  the  testimonies  paid  to  his  merit  by  his  contemporaries,  Milton's  commendation  in  the 
thirteenth  Sonnet,  and  in  some  of  the  speeches  of  "  Comus,"  must  be  esteemed  the  moat 
honourable;  and  Milton's  praise  is  likely  to  be  founded  on  truth.  Milton  was  no  specious  or 
occasional  flatterer ;  and  at  the  same  time  was  a  skilful  performer  on  the  organ,  and  a  judge 
of  music ;  and  it  appears  probable,  that  even  throughout  the  rebellion,  he  had  continued  his 
friendship  for  Lawes;  for,  long  after  the  king  ■was  restored,  he  added  the  Sonnet  to  Lawes  in 
the  new  edition  of  his  Poems,  printed  under  his  own  direction,  in  1673.  Nor  has  our  author 
only  complimented  Lawes's  excellences  in  music  ;  for  in  "  Comus,"  having  said  that  Thyrsis 
with  his  "soft  pipe,"  and  " smooth-dittied  songs,"  could  "  still  the  roaring  winds  and  hush 
the  waving  woods,"  he  adds,  v.  88,  "  nor  of  less  faith  :"  and  he  joins  his  worth  with  his  skill; 
Son.  xiii.  V.  5. — Todd. 

e  April  1638.  Milton  had  communicated  to  Sir  Henry  his  design  of  seeing  foreign  countries, 
and  had  sent  him  his  "  Mask."  Ho  set  out  on  his  travels  soon  after  the  receipt  of  this  letter. 
Bee  the  account  of  his  life. — Todd. 

f  Mr.  H.  Mr.  Warton,  in  his  first  edition  of  "  Comus,"  says,  that  Mr.  H.  was  "perhaps 
Milton's  friend,  Samuel  Hartlib,  whom  I  have  seen  mentioned  in  some  of  the  pamphlets  of  this 
period,  as  well  acquainted  with  Sir  Henry  Wootton  :"  but  this  is  omitted  in  the  second  edition. 
Mr.  Warton  perhaps  doubted  his  conjecture  of  the  persoa.  I  venture  to  state,  from  a  copyol 
the  "  Reliquiae  Wottooianse"  m  my  possession,  in  which  a  few  notes  are  written  (probably 
goon  after  the  publication  of  the  book,  3d  edit,  iu  1672),  that' the  person  intended  was  the  "ever 
memorable"  John  Hales.  This  information  will  be  supported  by  the  reader's  lecollecting  Sir 
Henry's  intimacy  with  Mr.  Hales:  of  whom  Sir  Henry  says,  in  one  of  his  letters,  that  he  gave 
to  his  learned  friend  the  title  of  bibliotheca  ambulans,  "  the  walking  library."  See  "  Reliq. 
Wotton,"  3d  edit.  p.  475.— Todd. 

g  The  tragical  part.  Sir  Henry,  nowprovost  of  Eton  college,  was  himself  a  writer  of  English 
odes,  and  with  some  degree  of  elegance :  he  had  also  written  a  tragedy,  while  a  young  student 
at  Queen's-college,  Oxford,  called  "  Tancredo,"  acted  by  his  fellow-students.  See  his 
"  Life,"  by  Walton,  p.  11.  He  was  certainly  a  polite  scholar,  but  on  the  whole  a  mixed  and 
desultory  character :  he  was  now  indulging  his  studious  and  philosophic  propensities  at  leisure. 
Milton,  when  this  letter  was  written,  lived  but  a  few  miles  from  Eton. — T.  Warton. 

h  Ipsa  mollities.    Thus  Fletcher's  "Faithful  Shepherdess"  is  characterized  by  Cartwright, 
"  where  softness  reigns."    Poems,  p.  209,  ed.  1651 .    But  Sir  Henry's  conceptions  did  not  reach 
to  the  higher  poetry  of  "  Comus :"  he  was  rather  struck  with  the  pastoral  mellifluence  of  it»  lyric 
79 


626  COMUS. 

mating  unto  me  (how  modestly  soever)  the  true  artificer.  For  the  work  itdelf  I  had 
viewed  some  good  while  before  with  singular  delight,  having  received  it  from  our  com- 
mon friend  Mr.  R.'  in  the  very  close  of  the  late  R.'s  poems,  printed  at  Oxford,  where- 
unto  it  is  added  (as  I  now  suppose)  that  the  accessory  might  help  out  the  principal, 
according  to  the  art  of  stationers,  and  leave  the  reader  con  la  bocca  dolee. 

Now,  sir,  concerning  your  travels,  wherin  I  may  chalenge  a  little  more  priviledge  of 
discours  with  you;  I  suppose  you  will  not  blanch  Paris  in  your  way;  therefore  I  have 
been  bold  to  trouble  you  with  a  few  lines  to  Mr.  M.  B.,J  whom  you  shall  easily  find 
attending  the  young  Lord  S.,'=  as  his  governour;  and  you  may  surely  receive  from  him 
good  directions  for  the  shaping  of  your  farther  journey  into  Italy,  where  he  did  reside 
by  my  choice  som  time  for  the  king;  after  mine  own  recess  from  Venice. 

I  should  think  that  your  best  line  would  be  thorow  the  whole  length  of  France  to 
Marseilles,  and  thence  by  sea  to  Genoa,  whence  the  passage  into  Tuscany  is  as  diurnal 
as  a  Gravesend  barge :  I  hasten,  as  you  do,  to  Florence,  or  Siena,  the  rather  to  tell 
you  a  short  story  from  the  interest  you  have  given  me  in  your  safety. 

At  Siena  I  was  tabled  in  the  house  of  one  Alberto  Scipioni,  an  old  Roman  courtier  in 
dangerous  times,  having  bin  steward  to  the  Duca  di  Pagliano,  who  with  all  his  family 
were  strangled,  save  this  onely  man  that  escaped  ty  foresight  of  the  tempest :  with  him 
I  had  often  much  chat  of  those  affairs ;  into  which  he  took  pleasure  to  look  back  from 
Ills  native  harbour;  and  at  my  departure  towards  Rome  (which  had  been  the  centre  of 
his  experience)  I  had  wonn  confidence  enough  to  beg  his  advice,  how  I  might  carry 
myself  securely  there,  without  offence  of  others,  or  of  mine  own  conscience.  Signor^  Ar- 
riffo  mio,  sayes  he,  i pensieri  atretti,  et  il  viso  sciolto,  will  go  safely  over  the  whole  world; 
of  which  Delphian  oracle  (for  so  I  have  found  it)  your  judgement  doth  need  no  commen- 
tary ;  and  therefore,  sir,  I  will  commit  you  with  it  to  the  best  of  all  securities,  Gods 
dear  love,  remaining 

Your  Friend  as  much  at  command  as  any  of  longer  date, 

HeNRT  WoOTTON.'n 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Sm, — I  have  expressly  sent  this  my  foot-boy  to  prevent  your  departure  without  som 
acknowledgement  from  me  of  the  receipt  of  your  obliging  Letter,  having  my  self 
through  som  business,  I  know  not  how,  neglected  the  ordinary  conveyance.  In  any 
part  where  I  shall  understand  you  fixed,  I  shall  be  glad,  and  diligent,  to  entertain  you 
with  home  novelties ;  even  for  some  fomentation  of  our  friendship,  too  soon  interrupted 
in  the  cradle." 

measures,  which  he  styles  "  a  certain  Dorique  delicacy  in  the  songs  and  odes,"  than  with  its 
graver  and  more  majestic  tones,  with  the  solemnity  and  variety  of  its  peculiar  vein  of  original 
invention.  Tliis  drama  was  not  to  jje  generally  characterized  by  its  songs  and  odes :  nor  do  I 
know  that  softness  and  sweetness,  although  they  want  neither,  are  particularly  characteristical 
of  those  passages,  which  are  most  commonly  rough  with  strong  and  crowded  images,  and  rich 
in  personification.  However,  the  song  to  Echo,  and  the  initial  strains  of  Comus's  invitation, 
are  much  in  the  style  which  Wootton  describes. — T.  Wakton. 

'  Mr.  R.  I  believe '-Mr.  R."  to  be  John  Rouse,  Bodley's  librarian.  "The  late  R."  is  unques- 
tionably Thomas  Randolph,  the  poet. — T.  Warton. 

J  Mr.  M.  B.  Mr.  Michael  Branthwaite,  as  I  suppose;  of  whom  Sir  Henry  thus  speaks  m  one 
of  his  letters,  "Reliq.  Wotton."  3d  edit.  p.  516. — "  Mr.  Michael  Branthwaite,  heretofore  his 
majestie's  agent  in  Venice,  a  gentleman  of  approved  confidence  and  sincerity." — Todd. 

k  Lord  S.  The  son  of  Lord  Viscount  Scudamore,  then  the  English  ambassador  at  Paris,  by 
whose  notice  Milton  was  honoured,  and  by  whom  he  was  mtroduced  to  Grotms,  then  residing 
at  Paris  also,  as  the  minister  of  Sweden. — Todd. 

'  Signor,  Sec.  Sir  Henry  seems  to  have  been  very  fond  of  recommending  this  advice  to  his 
friends,  who  were  about  to  travel.  See  "  Reliq.  Wotton."  3d  edit.  p.  356,  where  he  relates  to 
another  correspondent  his  intimacy  with  Scipioni,  and  his  maxim,  '•  Gli  pensieri  stretti,  et  il 
ciso  sciolto :  that  is  as  I  used  to  translate  it, '  Your  thoughts  close,  and  your  countenance  loose." 
This  was  that  moral  antidote  which  I  imparted  to  Mr.  B.  and  his  fellow  travelle,rs,  having  a 
particular  interest  in  their  well-doings."  Milton,  however,  neglecting  to  observe  the  maxim 
incurred  great  danger,  by  disputing  against  the  superstition  of  the  church  of  Rome  within  the 
verge  of  the  Vatican.— Todd 

m  Milton  mentions  this  letter  of  Sir  John  Wootton  for  its  elegance,  in  his  "  Defensio  secunds 
populi  Anglicani."— T.  Warton. 

n  In  the  cradle  He  ehould  have  sarJ  "  in  its  cradle."  See  the  beginning  of  the  letter.— 
T.  Warton. 


C0MT7S.  627 


ORIGIN  OF  COMUS. 

In  Fletcher's  "  Faithful  Shepherdess,"  an  Arcadian  comedy  recently  published,  Mil- 
ton found  many  touches  of  pastoral  and  superstitious  imagery,  congenial  with  his  owe 
conceptions :  many  of  these,  yet  with  the  highest  improvements,  he  has  transferred 
into  *  Comus  j'  together  with  the  general  cast  and  colouring  of  the  piece.  He  catehed 
also  from  the  lyric  rhymes  of  Fletcher,  that  Doric  delicacy,  with  which  Sir  Henry 
Wootton  was  so  much  delighted  in  the  songs  of  Milton's  drama.  Fletcher's  comedy 
was  coldly  received  the  first  night  of  its  performance :  but  it  had  ample  revenge  in  thi  - 
conspicuous  and  indisputable  mark  of  Milton's  approbation :  it  was  afterwards  repre- 
sented as  a  mask  at  court,  before  the  king  and  queen  on  Twelfth  Night,  in  1033.  I 
know  not,  indeed,  if  this  was  any  recommendation  to  Milton  ;  who,  in  the  "  Paradise 
Lost,"  speaks  contemptuously  of  these  interludes,  which  had  been  among  the  chief 
diversions  of  an  elegant  and  liberal  monarch,  b.  iv.  767 : — 

court-amourg, 
Mix'd  dance  and  wanton  mask,  or  midnight  ball. 

And  in  his  "  Ready  and  easy  Way  to  establish  a  free  Commonwealth,"  written  in  1660, 
on  the  inconveniences  and  dangers  of  readmitting  kingship,  and  with  a  view  to  coun- 
teract the  noxious  humour  of  returning  to  bondage,  he  says,  "A  king  must  be  adored 
as  a  demi-god,  with  a  dissolute  and  haughty  court  about  him,  of  vast  expense  and 
luxury,  masks  and  revels,  to  the  debauching  our  prime  gentry,  both  male  and  female, 
not  in  their  pastimes  only,"  Ac,  "  Pr.  W."  i.  590.  I  believe  the  whole  compliment  was 
paid  to  the  genius  of  Fletcher :  but  in  the  mean  time  it  should  be  remembered,  that 
Milton  had  not  yet  contracted  an  aversion  to  courts  and  court  amusements ;  and  that  in 
"  L' Allegro,"  masks  are  among  his  pleasures :  nor  could  he  now  disapprove  of  a  species 
of  entertainment,  to  which,  as  a  writer,  he  was  giving  encouragement.  The  royal 
masks  did  not,  however,  like  "  Comus,"  always  abound  with  Platonic  recommendations 
of  the  doctrine  of  chastity. 

The  ingenious  and  accurate  Mr.  Reed  has  pointed  out  a  rude  outline,  from  which 
Milton  seems  partly  to  have  sketched  the  plan  of  the  fable  of  "  Comus."  See  "  Bio- 
graph.  Dramat."  ii.  p.  441.  It  is  an  old  play,  with  this  title,  "  The  old  Wives  Tale,  a 
pleasant  conceited  Comedie,  plaied  by  the  Queenes  Maiesties  players.  Written  by  G. 
P.  [i.  e.  George  Peele.]  Printed  at  London  by  John  Danter,  and  are  to  be  sold  by 
Ralph  Hancocke  and  John  Hardie,  1595."  In  quarto.  This  very  scarce  and  curious 
piece  exhibits,  among  other  parallel  incidents,  two  brothers  wandering  in  quest  of  their 
sister,  whom  an  enchanter  had  imprisoned.  This  magician  had  learned  his  art  from 
his  mother  Meroe,  as  Comus  had  been  instructed  by  his  mother  Circe :  the  brothers  call 
out  on  the  lady's  name,  and  Echo  replies :  the  enchanter  had  given  her  a  potion  which 
suspends  the  powers  of  reason,  and  superinduces  oblivion  of  herself:  the  brothers  after- 
wards meet  with  an  old  man  who  is  also  skilled  in  magic ;  and,  by  listening  to  his 
Boothsayings,  they  recover  their  lost  sister ;  but  not  till  the  enchanter's  wreath  had  been 
torn  from  his  head,  his  sword  wrested  from  his  hand,  a  glass  broken,  and  a  light  extin- 
guished. The  names  of  some  of  the  characters,  as  Sacrapant,  Chorebus,  and  others,  are 
taken  from  the  "  Orlando  Furioso."  The  history  of  Meroe,  a  witch,  may  be  seen  in 
"  The  xi  Bookes  of  the  Golden  Asse,  containing  the  Metamorphosie  of  Lucius  Apuleius, 
interlaced  with  sundrie  pleasant  and  delectable  Tales,  <kc.  Translated  out  of  Latin  into 
English  by  William  Addington,  Lend.  1566."  See  chap.  iii.  "How  Socrates  in  his 
return  from  Macedony  to  Larissa  was  spoyled  and  robbed,  and  how  he  fell  acquainted 


628  COMUS. 

with  one  Meroe  a  witch."  And  chap.  iv.  "  How  Meroe  the  witch  turne-J  divers  persons 
into  miserable  beasts"  Of  ihis  book  there  were  other  editions,  in  15il,  1596,  1600, 
and  1639,  all  in  quarto  and  the  black  letter.  The  translator  was  of  University-college, 
See  also  Apuleius  in  the  original.    A  Meroe  is  mentioned  by  Ausonius,  Epigr.  xix. 

Peele's  play  opens  thus : — Anticke,  Frolicke,  and  Fantasticke,  three  adventurers,  are 
lost  in  a  wood,  in  the  night.     They  agree  to  sin^  the  old  song, 

Three  met  rio  men,  and  three  merrie  men, 
And  three  merrie  men  be  wee ; 
I  in  the  wood,  and  thou  on  the  ground, 
^         And  Jack  sleeps  in  the  tree. 

They  hear  a  dog,  and  fancy  themselves  to  be  near  some  village.  A  cottager  appears, 
with  a  lantern :  on  which  Frolicke  says,  "  I  perceive  the  glimryng  of  a  gloworme,  a 
candle,  or  a  cats-eye,"  Ac.  They  entreat  him  to  show  the  way ;  otherwise,  they  say, 
"wee  are  like  to  wander  among  the  owlets  and  hobgoblins  of  the  forest."  He  invites 
them  to  his  cottage;  and  orders  his  wife  to  "lay  a  crab  in  the  fire,  to  rest  for  lambei- 
wool,"  Ac.     They  sing 

When  as  the  rie  reach  to  the  chin. 

And  chop  cherrie,  chop  cherrie  ripe  within  ; 

Strawberries  swimming  in  the  creame, 

And  schoole-boyes  playing  in  the  streame,  &c. 

At  length,  to  pass  the  time  trimly,  it  is  proposed  that  the  wife  shall  tell  "a  merry 
winters  tale,"  or  "an  old  wiues  winters  tale ;"  of  which  sort  of  stories  she  is  not  without 
a  score.  She  begins : — There  was  a  king,  or  duke,  who  had  a  most  beautiful  daughter, 
and  she  was  stolen  away  by  a  necromancer ;  who,  turning  himself  into  a  dragon,  carried 
her  in  his  mouth  to  his  castle.  The  king  sent  out  all  his  men  to  find  his  daughter;  "at 
last,  all  the  king's  men  went  out  so  long,  that  hir  Two  Brothers  went  to  seeke  hir." 
Immediately  the  two  brothers  enter,  and  speak, 

First  Br.    Vpon  these  chalkie  cliffs  of  Albion, 

We  are  arriued  now  with  tedious  toile,  &c. 
To  seek  our  sister,  &c 

A  soothsayer  enters,  with  whom  they  converse  about  the  lost  lady.  Sooths.  Was  she 
fayre  ?  2d  Br.  The  fayrest  for  white  and  the  purest  for  redde,  as  the  blood  of  the 
deare  or  the  driven  snowe,  Ac.  In  their  search.  Echo  replies  to  their  call :  they  find, 
too  late,  that  their  sister  is  under  the  captivity  of  a  wicked  magician,  and  that  she  had 
fcasted  his  cup  of  oblivion.  In  the  close,  after  the  wreath  is  torn  from  the  magician's 
head,  and  he  is  disarmed  and  killed  by  a  spirit  in  the  shape  and  character  of  a  beautiful 
page  of  fifteen  years  old,  she  still  remains  subject  to  the  magician's  enchantment:  but 
in  a  subsequent  scene  the  spirit  enters,  and  declares,  that  the  sister  cannot  be  delivered 
but  by  a  lady,  who  is  neither  maid,  wife,  nor  widow.  The  spirit  blows  a  magical  horn, 
and  the  lady  appears ;  she  dissolves  the  charm  by  breaking  a  glass,  and  extinguishing 
a  light,  as  I  have  before  recited.  A  curtain  is  withdrawn,  and  the  sister  is  seen  seated 
and  asleep :  she  is  disenchanted  and  restored  to  her  senses,  having  been  spoken  to 
thrice :  she  then  rejoins  her  two  brothers,  with  whom  she  returns  home ;  and  the  boy- 
spirit  vanishes  under  the  earth.  The  magician  ia  here  called  "  inchanter  vile,"  as  in 
"Comus,"  V.  907. 

Thee  is  another  circumstance  in  this  play,  taken  from  the  old  English  "  Apulcius.'^ 
It  is  where  the  old  man  every  night  is  transformed  by  our  magician  into  a  bear,  reco 
rering  in  the  day-time  his  natural  shape. 

Among  the  many  feats  of  magic  in  this  play,  a  bride  newly  married  gains  a  marriage 
portion  by  dipping  a  pitcher  into  a  well :  as  she  dips,  there  is  a  voice : — 

Faire  maiden,  white  and  redde, 
Combe  me  smoothe,  and  stroke  my  head, 
And  thou  shalt  haue  some  cockell  bread ! 
Gently  dippe,  but  not  too  deepe. 
For  feare  thou  make  the  golden  beard  to  weepe  ! 

Faire  maiden,  white  and  redds, 
Combe  me  smootbe,  and  (troke  my  head. 


COMUS.  629 

And  euery  haire  a  sheaue  shall  be, 
And  euery  sheaue  a  golden  tree  ! 

With  this  stage-direction,  "A  head  comes  vp  full  of  gold;  she  combes  it  into  her 
kp." 

I  must  not  omit,  that  Shakspeare  seems  also  to  have  had  an  eye  on  this  play.  It  ie 
tn  the  scene  where  "  The  Haruest-men  enter  with  a  song."  Again,  "Enter  the  haruest- 
nen  singing,  with  women  in  their  handes."  Frolicke  says,  "Who  have  we  here,  our 
amourous  haruest-starres  ?"    They  sing, 

Loe,  here  we  come  a  reaping,  a  reaping, 
To  reap  our  haruest-fruite  ; 
And  thus  wo  passe  the  yeare  so  long, 
And  neuer  be  we  mute. 

Compare  the  mask  in  the  "Tempest,"  a.  iv.  s.  1,  where  Iris  says. 

You  sun-burnt  sicklemen,  of  August  weary, 
Come  hither  from  the  furrow,  and  be  merry  : 
Make  holy-day :  your  rya-straw  hats  put  on, 
And  these  fresh  nymphs  encounter  every  one 
In  country  footing. 

Where  is  this  stage-direction: — "Enter  certain  reapers,  properly  habited:  they  join 
with  the  nymphs  in  a  graceful  dance."  The  "  Tempest"  probably  did  not  appear  before 
the  year  1612. 

That  Milton  had  his  eye  on  this  ancient  drama,  which  might  have  been  the  favourite 
of  his  early  youth,  perhaps  may  be  at  least  affirmed  with  as  much  credibility,  as  that 
he  conceived  the  "Paradise  Lost"  from  seeing  a  mystery  at  Florence,  written  by 
Andreini  a  Florentine  in  1617,  entitled  "Adamo." 

In  the  mean  time,  it  must  be  confessed,  that  Milton's  magician  Comus,  with  his  cup 
and  wand,  is  ultimately  founded, on  the  fable  of  Circe.  The  effects  of  both  characters 
are  much  the  same  :  they  are  both  to  be  opposed  at  first  with  force  and  violence.  Circe 
is  subdued  by  the  virtues  of  the  herb  moly  which  Mercury  gives  to  Ulysses,  and  Comus 
by  the  plant  haemony  which  the  spirit  gives  to  the  two  brothers.  About  the  year  1615, 
a  mask,  called  the  "  Inner  Temple  Masque,"  written  by  William  Browne,  author  of 
"Britannia's  Pastorals,"  which  I  have  frequently  cited,  was  presented  by  the  students 
of  the  Inner  Temple ;  lately  printed  from  a  manuscript  in  the  library  of  Emmanuel 
College :  but  I  have  been  informed,  that  a  few  copies  were  printed  soon  after  the  pre- 
sentation. It  was  formed  on  the  story  of  Circe,  and  perhaps  might  have  suggested 
some  few  hints  to  Milton.  I  will  give  some  proofs  of  parallelism  as  we  go  along.  The 
genius  of  the  best  poets  is  often  determined,  if  not  directed,  by  circumstances  and 
accident.  It  is  natural,  that  even  so  original  a  writer  as  Milton  should  have  been 
biassed  by  the  reigning  poetry  of  the  day,  by  the  composition  most  in  fashion,  and  by 
subjects  recently  brought  forward,  but  soon  giving  way  to  others,  and  almost  as  eooji 
totally  neglected  and  forgotten.— T.  Warton. 


630  COMUS. 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS, 

'*Comus"i8  perhaps  more  familiar  to  the  modern  English  reader  than  any  other 
poems  of  Milton,  except  "L'Allegro"  and  "H  Penseroso  :"  its  poetical  merits  are  gene- 
rally felt  and  acknowledged :  its  visionary  and  picturesque  inventiveness  give  it  a  full 
title  to  a  prime  place  in  our  admiration.  Thyer  and  Warburton  both  remark  that 
the  author  has  here  imitated  Shakspeare's  manner  more  than  in  the  rest  of  his  com- 
positions. 

The  spirits  of  the  air  were  favourite  idols  of  Milton :  he  had  from  early  youth  be- 
come intimately  acquainted  with  all  that  learning,  all  that  superstition,  and  all  that 
popular  belief  had  related  regarding  them ;  and  he  had  added  all  that  his  own  rich  and 
creative  imagination  could  combine  with  it. 

It  seems  that  an  accidental  event,  which  occurred  to  the  family  of  his  patron,  John 
Egerton,  Earl  of  Bridgewater,  then  keeping  his  court  at  Ludlow  Castle,  as  lord  presi- 
dent of  Wales,  gave  birth  to  this  fable.  The  earl's  two  sons  and  daughter,  Lady 
Alice,  were  benighted,  and  lost  their  way  in  Hay  wood-forest ;  and  the  two  brothers,  in 
the  attempt  to  explore  their  path,  left  the  sister  alone,  in  a  track  of  country  rudely 
inhabited  by  sets  of  boors  and  savage  peasants.  On  these  simple  facts  the  poet  raised 
a  superstructure  of  such  fairy  spells  and  poetical  delight,  as  has  never  since  been 
equalled. 

Masks,  as  I  have  already  remarked,  were  then  in  fashion  with  the  court  and  great 
nobility ;  and  when  the  lord  president  entered  upon  the  state  of  his  new  office,  this 
entertainment  was  properly  deemed  a  splendid  mode  of  recommending  himself  to  the 
country  in  the  opening  of  his  high  function.  Milton  was  the  poet  on  whom  Lord 
Bridgewater  would  naturally  call;  the  bard  having  already  produced  the  "Arcades"  for 
the  countess's  mother.  Lady  Derby,  at  Harefield,  in  Middlesex. 

Comus  discovers  the  beautiful  Lady  in  her  forlorn  and  unprotected  state ;  and,  to 
secure  her  as  a  prize  for  his  unprincipled  voluptuousness,  addresses  her  in  the  dis- 
guised charaeter  of  a  peasant,  offering  to  conduct  her  to  his  own  lowly  but  loyal  cottage, 
until  he  hears  of  her  stray  attendants:  meanwhile,  the  brothers,  unable  to  find  their 
way  back  to  their  sister,  become  dreadfully  uneasy  lest  some  harm  should  befall  her : 
nevertheless,  they  comfort  themselves  with  the  protection  which  heaven  affords  to  in- 
nocence ;  but  the  good  Spirit,  with  whom  the  poem  opens,  now  enters,  and  informs 
them  of  the  character  of  Comus,  and  his  wicked  designs  upon  their  sister.  Under  his 
guidance,  they  rush  in  on  Comus  and  his  crew,  who  had  already  carried  off  the  Lady; 
put  them  to  the  rout;  and  release  the  captive,  imprisoned  by  their  spells,  by  the  coun- 
ter-spells of  Sabrina.  She  is  then  carried  back  to  her  father's  court,  received  in  joy 
and  triumph ;  and  here  the  Mask  ends. 

Who  but  Milton,  unless  perhaps  Shakspeare,  could  have  made  this  the  subject  of  a 
thousand  lines, — in  which  not  only  every  verse,  but  literally  every  word,  is  pure  and 
exquisite  poetry?  Never  was  there  such  a  copiousness  of  picturesque  rural  images 
brought  together:  every  epithet  is  racy,  glowing,  beautiful,  and  appropriate.  But  this 
is  not  all :  the  sentiments  are  tender,  or  lofty,  refined,  philosophical,  virtuous,  and  wise. 
The  chaste  and  graceful  eloquence  of  the  Lady  is  enchanting;  the  language  flowing,, 
harmonious,  elegant,  and  almost  ethereal.  As  Cowper  said  of  his  feelings  when  he 
first  perused  Milton,  we,  in  reading  these  dialogues,  "dance  for  joy." 

But  almost  even  more  than  this  part,  the  contrasted  descriptions  given  by  the  good 
Spirit  and  Comus,  of  their  respective  offices  and  occupations,  by  carrying  us  into  a 
visionary  world,  have  a  surprising  sort  of  poetical  magic. 

This  was  the  undoubted  forerunner  of  that  sort  of  spiritual  invention,  which  more 
than  thirty  years  afterwards  produced  "  Paradise  Lost"  and  "  Paradise  Regained ;"  but 
with  this  characteristic  and  essential  difference :  that  "  Comus"  was  written  in  youth, 
in  joy  and  hope,  and  buoyancy,  and  playfulness;  and  those  majestic  and  sublime 
epics,  in  the  shadowed  experience  of  age,  in  sorrow  and  disappointment, — 
With  darkness  and  with  dangers  eompass'd  lound 


COMUS.  631 

Tho  latter  therefore  are  bolder,  deeper,  grander,  more  heavenward,  and  more  instiuct^ 
ive ;  the  smile-loving  taste  of  blooming  youth  may,  and  will,  for  these  reasons,  relish 
"Comus"  most. 

"Comus"  is  almost  all  description;  a  large  portion  of  the  epics  is  argumentative 
grandeur;  the  sentiments  of  the  Mask  have  a  Platonic  fancifulness ;  those  of  the  epics 
have  an  awful,  religious,  and  scriptural  solemnity ;  the  rebellion  of  angels,  the  fall  of 
man,  and  the  wily  temptations  of  Satan  in  the  wilderness,  fill  us  with  grave  and  sor- 
rowful imaginations ;  but  "  Comus"  is  all  pleasure ;  and  the  cool  shadows  of  the  leafy 
woods,  the  dewy  morning,  and  the  fragrant  evening,  and  all  the  laughing  ficenery  of 
rural  nature, — the  murmurs  of  the  streams,  and  the  enchanting  songs  of  Echo, — the 
abodes  of  fairies,  and  sylvan  deities, — convey  nothing  but  cheerfulness  and  joy  to  the 
eyes  or  tho  heart.  In  the  epics  we  enter  into  the  realms  of  trial  and  suffering ;  there  all 
is  mightiness, — but  mainly  overshadowed  by  the  darkness  of  crime,  and  regrets  at  the 
forfeiture  of  a  state  of  heavenly  and  inexpressible  enjoyment  When  life  grows  sober 
from  experience,  and  misfortunes,  and  wrongs,  we  take  pleasure  in  these  representa- 
tions, because  they  are  more  congenial  to  the  gloom  of  our  own  bosoms:  we  require 
stronger  and  deeper  excitements ;  and  we  become  more  intellectual,  and  less  fascinated 
by  external  beauty :  we  are  no  longer  contented  with  mere  description,  but  seek  what 
will  satisfy  the  reason,  the  soul,  and  the  conscience :  we  examine  the  depths  of  learn- 
ing, and  the  authorities  which  cannot  deceive.  But  "  Comus"  glitters  like  a  bright 
landscape  under  the  glowing  beams  of  the  morning  sun,  when  they  first  disperse  the 
vapours  of  night:  the  scenery  is  such  as  youthful  bards  dream  in  their  slumbers  on  the 
banks  of  some  haunted  river :  everything  of  pastoral  imagery  is  brought  together  with 
a  profusion,  a  freshness,  a  distinctness,  a  picturesque  radiance,  which  enchants  like 
magic :  every  epithet  is  chosen  with  the  most  inimitable  felicity,  and  is  a  picture  in 
itself.  Perhaps  every  word  may  be  found  in  Shakspeare,  Ceaumont  and  Fletcher, 
Spenser,  Jonson,  Drayton,  or  ©ther  predecessors ;  but  the  array  of  all  these  words  is 
nowhere  else  to  be  found  in  such  close  and  happy  combination.  In  all  other  poets  these 
descriptions  are  patches; — there  is  no  continued  web.  Thomson  is  beautiful  in  rural 
description,  but  he  has  not  the  distinctness  and  fairyism  of  Milton.  Add  to  this  the 
magic  inventiveness  of  the  spiritual  beings,  by  which  all  this  landscape  is  inhabited  and 
animated.     The  mind  is  thus  kept  in  a  sort  of  delicious  dream. 

This  Mask  has  every  quality  of  genuine  poetry.  Here  is  a  beautiful  fable  of  pure 
invention:  here  is  character,  sentiment,  and  rich  and  harmonious  language.  The 
author  carries  us  out  of  the  world  of  mere  matter,  and  places  us  in  an  Elysium.  Shak- 
speare shows  an  equal  imagination  in  the  "  Tempest ;"  but  he  has  always  coarseness 
Intermixed :  I  am  not  sure  that  he  ever  continues  two  pages  together  of  pure  poetry ; 
he  sullies  it  by  descending  to  coUoquialities. 

Milton  is  never  guilty  of  the  wanton  and  eccentric  sports  of  imagination :  he  deals  in 
■what  is  consistent  with  our  belief,  and  the  rules  of  just  taste :  he  never  is  guilty  of 
extravagance  or  whim.  Minor  poets  resort  to  this  for  the  purpose  of  raising  a  false 
surprise.     It  is  easy  to  invent  where  no  regard  is  had  to  truth  or  probability. 

The  songs  of  this  poem  are  of  a  singular  felicity :  they  are  unbroken  streams  of  exqui- 
site imagery,  either  imaginative  or  descriptive,  with  a  dance  of  numbers,  which  sounds 
like  aerial  music :  for  instance,  the  Lady's  song  to  Echo : — 

Sweet  Echo,  sweetest  nymph,  that  livest  unseen 
Within  thy  aery  shell, 
By  slo^v  Meander's  margent  green ; 
And  in  the  violet-embroider'd  vale, 

Where  the  love-lorn  nightingale 
Nightly  to  thee  her  sad  song  mourneth  well  i 

The  more  we  study  this  poem,  the  more  pleasure  we  shall  find  in  it:  it  illuminates 
and  refines  our  fancy;  and  enables  us  to  discover  in  rural  scenery  new  delights,  and 
distinguish  the  features  of  each  object  with  a  clearness  which  our  own  sight  would  not 
have  given  us :  it  presents  to  us  those  associations  which  improve  our  intellect,  and 
spiritualize  the  material  joys  of  our  senses.  The  efifect  of  poetical  language  Is  to  con. 
vey  a  sort  of  internal  lustre,  which  puts  the  mind  in  a  blaze :  it  is  like  bringing  a  bright 
Jimp  to  a  dark  chamber. 


632  COMUS. 

But  let  it  not  be  understood  that  I  put  this  Mask  upon  a  par  with  the  epics,  or  the 
tragedy  :  these  are  of  a  still  sublimer  tone :  their  ingredients  are  still  more  extensive 
and  more  gigantic.  The  garden  of  Eden  is  vastly  richer  than  woods  and  forests 
inhabited  by  dryads,  wood-nymphs,  and  shepherds,  and  other  sylvan  crews,  spiritual  or 
embodied.  Contemplate  the  intensity  of  power,  which  could  delineate  the  creation  of 
the  world,  the  flight  of  Satan  through  Chaos,  or  our  Saviour  resisting  Satan  in  the. wil- 
derness! To  arrive  at  the  highest  rank  of  this  divine  art,  requires  a  union  of  all  its 
highest  essences:  there  must  be  a  creation,  not  only  of  beauty,  but  of  majesty  and  pro- 
found sensibility,  and  great  intellect  and  moral  wisdom,  and  grace  and  grandeur  of 
style,  all  blended.  This  the  epics,  and  even  the  tragedy,  have  reached :  but  the  Mask 
does  not  contain,  nor  did  it  require  to  admit  this  stupendous  combination.  It  was  in- 
tended as  a  sport  of  mental  amusement  and  refined  cheerfulness :  no  tragedy,  nor  tale 
coloured  with  the  darker  hues  of  man's  contemplations,  was  designed.  In  the  gay 
visions  of  youthful  hope  the  stronger  colours  and  forms  of  sublimity  and  pathos  do  not 
come  forth  :  the  court  at  Ludlow  was  met,  not  to  weep,  nor  be  awfully  moved ; — but  to 
smile ;  they  cried,  with  "  L'Allegro," — 

Haste  thee,  nymph,  and  bnng  with  thee 
Jest,  and  youthful  jollity — 
Quips,  and  cranks,  and  wanton  wiles, 
Nods,  and  becks,  and  wreathed  smiles, 
Such  as  hang'on  Hebe's  cheek. 
And  love  to  live  in  dimple  sleek : — 
Sport,  that  wrinkled  Care  derides : 
And  Laughter,  holding  both  her  sides  ! 

The  poet  had  to  accommodate  himself  to  an  audience  of  this  character;  yet  so  as  not 
to  shrink  from  the  display  of  some  of  his  own  high  gifts :  and,  0,  with  what  inimitable 
brilliance  and  force  he  has  performed  his  task !  It  is  true  that  there  is  a  mixture  of 
grave  philosophy  in  this  poem: — but  how  calm  it  is  ! — how  dressed  with  flowers! — how 
covered  with  graceful  and  brilliant  imagery!  Other  feelings  of  a  more  sombre  kind 
are  awakened  by  the  descriptions  of  the  scenery  of  nature  in  the  greater  poems,  except 
during  the  period  before  the  serpent's  entry  into  Eden. 

There  are  hours  and  seasons,  when,  in  the  midst  of  the  blackness  of  our  woes,  we 
can  dally  a  little  while  with  our  melancholy,  our  regrets,  and  our  anxieties ; — when  we 
are  willing  to  delude  ourselves  by  an  escape  into  Elysian  gardens; — to  look  upon 
nothing  but  the  joys  of  ths  creation ;  and  to  see  the  scenery  of  forests,  mountains,  val- 
leys, meadows,  and  rivers,  in  all  their  unshadowed  delightfulness ;  where  echo  repeats 
no  sounds  but  those  of  joyful  music;  and  gay  and  untainted  beauty  walks  the  woods; 
and  cheerfulness  haunts  the  mountains  and  the  glades;  and  labour  lives  in  the  fresh 
air  in  competence  and  content :  delusions,  indeed,  not  a  little  excessive,  but  innocent 
and  soothing  delusions.  Fallen  man  cannot  so  enjoy  this  breathing  globe  of  inexhausti- 
ble riches  and  splendour :  but  poets  may  so  present  it  to  him :  and  the  charms  they 
thus  supply  to  our  fearful  and  dangerous  existence,  are  medicines  and  gifts  which 
deserve  our  deep  gratitude ;  and  will  not  let  the  memory  of  the  givers  be  forgotten  by 
posterity.  What  gift  of  this  kind  has  our  nation  had  so  full  of  charms  and  excellence 
%a  "  Comus  ?" — And  here  I  close,  when  I  recollect  how  many  panegyrists  of  greater 
weight  than  my  voice,  this  perfect  composition  has  already  had. 


THE    PERSONS. 

The  Attendant  Spirit,  afterwards  First  Brother. 

in  the  habit  o/Thte8I8.  Second  Brother. 

Comus,  with  his  Crew.  Sabbima,  the  Nymph. 

Ths  Lady. 

The  chief  Persons,  who  presented,  were 
The  Lord  Bracklbt.  |  Mr.  Thomas  Egertoit,  his  Brother. 

The  Ladt  Alice  Egerton. 


COMUS.  633 


The  first  Scene  discovert  a  wild  Wood, 


The  Attendant  Spirit  descends  or  enters. 

Before  the  starry  threshold  of  Jove's  court 
My  mansion  is,  where  those  immortal  shapes 
Of  bright  aerial  spirits  live  insphered* 
In  regions  mild*  of  calm  and  serene  air, 
Above  the  smoke  and  stir  of  this  dim  spot, 
Which  men  call  earth ;  and,  with  low-thoughted  care 
Confined,  and  pester'd  in  this  pinfold  <=  here, 
Strive  to  keep  up  a  frail  and  feverish  being, 
Unmindful  of  the  crown  that  virtue  gives, 
After  this  mortal  change,  to  her  true  servants, 
Amongst  the  enthroned  gods*  on  sainted  seats. 
Yet  some  there  be,  that  by  due  steps  aspire 
To  lay  their  just  hands  on  that  golden  key, 
That  opes  the  palace  of  Eternity :« 
To  such  my  errand  is ;  and,  but  for  such, 
I  would  not  soil  *"  these  pure  ambrosial  weeds 
With  the  rank  vapours  of  this  sin-worn  mould. 
But  to  my  task.     Neptune,  besides  the  sway 

»  0/  bright  aerial  spirits  live  insphered. 
In  "  H  Penseroso,"  the  spirit  of  Plato  was  to  be  unsphered,  v.  88,  that  is,  to  be  called 
down  from  the  sphere  to  which  it  had  been  allotted,  where  it  had  teen  insphered:  thus 
also  light  is  "  sphered  in  a  radiant  cloud,"  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  vii.  247. — T.  Warton. 

•>  In  regions  mild,  Ac. 
Alluding  probably  to  Homer's  happy  seat  of  the  gods,  "  Odyss,"  vi.  42. — Newtoh. 

c  Pinfold. 
"  Pinfold"  is  now  provincial,  and  signifies  sometimes  a  sheepfold,  but  most  commonly 
a  pound. — T.  Warton. 

d  Amongst  the  enthroned  gods. 
We  may  read  with  Fenton,  "  the  enthroned ;"  or  rather 

Amongst  the  gods  enthroned  on  sainted  seats. 

But  Shakspeare  seems  to  ascertain  the  old  collocation,  "  Antony  and  Cleopatra,"  a.  1. 
B.  3  :— 

Though  you  in  swearing  shake  the  throned  gods. 

Milton,  however,  when  speaking  of  the  inhabitants  of  heaven,  exclusively  of  any  aUa« 
Bion  to  the  class  of  angels  styled  throni,  seems  to  have  annexed  an  idea  of  a  dignity 
peculiar,  and  his  own,  to  the  word  "  enthroned."  See  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  v.  536.— 
T.  Warton. 

e  That  opes  the  palace  of  Eternity. 
So  Pope,  with  a  little  alteration,  in  one  of  his  Satires,  speaking  of  virtue. 

Her  priestess  Muse  forbids  the  good  to  die, 
And  opes  the  temple  of  eternity. — ^Newtow. 

f  /  would  not  soil,  Ac. 
But,  in  the  "  Paradise  Lost,"  an  angel  eats  with  Adam,  b.  v.  433 :  this,  however,  was 
before  the  fall  of  our  first  parent :  and  as  the  angel  Gabriel  condescended  to  feast  with 
Adam,  while  yet  unpolluted,  and  in  his  primeval  state  of  innocence  ;  so  our  guardian 
spirit  would  not  have  soiled  the  purity  of  his  ambrosial  robes  with  the  noisome  exha- 
lations of  this  sin-corrupted  earth,  hut  to  assist  those  distinguished  mortals,  who,  by  a 
due  progress  in  virtue,  aspire  to  .'  each  the  golden  key,  which  opnns  the  palace  of 
Eternity. — T.  Warton. 
80 


634  COMUS. 

Of  every  salt  flood  *  and  each  ebbing  stream, 

Took  in  by  lot  'twixt  high  and  nether  Jove'' 

Imperial  rule  of  all  the  sea-girt  isles, 

That,  like  to  rich  and  various  gems,  inlay 

The  unadorned  bosom  of  the  deep,' 

Which  he,  to  grace  his  tributary  gods,^ 

By  course  commits  to  several  government, 

And  gives  them  leave  to  wear  their  sapphire  crowns, 

And  wield  their  little  tridents  :  but  this  isle, 

The  greatest  and  the  best  of  all  the  main. 

He  quarters"  to  his  blue-hair' d  deities j 

And  all  this  tract  that  fronts  the  falling  sun 

A  noble  peer  of  mickle  trust  and  power 

Has  in  his  charge,  with  temper'd  awe  to  guide 

An  old  and  haughty  nation,  proud  in  arms :  * 

Where  his  fair  offspring,"  nursed  in  pi-incely  lore, 

Are  coming  to  attend  their  father's  state, 

And  new-entrusted  sceptre  :  but  their  way 

Lies  through  the  perplex'd  paths  of  this  drear  wood, 

The  nodding  horroUr  of  whose  shady  brows" 

Threats  the  forlorn  and  wandering  passenger ; 

And  here  their  tender  age  might  suffer  peril. 

But  that  by  quick  command  from  sovran  Jove 

I  was  despatch*  d  for  their  defence  and  guard : 

S  Of  every  salt  flood. 

As  in  Lord  Surrey's  "Songs  and  Sonnets,"  <fcc.  edit.  158T: — 

And  in  grene  wanes  when  the  salt  floode 
Doth  ryse  by  rage  of  wynde. — Todd. 

h  'Twixt  high  and  nether  Jove. 
So,  in  Sylvester's  "Du  Bart."  1621,  p.  1003  :— 

Both  upper  Jove's  and  nether's  diverse  thrones. — Dcnbtbb. 

'  That,  like  to  rich  and  various  gems,  inlay 

The  unadorn'd  bosom  of  the  deep. 

The  thought,  as  has  been  observed, is  first  in  Shakspeare,  of  England,  "Richard  II." 

a.  ii.  B.  1.     "  This  precious  stone  set  in  the  silver  sea."     But  Milton  has  heightened  the 

comparison,  omitting  Shakspeare's  petty  conceit  of  the  silver  sea,  the  conception  of  a 

jeweller,  and  substituting  another  and  a  more  striking  piece  of  imagery. — T.  Wartoh. 

J  Tributary  gods. 
Hence  perhaps  Pope,  in  a  similar  vein  of  allegory,  took  his  "  tributary  urns,"  "Wind- 
sor Forest,"  v.  436. — T.  AVarton. 

k  He  quarters. 
That  is,  Neptune ;  with  which  name  ho  honours  the  king,  as  sovereign  of  the  four 
seas;  for  from  the  British  Neptune  only  this  noble  peer  derives  his  authority. — War- 

BDBTON. 

1  With  temper'd  aice  to  guide 
An  old  and  haughty  nati/m,  proud  in  arms. 
That  is,  the  Cambro-Britons,  who  were  to  l.e  governed  by  respect  mixed  with  awe. 
— T.  Warton. 

rr-  Where  his  fair  offspring,  &c. 
In  "Arcades,"  v.  27,  an  allusion  is  made  to  the  honourable  birth  of  the  maskers. 
Probably  an  allusion  might  have  been  here  intended,  as  well  to  the  personal  beauty,  as 
to  the  princely  descent  of  the  young  actors  from  Henry  VII. — Todd, 

■"  The  nodding  horrour  of  whose  shady  brows,  Ac. 
Compare  Tasso's  enchanted  forest,  "  Gier.  Lib."  c.  xiii.  st.  2 ;  and  Petrarch's  Sonnet^ 
composed  as  he  passed  through  the  forest  of  Ardennes,  in  his  way  to  Avignon.— Todd. 


COMUS.  635 

And  listen  why ; "  for  I  will  tell  you  now 
What  never  yet  was  heard  in  tale  or  song,' 
From  old  or  modern  bard,  in  hall  or  bower.' 

Bacchus,  that  first  from  out  the  purple  grape  ' 
Crush'd  the  sweet  poison  of  misused  wine, 
After  the  Tuscan  mariners  transform'd,* 
Coasting  the  Tyrrhene  shore,  as  the  winds  listed,* 
On  Circe's  island  fell :  (who  knows  not  Circe, 
The  daughter  of  the  Sun,"  whose  charmed  cup 
Whoever  tasted,  lost  his  upright  shape, 
And  downward  fell  into  a  grovelling  swine  ? '') 
This  nymph,  that  gazed  upon  his  clustering  locks  " 
With  ivy  berries  wreathed,  and  his  blithe  youth, 
Had  by  him,  ere  he  parted  thence,  a  son 
Much  like  his  father,  but  his  mother  more, 
Whom  therefore  she  brought  up,  and  Comus  named.* 

o  And  listen  why,  Ac. 
Horace,  "  Od.'"  m.  i.  2  :— 

Favete  Unguis :  carmina  non  prius 

Audita — 

Virginibus  puerisque  canto. — Ricrabdson. 

What  never  yet  was  heard  in  tale  or  song. 
The  poet  insinuates  that  the  story  or  fable  of  his  Mask  was  new  and  unborrowed, 
although  distantly  founded  on  ancient  poetical  history.     The  allusion  is  to  the  ancient 
mode  of  entertaining  a  splendid  assembly,  by  singing  or  reciting  tales. — T.  Wartos. 

q  In  hall  or  hotoer. 
That  is,  literally,  in  hall  or  chamber.    The  two  words  are  often  thus  joined  in  the  old 
metrical  romances. — T.  AVarton. 

f  Bacchus,  that  first  from  out  the  purple  grape,  Ac. 
Though  Milton  builds  his  fable  on  classic  my  thology,  yet  his  materials  of  magic  have 
more  the  air  of  enchantments  in  the  Gothic  romances. — Warburton. 

•  After  the  Tuscan  mariners  transfomi'd. 
This  story  is  alluded  to  in  Homer's  fine  "  Hymn  to  Bacchus ;"  the  punishments  he 
inflicted  on  the  Tyrrhene  pirates,  by  transforming  them  into  various  animals,  are  the 
subjects  of  that  beautiful  frieze  on  the  lantern  of  Demosthenes,  so  accurately  and  ele- 
gantly described  by  Mr.  Stuart,  in  his  "  Antiquities  of  Athens,"  vol.  i.  p.  33. — Jos. 

WARTOIf. 

•  Winds  listed. 
So,  in  St  John,  iii.  8.    "  The  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth."— T.  Wabton. 

n  TTie  daughter  of  the  Sun,  Ac. 
Mr.  Bowie  observes  that  Milton  here  undoubtedly  alluded  to  Boethius,  1.  iv.    Bat 
see  Virgil,  ".^n."  vii.  11,  17.    Alcina  has  an  enchanted  cup  in  Ariosto,  c.  x.  45. — T. 
"WarTon. 

»  And  dotonward  fell  into  a  grovelling  swine. 
Hero  Milton  might  have  been  influenced  by  G.  Fletcher's  description  of  the  bcwer  of 
vain  delight,  to  which  our  Lord  is  conducted  by  Satan.    See  "  Christ's  Victorie,"  st  49. 
— Hkadlet. 

"  This  nymph,  that  gazed  upon  his  clustering  locks. 
This  image  of  hair  hanging  in  clusters,  or  curls,  like  a  bunch  of  grapes, Milton  after- 
wards adopted  in  the  "  Par.  Lost,"  b.  iv.  303.     Compare  also  "  Sams.  Agon."  v.  669.^ 
T.  Warton. 

*  And  Comus  named. 
Dr.  Newton  observes,  that  Comus  is  a  deity  of  Milton's  own  making :  but  it  shoald 
bo  remembered,  that  Comus  is  distinctly  and  most  sublimely  personified  in  the  "Aga- 
memnon" of  iEschylus,  v.  1195,  where,  says  Cassandra,  enumerating  in  her  vaticinal 
ravings  the  horrors  that  haunted  her  house,  "  That  horrid  band,  who  sing  of  evil  thingSj 
will  never  forsake  this  house.     Behold,  Comus,  the  drinker  of  human  blood,  and  filed 


636  COMUS. 

Who,  ripe  and  frolick  of  his  full-grown  age, 

Roving  the  Celtick  and  Iberian  fields," 

At  last  betakes  him  to  this  ominous  wood  j  ■ 

And,  in  thick  shelter  of  black  shades  imbower'd, 

Excels  his  mother  at  her  mighty  art, 

Offering  to  every  weary  traveller 

His  orient  liquor  in  a  crystal  glass, 

To  quench  the  drouth  of  Phoebus  ;  which  as  they  taste, 

(For  most  do  taste  through  fond  intemperate  thirst ») 

Soon  as  the  potion  works,  their  human  countenance, 

The  express  resemblance  of  the  gods,  is  changed 

Into  some  brutish  form  *•  of  wolf,  or  bear 

Or  ounce,  or  tiger,  hog,  or  bearded  goat. 

All  other  parts  remaining  as  they  were  j 

And  they,  so  perfect  is  their  misery, 

Not  once  perceive  their  foul  disfigurement," 

with  new  rage,  still  remains  within  the  house,  heing  sent  forward  in  an  unlucky  hour 
by  the  Furies  his  kindred,  who  chant  a  hymn  recording  the  original  crime  of  this  fated 
family,"  Ac. 

Peck  supposes  Milton's  Comus  to  be  Chemos,  "the  obscene  dread  of  Moab's  sons," 
"  Par.  Lost,"  b.  i.  406 :  but,  with  a  sufficient  propriety  of  allegory,  he  is  professedly 
made  the  son  of  Bacchus  and  of  Homer's  sorceress  Circe.  Besides,  our  author,  in  hia 
early  poetry,  and  he  was  only  twenty-six  years  old,  is  generally  more  classical  and  less 
Rcriptural  than  in  pieces  written  after  he  had  been  deeply  tinctured  with 'the  Bible.  It 
must  not,  in  the  mean  time,  here  be  omitted,  that  Comus,  the  god  of  cheer,  had  been 
before  a  dramatic  personage  in  one  of  Jonson's  Masks  before  the  court,  1619.  An 
immense  cup  is  carried  before  him,  and  he  is  crowned  with  roses  and  other  flowers,  Ac. 
vol.  vi.  29.  His  attendants  carry  javelins  wreathed  with  ivy :  he  enters,  riding  in 
triumph  from  a  grove  of  ivy,  to  the  wild  music  of  flutes,  tabors,  and  cymbals.  At 
length,  the  grove  of  ivy  is  destroyed,  p.  35. 

And  the  voluptuous  Comus,  God  of  cheer, 
Beat  from  his  grove,  and  that  defaced,  &c. 

See  also  Jonson's  "  Forest,"  b.  i.  3 : — 

Comus  puts  in  for  new  delights,  &c. — T.  Waeton. 
Mr.  Hole,  in  his  "  Eemarks  on  the  Arabian  Nights'  Entertainments,"  observes  that 
Mr.  Warton's  quotation  from  the  "  Agamemnon"  of  jSischylus  does  not  agree  with  the 
character  of  Milton's  Comus;  and  that  the  Comus  of  Ben  Jonson  is  not  the  prototype 
of  Milton's,  as  in  Jonson's  mask  he  is  represented,  not  as  a  gay  seducing  voluptuary, 
but  merely  as  the  god  of  good  cheer,  Epicuri  parens.  Yet  Jonson's  mask  perhaps 
afibrded  some  hints  to  Milton.  Comus  had  also  appeared  in  English  Literature,  as  a 
mere  belly-god,  before  Jonson's  introduction  of  him.  See  Decker's  "Gvls  Horne- 
booke,"  bl.  1.  1609,  p.  4.— Todd. 

r  The  Celtick  and  Iberian  fields. 
France  and  Spain. — Thter. 

«  Ominous  wood, 
"  Ominous,"  is  dangerous,  inauspicious,  full  of  portents,  prodigies,  wonders,  monstrous 
appearances,  misfortunes ;  synonymous  words  for  omens.    See  "  Par.  Reg."  b.  iv.  481 : — 
"  This  ominous  night,"  Ac. — T.  Warton. 

»  For  most  do  taste  through  fond  intemperate  thirst. 
Thus  Ulysses,  taking  the  charmed  cup  from  Circe,  Ovid,  "  Met."  xiv.  276  :— 
Accipimus  sacra  data  pocula  dextra, 
QusB  simul  arenti  sitientes  hausimus  ore.— T.  Wabton 

••  Into  some  brutish /orm. 
Bo  Harrington,  of  Aloina's  enchantments,  "  Orl.  Fur."  b.  vi.  st  52. — Todd. 

c  And  they,  so  •perfect  is  their  misery, 
Not  onee  perceive  their  foul  disfigurement. 
Compare  Spenser,  "Faer.  Qu."  ii.  i.  64,  of  Sir  Mordaunt,  where  his  la4y  relates  to 


COMUS.  637 

But  boast  themselves  *  more  comely  than  before  j 
And  all  their  friends  and  native  home  forget, 
To  roll  with  pleasure  in  a  sensual  stye.* 
Therefore,  when  any,  favour' d  of  high  Jove, 
Chances  to  pass  through  this  adventurous  glade,' 
Swift  as  the  sparkle  of  a  glancing  star  s 
I  shoot  from  heaven,  to  give  him  safe  convoy. 
As  now  I  do  :  but  first  I  must  put  off 
These  my  sky-robes  spun  out  of  Iris'  woof,** 
And  take  the  weeds  and  likeness  of  a  swaia' 

Sir  Quyon  his  wretched  captivity  in  the  bower  of  Bliss,  under  the  enchantress  Acrasia, 
whose  "  charmed  cup,"  st.  55,  finally  destroys  him ;  and  by  whom,  says  the  lady,  he  had 
before  been 

In  chaincs  of  lust  and  lewde  desires  ybound, 

And  so  transformed  from  his  former  skill. 

That  me  he  knew  not,  neither  his  owne  ill.— Todd. 

<i  But  boast  themselves,  &c. 

He  certainly  alludes  to  that  fine  satire,  in  a  dialogue  of  Plutarch,  where  some  of 
Ulysses's  companions,  disgusted  with  the  vices  and  vanities  of  human  life,  refuse  to  be 
restored  by  Circe  into  the  shape  of  men. — Jos.  Warton. 

Or,  perhaps,  to  J.  Baptista  Gelli's  Italian  Dialogues,  called  "  Circe,"  formed  on  Plu- 
tarch's plan. — T.  Warton. 

Dr.  Newton  observes,  that  there  is  a  remarkable  difi'erence  in  the  transformations 
wrought  by  Circe,  and  those  by  her  son  Comus :  in  Homer,  the  persons  are  entirely 
changed,  their  mind  alone  remaining  as  it  was  before,  "  Odyss."  x.  239 :  but  here,  only 
their  head  or  countenance  is  changed,  and  for  a  very  good  reason ;  because  they  were 
to  appear  upon  the  stage,  which  they  might  do  in  masks :  in  Homer  too,  they  are  sorry 
for  the  exchange,  v.  241 ;  but  here,  the  allegory  is  finely  improved,  and  they  have  no 
notion  of  their  disfigurement.  This  improvement  upon  Homer  might  still  be  copied 
from  Homer,  who  ascribes  much  the  same  effect  to  the  herb  Lotos,  "  Odyss."  ix.  94, 
which  whoever  tasted,  "  forgot  his  friends  and  native  home."  After  all,  Milton  perhaps 
remembered  Plato,  where  he  alludes  to  the  intoxicating  power  of  the  herb,  and  to  the 
wretched  situation  of  the  Lotophagi,  in  that  striking  description  of  profligate  youths, 
who,  immersed  in  pleasure,  not  only  refuse  to  hear  the  advice  of  friends,  "but  boast 
themselves  more  comely  than  before."     De  Repub.  lib.  viii. — Todd. 

e  To  roll  with  pleasure  in  a  sensual  stye. 
Milton  applies  the  same  fable,  in  the  same  language,  to  Tiberius,  "  Par.  Reg."  b.  iv.  100. 

Expel  this  monster  from  his  throne, 

Now  made  a  styo. — T.  Warton. 

f  There/ore,  when  any,  favour'd  of  high  Jove, 
Chances  to  pass  through  this  adventurous  glade. 
The  Spirit  in  "  Comus"  is  the  Satyr  in  Fletcher's  "  Faithful  Shepherdess."    He  is  sent 
by  Pan  to  guide  shepherds -passing  through  a  forest  by  moonlight,  and  to  protect  inno- 
cence in  distress,  a.  iii.  s.  1. — T.  Warton. 

a  Swift  as  the  sparkle  of  a  glancing  star. 
There  are  few  finer  comparisons  that  lie  in  so  small  a  compass.     Milton  has  repeated 
the  thought  in  "  Par.  Lost,"  b.  iv.  555. 

Thither  came  Uriel,  gliding  through  the  even 
On  a  sunbeam,  swift  as  a  shooting  star 
In  autumn  thwarts  the  night,  when  vapours  fired 
Impress  the  air,  &c. 

Compare  "  Par.  Reg."  b.  iv.  619.— T.  Warton. 

l>  Spun  out  of  Iris'  woof. 
So  our  author  of  the  archangel's  military  robe,  "  Par.  Lost,"  b.  xi.  244.     "  Iris  had 
dipp'd  the  woof."     Milton  has  frequent  allusions  to  the  colours  of  the  rainbow.    Truth 
and  Justice  are  not  only  orbed  in  a  rainbow,  but  are  apparelled  in  its  colours,  "  Ode  on 
Nativ."  fit  XV. — T.  Warton. 

i  And  take  the  weeds  and  likeness  of  a  swain,  Ac. 
Henry  Lawes,  the  musician,  who  acted  the  part  of  the  Spirit. — ToDD. 


638  COMUS. 

That  to  the  service  of  this  house  belongs, 
Who  with  his  soft  pipe,  and  smooth-dittied  song, 
Well  knows  to  still  the  wild  winds  when  they  roar, 
And  hush  the  waving  woods  ;J  nor  of  less  faith, 
And  in  this  office  of  his  mountain  watch 
Likeliest,  and  nearest  to  the  present  aid 
Of  this  occasion.     But  I  hear  the  tread 
Of  hateful  steps;  I  must  be  viewless  now." 

[Comus  enters  with  a  charming  rod  in  one  hand,  his  glass  in  the  other;  with  him 
a  rout  of  monsters,  headed  like  sundry  sorts  of  wild  beasts,  but  otherwise  like 
men  and  women,  their  apparel  glistening :  they  come  in  making  a  riotous  and 
unruly  noise,  with  torches  in  their  hands.] 

Com.  The  star,  that  bids  the  shepherd  fold,' 
Now  the  top  of  heaven  doth  hold ; 
And  the  gilded  car  of  day 
His  glowing  axle  doth  allay 
In  the  steep  Atlantick  stream ; 
And  the  slope  sun  his  upward  beam 
Shoots  against  the  dusky  pole, 
Pacing  toward  the  other  goal 
Of  his  chamber  in  the  East." 
Meanwhile  welcome  joy,  and  feast, 
Midnight  shout,  and  revelry. 
Tipsy  dance,  and  jollity. 
Braid  your  locks  with  rosy  twine. 
Dropping  odours,  dropping  wine. 

J  Well  knows  to  still  the  wild  winds  xohen  they  roar, 
And  hush  the  leaving  woods. 
Lawes  himself,  no  bad  poet,  in  "A  Pastoral  Elegie  to  the  memorie  of  his  brother 
William," applies  the  same  compliment  to  his  brother's  musical  skill: — 
Weep,  ghepherd  swaines ! 
For  him  that  was  the  glorie  of  your  plaines. 
He  could  allay  tlio  murmurs  of  the  wind  j 
He  could  appease 
The  BuUen  seas, 
And  calme  the  fury  of  the  mind. 

k  I  must  he  viewless  now. 

The  epithet  "  viewless"  occurs  in  the  "  Ode  on  the  Passion,"  st.  viii.,  and  in  "  Par. 

Lost,"  b.  iii.  618.    Shakspeare  has  "the  viewless  winds."    Mr.  Bowie  observes,  that  the 

Spirit's  conduct  here  much  resembles  that  of  Oberon  in  the  "  Midsum.  Night's  Dream :" — 

But  who  comes  here  ?  I  am  invisible. 

And  1  will  overhear  their  conference. — ^T.  Wabtosi. 

1  The  star  that  bids  the  shepherd  fold. 
Collins,  in  his  beautiful  "  Ode  to  Evening,"  introduces  this  pastoral  notation  of  time, 
aooompanied  with  the  most  romantic  aad  delightful  imagery : — 

When  thv  folding-star  arfsing  shows 

His  paly  circlet,  at  his  warning  lamp 

The  fragrant  Hours  and  Elves, 

Who  slept  in  buds  the  day; 

And  many  a  nymph,  who  wreathes  her  brows  with  sedge, 

And  sheds  the  freshening  dew,  and,  lovelier  still, 

The  pensive  pleasures  sweet, 

Prepare  thy  shadowy  car. — Todd. 

w  Pacing  toioard  the  other  goal 
Of  his  chamber  in  the  East. 
In  allusion  to  the  same  metaphors  employed  by  the  Psalmist,  Ps.  xix.  5.    "  The  sun 
as  a  bridegroom  cometh  out  of  his  chamber,  and  rejoiceth  as  a  strong  man  to  run  a 
race." — Newtoh. 


COMUS.  639 

Rigour  now  is  gone  to  bed," 

And  Advice  with  scrupulous  head :  • 

Strict  age  and  sour  severity,? 

With  their  grave  saws,*  in  slumber  lie. 

We,  that  are  of  purer  fire, 

Imitate  the  starry  quire, 

Who,  in  their  nightly  watchful  spheres,' 

Lead  in  swift  round  the  months  and  years. 

The  sounds  and  seas,  with  all  their  finny  drove, 

Now  to  the  moon  in  wavering  morrice  move ;  • 

And,  on  the  tawny  sands  and  shelves. 

Trip  the  pert  faeries  and  the  dapper  elves.* 

n  Rigour  now  t»  gone  to  bed. 

Much  in  the  strain  of  Sidney,  "England's  Helicon,"  p.  1,  edit.  1600 

Night  hath  closed  all  in  her  cloake; 
Twinkling  stars  loue-thoughts  prouoke; 
Caunger  lience  good  care  doth  keepe  ; 
lealousie  itself  doth  sleepe. — T.  Wa.rton. 

°  And  Advice  with  aerupulovs  head. 
The  manuscript  reading,  "And  quieli  Law,"  is  the  best.    It  is  not  the  essential  attri- 
bute of  advice  to  be  scrupulous ;   but  it  is  of  quick  law,  or  watchful  law,  to  be  so. — 
Warburton. 

It  was,  however,  in  character  for  Comus  to  call  "  advice  scrupulous."  It  was  hia 
business  to  depreciate,  or  ridicule,  advice,  at  the  expense  of  truth  and  propriety. — T. 
Warton.  » 

P  Severity, 
There  is  an  earlier  use  of  this  word  in  the  same  signification.    See  Damiel's  "  CompL 
Eosam."  st.  39,  edit.  1601,  fol. 

Titles  that  cold  seueritie  hath  found. — T.  Wartor. 
1  Saios, 
"  SawB,"  sayings,  maxims.    Shakspeare,  "  As  you  like  it,"  a.  ii.  s.  7. 
Full  of  wise  saws. — Nkwtok. 
r  Watchful  spheres. 
So  in  the  "Ode  Nativ."  v.  21.    "And  all  the  spangled  host  keep  watch  in  order 
bright."     See  also  "  Vac.  Exercise,"  v.  40.     "  The  spheres  of  watchful  fire."     Compare 
Baruch,  iii.  34.     "The  stars  shined  in  their  watches."    And  Ecelus.  xliii.  10. — Todd. 

•  In  wavering  morrice  move. 
The  morrice,  or  Moorish  dance,  was  first  brought  into  England,  as  I  take  it,  in  Edward 
m.'s  time,  when  John  of  Gaunt  returned  from  Spain,  where  he  had  been  to  assist  his 
father-in-law,  Peter  king  of  Castile,  against  Henry  the  bastard. — Peck. 

'  And',  on  the  tatony  sands  and  shelves, 
Trip  the  pert  faeries  and  the  dapper  elves. 
Fairies  and  elves  are  common  to  our  national  poetry :  they  also  figure  in  tradition  ; 
and  among  the  pastoral  inhabitants  of  the  lonesome  hills  and  dales  the  belief  in  them 
is  still  strong.  How  they  were  imported,  and  from  what  land,  has  been  and  perhaps 
will  continue  a  matter  of  conjecture :  no  one  has  had  the  boldness  to  believe  that  they 
arc  of  British  growth,  though  there  are  people  still  living  who  imagine  they  have  seen 
them,  and  heard  the  sound  of  their  elfin  minstrelsy.  The  fairies,  according  to  popular 
testimony,  are  an  elegant  and  accomplished  race  :  they  dwell  in  palaces  under  secluded 
hills ;  they  frequent,  when  the  summer  moon  is  up,  the  lonely  stream  banks ;  they 
spread  tables  sometimes  in  desert  places,  and  astonish  and  refresh  the  benighted  and 
hungry  traveller  with  spiced  cakes  and  perfumed  wine ;  nor  do  they  hesitate  to  mount 
their  steeds — an  elfin  race ;  and,  accompanied  by  music  from  invisible  instruments,  ride 
through  the  lonely  villages  at  midnight,  less  to  the  alarm  than  the  delight  of  the 
inhabitants.  The  last  time  they  were  seen  in  the  south  of  Scotland  was  some  five-and- 
forty  years  ago: — "When  I  was  a  boy  of  fifteen,"  said  my  informant,  "I  saw  on  a  sum- 
mer  eve,  jusit  after  sunset,  what  seemed  a  long  line  of  little  children  running  down  the 
summit  of  a  decayed  turf  fence,  which  bound  as  with  a  vertical  belt  a  hill  about  half  a 


640  COMUS. 

By  dimpled  brook"  and  fountain-brim/ 

The  wood-nymphs,  deck'd  with  daisies  trim, 

Their  merry  wakes  and  pastimes  keep : 

What  hath  night  to  do  with  sleep  ? 

Night  hath  better  sweets  to  prove ; 

Venus  now  wakes,  and  wakens  Love. 

Come,  let  us  our  rites  begin ; 

'Tis  only  day-light  that  makes  sin,* 

Which  these  dun  shades  will  ne'er  report. — 

Hail,  goddess  of  nocturnal  sport, 

Dark-veil'd  Cotytto  !  *  to  whom  the  secret  flame 

Of  midnight  torches  burns ;  mysterious  dame, 

That  ne'er  art  call'd  but  when  the  dragon  woom' 

Of  Stygian  darkness  spets  her  thickest  gloom^ 

And  makes  one  blot  of  all  the  air ; 


tnile  distant:  they  were  very  little;  they  seemed  clothed,  but  bare-headed;  and,  what 
was  odd,  they  seemed  to  sink  into  the  hill  when  they  reached  a  gap  in  the  ridge  down 
which  they  were  running.  There  were  hundreds  of  them,  but  one  was  twice  as  tall  aa 
the  rest:  we  saw  him  thrice  disappear  on  our  side  of  the  hill  and  thrice  appear  at  the 
top  again,  as  if  he  had  passed  through  below  the  solid  hill.  I  said  we,  because 
though  I  saw  the  'pert  fairies  and  the  dapper  elves*  first,  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  vil- 
lage, some  fifteen  or  so,  saw  them  also."  This  is  the  latest  account  on  record  of  the 
fairy-folk. — C. 

"  By  dimpled  brook. 
Shenstone  has  adopted  this  picturesque  expression,  "  Ode  on  Rural  Elegance :" — 

Foreg-o  a  court's  alluring  pale 

For  dimpled  brook  and  leafy  grove. — Todd. 

▼  Fountain  brim. 

This  was  the  pastoral  language  of  Milton's  age.     So  Drayton,  "  Bar.  W."  vL  36  >— 

Sporting  with  Hebe  by  a  fountaine  brim. — Todd. 

w  'Ti»  only  day-light  that  makes  »in, 
Mr.  Bowie  supposes  that  Milton  had  his  eye  on  these  gallant  lyrics  of  a  song  in 
Jonson's  "  Fox,"  a.  iii.  s.  V  :— 

'Tie  no  sinne  love's  fruit  to  steale, 

But  the  sweet  thefts  to  reveale  : 

To  be  taken,  to  be  seene, 

These  have  crimes  accounted  beene. — T.  Waetok. 

*  Dark-veil'd  Cotytto. 

The  goddess  of  wantonness. — Todd. 

y  The  dragon  xcoom. 

Popular  belief  in  some  districts  bestows  on  British  witches  the  power  of  turning  light 
into  darkness,  given  by  Milton  and  others  to  "  dark-veil'd  Cotytto."  In  one  of  the  vales 
of  the  north  dwelt  in  other  days  three  witches :  the  first  could  milk  the  cows  at  the 
same  moment  for  ten  miles  around  her  ;  the  second  could  turn  her  slipper  into  a  sea- 
worthy ship,  and  make  a  voyage  to  Lapland ;  while  the  third  had  an  enchanted  distaff, 
which  not  only  when  she  twirled  it  round,  against  the  course  of  nature.— 

Made  one  blot  of  all  the  air  ; 
but  whatever  she  wished  for  when  the  cloud  descended,  she  found  at  her  command  when 
it  passed  away  and  light  returned.  A  dame  so  gifted  could  not  fail  to  live  in  case  and 
comfort ;  and  yet,  if  tradition  is  not  in  error,  her  life  was  aught  but  easy  and  gladsome : 
her  house  was  mean;  her  dress  was  sordid;  her  meals  were  scanty;  and  whenever  she 
moved  abroad,  she  was  pursued  by  the  hue  and  cry  of  an  evil  reputation.  Of  her  tricks 
and  her  transformations, — how  she  could  turn  a  fox  into  a  brown  colt,  and  ride  it  over 
hill  and  dale, — how  she  could  become  a  hare,  and  set  patent  shot  and  the  swiftest  hounds 
at  defiance,  together  with  many  matters  more  marvellous  still, — are  they  not  recorded 
in  that  large  and  unfinished  Tolame  of  traditionary  belief  which  belongs  to  the  northern 
peasantry  ? — C. 


COMUS.  641 

Stay  thy  oloudy  ebon  chair, 

Wherein  thou  ridest  with  Hecate,  and  befriend 

Us  thy  vow'd  pi-iests,  till  utmost  end 

Of  all  thy  dues  be  done,  and  none  left  out ; 

Ere  the  blabbing  eastern  scout,* 

The  nice »  morn,  on  the  Indian  steep 

From  her  cabin'd  loop-hole  peep, 

And  to  the  tell-tale  sun  descry 

Our  conceal'd  solemnity. — 

Come,  knit  hands,  and  beat  the  ground, 

In  a  light  fantastick  round." 

THE   MEASURE. 

Break  oflF,  break  off,"  I  feel  the  different  pace 
Of  some  chaste  footing  near  about  this  ground. 
Run  to  your  shrouds,""  within  these  brakes  and  trees; 
Our  number  may  affright :  some  virgin  sure 
(For  so  I  can  distinguish  by  mine  art) 
Benighted  in  these  woods.     Now  to  my  charms. 
And  to  my  wily  trains :  I  shall  ere  long 
Be  well  stock'd  with  as  fair  a  herd  as  grazed 
About  my  mother  Circe.     Thus  I  hurl 
My  dazzling  spells  \  into  the  spungy  air, 

«  Ere  the  blabbing  eastern  scout, 
Shakspeare,  "  K.  Hen.  VI."  P,  ii.  a.  iv.  s.  1 : — 

The  gaudy,  blabbiag,  and  remorseful  day. — ToDS 
a  Nice. 
A  finely-chosen  epithet,  expressing  at  once  curious  and  squeamish. —Hrm). 

•>  Come,  knit  hands,  and  beat  the  ground, 
In  a  light  fantastick  round. 
Compare  Fletcher's  "  Faith.  Shep."  a.  i.  s.  1 : — 

Arm  in  arm 
Tread  we  softly  in  a  round  :  _ 
While  the  hollow  neighbouring  ground,  &c. — T.  Wahiok. 

c  Break  off. 

A  dance  is  here  begun,  called  the  measure ;  which  the  magician  almost  as  soon  breaks 
off,  on  perceiving  the  approach  of  "  some  chaste  footing,"  from  a  sagacity  appropriated 
to  his  character. — T.  Wartojt. 

A  measure  is  said  to  have  been  a  court  dance  of  a  stately  turn ;  but  sometimes  to 
have  expressed  dances  in  general.  Around  is  thus  defined  in  Barret's  "Alvearie," 
1580.  "  When  men  daunce  and  sing,  taking  hands  round."  But  the  most  curious  and 
lively  description  of  the  measure  and  the  round,  is  given  in  a  series  of  fifteen  lines,  in 
Browne's  "Britannia's  Pastorals,"  b.  i.  s.  3. — Todd. 

<•  Shrouds. 
To  your  recesses,  harbours,  hiding-places,  Ac.  So  in  the  "Hymn  Nativ."  v.  218. 
"Naught  but  profoundest  hell  can  be  his  shroud."  And  see  "Par.  Lost,"  b.  x.  1068. 
We  have  the  verb,  "Par.  Reg."  b.  iv.  419,  and  below  in  "Comus,"  v.  316,  where  the 
last  line  is  written  in  the  manuscript,  "  Within  these  shroudie  limits."  Whence  we  are 
led  to  suspect,  that  our  author,  in  some  of  these  instances,  has  an  equivocal  reference 
to  shrouds  in  the  sense  of  the  branches  of  a  tree,  now  often  used. — T.  Warton. 

«  3fy  dazzling  spella. 
See  Fletcher,  "  Faith.  Shep."  a.  iii.  s.  1. 

Adam  says,  that  in  his  conversation  with  the  angel,  his  earthly  nature  was  overpow- 
ered by  the  heavenly,  and,  as  with  an  object  that  excels  the  sense,  "dazzled  and  spent." 
—"Par.  Lost,"  b.  viii.  457.— T.  Warton. 
81 


642  COMUS. 

Of  power  to  cheat  the  eye  with  blear  illusion/ 

And  give  it  false  presentments,  lest  the  place 

And  my  quaint  habits  breed  s  astonishment, 

And  put  the  damsel  to  suspicious  flight; 

Which  must  not  be,  for  that's  against  my  course ! 

I,  under  fair  pretence  of  friendly  ends. 

And  well-placed  words  of  glozing"*  courtesy 

Baited  with  reasons  not  unplausible. 

Wind  me  into  the  easy-hearted  man, 

And  hug  him  into  snares.     When  once  her  eye 

Hath  met  the  virtue  of  this  magick  dust,' 

I  shall  appear  some  harmless  villager,J 

Whom  thrift  keeps  up  about  his  country  gear. 

But  here  she  comes :  I  fairly  '^  step  aside, 

And  hearken,  if  I  may,  her  business  here. 

The  Lady  enters. 

Lad.  This  way' the  noise  was,  if  mine  ear  be  true, 
My  best  guide  now  :  .methought  it  was  the  sound 
Of  riot  and  ill-managed  merriment, 
Such  as  the  jocund  flute,  or  gamesome  pipe, 
Stirs  up  among  the  loose  unletter'd  hinds. 
When  for  their  teeming  flocks  and  granges  full, 
In  wanton  dance  they  praise  the  bounteous  Pan, 
And  thank  the  gods  amiss.     I  should  be  loath 
To  meet  the  rudeness  and  swill'd  insolence 
Of  such  late  wassailers ;  *  yet,  0  !  where  else 

f  To  cheat  the  eye  tcith  blear  illusion. 
In  our  author's  "  Reformation,"  Ac.    "  If  our  understanding  have  a  film  of  ignorance 
over  it,  or  be  blear  with  gazing  on  other  false  glisterings,"  Ac.,  "  Pr.  W."  i.  12.    But 
"  blear-eyed"  is  a  copimon  and  well-known  phrase. — T.  Warton. 

g  And  my  quaint  habits  breed,  Ac. 
That  is,  my  strange  habits,  as  Mr.  Warton  has  observed;  in  which  gense,  "quaint" 
is  often  used  by  Spenser.     But  Milton  here  illustrates  himself  in  the  Preface  to  his 
'  Hist,  of  Moscovia :"  "  Long  stories  of  absurd  superstitions,  ceremonies,  quaint  habits," 
Ac— Todd. 

h  Glazing. 
Flattering,  deceitful.    As  in  "  Par.  Lost,"  b.  iii.  93.     "  Glozing  lies."    Perhaps  from 
Spenser,  "  Faer.  Qu."  iii.  viii.  14.   "  Could  well  his  glozing  speeches  frame." — T.  War- 
ton. 

'  When  once  her  eye 
Hath  met  the  virtue  of  this  magick  dttst. 
This  refers  to  a  previous  line,  "my  powder'd  spells,"  v.  154.    But  "powder'd"  was 
afterwards  altered  into  the  present  reading  "  dazzling."    When  a  poet  corrects,  he  is 
apt  to  forget  and  destroy  his  original  train  of  thought — T.  Warton. 

.  i  Some  harmless  villager. 
So  Satan  appeared  to  our  Saviour  in  the  "  Paradise  Regained." 

k  Fairly. 
That  is,  softly. — Hurd. 

'  To  meet  the  rudeness  and  iwill'd  insolence 
Of  such  late  wassailers. 
In  some  parts  of  England,  especially  in  the  west,  it  is  still  customary  for  a  company 
of  mummdrs,  in  the  evening  of  the  Christmas  holydays,  to  go  about  carousing  frona 
house  to  house,  who  are  called  the  wassailers.    In  Macbeth,  "  Wine  and  wassel,"  mean, 
in  general  terms,  feasting  and  drunkenness,  a.  i.  s.  7. — T.  Warton. 


COMUS.  643 

Shall  I  inform  my  unacquainted  feet" 
In  the  blind  mazes  of  this  tangled  wood  ?  ■ 
My  brothers,  when  they  saw  me  wearied  out 
With  this  long  way,  resolving  here  to  lodge 
Under  the  spreading  favour  of  these  pines," 
Stepp'd,  as  they  said,  to  the  next  thicket-side, 
To  bring  me  berries,  or  such  cooling  fruit 
As  the  kind  hospitable  woods  provide^ 
They  left  me  then,  when  the  gray-hooded  Even, 
Like  a  sad  votarist  •>  in  palmer's  weed,' 
Rose  from  the  hindmost  wheels  of  Phoebus'  wain. 
But  where  they  are,  and  why  they  came  not  back. 
Is  now  the  labour  of  my  thoughts  j  'tis  likeliest 
They  had  engaged  their  wandering  steps » too  far ; 
And  envious  darkness,  ere  they  could  return, 
Had  stole  them  from  me  :  else,  0  thievish  Night,* 

™  Shall  I  inform  my  unacquainted  feet. 
In  the  "  Faithful  Shepherdess,"  Amoret  wanders  through  a  wild  wood  in  the  night, 
but  under  different  circumstances,  yet  not  without  some  apprehensions  of  danger.    We 
hare  a  parallel  expression  in  "  Sams.  Agon."  v.  335 : — 

hither  hath  mform'd 
Your  younger  feet. — T.  Wakton. 

,    "  Tangled  wood, 
"  They  seek  the  dark,  the  bushy,  the  tangled  forest,"  Prose  W.  Tol.  i.  p.  13.    And 
see  "  Par.  Lost,"  b.  iv.  176. — T.  Warton. 

0  Under  the  spreading  favour  of  these  pinet. 
This  is  like  Virgil's  "  Hospitiis  teneat  frondentibus  arbos,"  Georg.  It.  24.    An  inver- 
sion of  the  same  sort  ocQurs  in  Cicero,  in  a  Latin  version,  from  Sophocles,  "  Trachinise," 
of  the  shirt  of  Nessus.    "  Tusc.  Disp."  ii.  8. — "  Ipse  inligatus  peste  interimor  textilL" — 
T.  Wakton. 

p  To  bring  me  berries,  or  such  cooling  fruit 
As  the  kind  hospitable  woods  provide. 
So  Fletcher,  "Faith.  Shep."  a.  i.  s.  1,  where,  says  the  virgin-shepherdess  Clorin,— 

My  meat  shall  be  what  these  wild  woods  afford, 
Berries  and  chestnuts,  &c. 

By  laying  the  scene  of  his  Mask  in  a  wild  forest,  Milton  secured  to  himself  a  perpetual 
fund  of  picturesque  description,  which,  resulting  from  situation,  was  always  at  hand. 
He  was  not  obliged  to  go  out  of  his  way  for  this  striking  embellishment :  it  was  sug. 
gested  of  necessity  by  present  circumstances. — T.  Warton. 

q  Wlien  the  gray-hooded  Even, 
Like  a  sad  votarist,  Ac. 
Milton,  notwithstanding  his  abhorrence  of  everything  that  related'  to  superstitito, 
often  dresses  his  imaginary  beings  in  the  habits  of  popery :  but  poetry  is  of  all  reli- 
gions ;  and  popery  is  a  very  poetical  one.     A  votarist  is  one  who  had  made  a  religious 
vow,  here  perhaps  for  a  pilgrimage,  being  in  "  palmer's  weeds." — T.  Warton. 

>■  Palmer's  iceed. 
Spenser,  "Faer.  Qu."  ii.  i.  52.    "I  wrapt  myself  in  palmer's  weed."— Newtow. 

»  TTieir  wandering  steps. 
So  in  those  beautiful  and  impressive  lines,  which  close  the  "  Paradise  Lost :" — 
Thoy  hand  in  hand,  with  wandering  steps  and  slow, 
Through  Eden  took  their  solitary  way. — Todd. 

t  0  thievish  Night. 
Ph.  Fletcher's  "  Pise.  Eel."  p.  34,  edit.  1633  :— 

the  thievish  night 
Steals  on  the  world,  and  robs  our  eyes  of  light. 

In  the  present  age  in  which  almost  every  common  writer  avoids  palpable  absurdities, 


644  COMUS. 

Why  shouldst  thou,  but  for  some  felonious  end, 
In  thy  dark  lantern  thus  close  up  the  stars, 
That  Nature  hung  in  heaven,  and  fill'd  their  lamps 
With  everlasting  oil,  to  give  due  light 
To  the  misled  and  lonely  traveller  ? 
This  is  the  place,  as  well  as  I  may  guess, 
Whence  even  now  the  tumult  of  loud  mirth 
Was  rife,  and  perfect  in  my  listening  ear ; 
Yet  naught  but  single  darkness  do  I  find. 
What  might  this  be  ?     A  thousand  fantasies 
Begin  to  throng  into  ray  memory," 
Of  calling  shapes,  and  beckoning  shadows  dire,' 
And  aery  tongues  that  syllable  "^  men's  names 
On  sands,  and  shores,  and  desert  wildernesses. 
These  thoughts  may  startle  well,  but  not  astound 
The  virtuous  mind,  that  ever  walks  attended 

at  least  monstrous  and  unnatural  conceits,  would  Milton  have  introduced  this  passage, 
where  thievish  Night  is  supposed,  for  some  felonious  purpose,  to  shut  up  the  stars  in  her 
dark  lantern  ?  Certainly  not.  But  in  the  present  age,  correct  and  rational  as  it  is,  had 
"  Comus"  been  written,  we  should  not  perhaps  have  had  some  of  the  greatest  beauties 
of  its  wild  and  romantic  imagery. — T.  Warton. 

«  A  thousand  fantasies 
Begin  to  throng  into  my  memory,  Ac. 
Milton  had  here  perhaps  a  remembrance  of  Shakspeare,  "  King  John,"  a.  v,  s.  7. 

With  many  legions  of  strange  fantasies, 

Which,  in  their  throng  and  press  to  that  last  hold, 

Confound  themselves. — T.  Warton 

Much  of  our  own  island  superstition  is  crowded  into  these  lines :  it  is  true  that  in  a 
city  guarded  by  a  regular  police  and  lighted  by  patent  gas,  and  infested  by  sharpers  and 
pickpockets,  man,  even  though  inclined  to  superstitious  dread,  cannot  feel  fearful  of 
"calling  shapes,"  and  "beckoning  shadows,"  and  "airy  tongues:"  but  let  him  have  a 
haunted  road — such  as  that  along  which  Tam  o'  Shanter  rode — to  travel  on  at  midnight: 
let  his  local  knowledge  supply  him  with  the  recollection  of  all  the  misdeeds  and  murders 
perpetrated  for  three  miles  round :  let  there  be  a  gloomy  wood  on  one  side  of  the  way, 
and  an  old  desolate  burial-ground  on  the  other :  let  him  hear  a  sound  advancing  behind 
him,  and  let  him  see  before  him  a  doddered  tree,  between  him  and  the  blue  sky,  on 
which  some  man  within  his  own  memory  hanged  himself;  and  if  he  feels  not  something 
like  dread  upon  him,  he  is  either  a  very  bold  man  or  a  very  unimaginative  one.  The 
writer  of  this  has  heard  an  old  gentleman,  who  had  served  with  distinction  in  the  British 
army,  assert,  oftener  than  once,  that  on  riding  one  night  past  an  old  churchyard  in  n 
lonely  part  of  the  country,  a  white  phantom  started  up  from  among  the  grave-stones, 
and  stretched  a  long  pale  skinny  hand  towards  the  bridle  of  his  horse.  A  pious  ejacu- 
lation, and  the  application  of  the  spur,  freed  him  from  all  danger;  but  it  was  evident 
that  he  thought  the  sight  he  saw  was  of  the  other  world,  and  not  supplied  by  his  imagi- 
nation, excited  into  a  creative  fit  by  the  solemn  hour  and  haunted  place. — C. 

»  Of  calling  shapes,  and  beckoning  shadows  dire,  Ac. 
I  remember  these  superstitions,  which  are  here  finely  applied,  in  the  ancient  Voyages 
of  Marco  Paolo  the  Venetian :  he  is  speaking  of  the  vast  and  perilous  desert  of  Lop  in 
Asia.  "  Cernuntur  et  audiuntur  in  eo,  interdiu,  et  saepius  noctu,  dsemonum  varise  illu- 
siones  :  unde  viatoribus  summe  cavendum  est,  ne  multum  ah  invicem  seipsos  dissocient, 
aut  aliquis  a  tergo  sese  diutius  impediat :  alioquin,  quamprimum  propter  montes  et  calles 
quispiam  comitum  suorum  aspectum  perdiderit,  non  facile  ad  eos  perveniet :  nam  audi- 
nntur  ibi  voces  dsemonum,  qui  solitarie  incedentes  propriis  appellant  nominibus,  voces 
fingentes  illoruin  quos  comitari  se  fjutant,  ut  a  recto  itinere  abductos  in  perniciem  dedu- 
cant." — De  Regionib.  Oriental.  1.  i.  c.  44. — T.  Warton. 

w  Syllable.  ' 

Pronounce  distinctly.  As  in  Ph.  Fletcher's  "Poet.  Misc,"  p  85.  "Yet  syllabled  in 
flesh-spell'd  characters."— T.  "Warton. 


COMUS.  645 

By  a  strong-siding  champion,  Conscience. — 

0,  welcome,  pure-eyed  Faith ;  white-handed  Hope, 

Thou  hovering  angel  girt  with  golden  wings ;  ^ 

And  thou,  unblemish'd  form  of  Chastity  I' 

I  see  ye  visibly,  and  now  believe 

That  He,  the  Supreme  Good,  to  whom  all  things  ill 

Are  but  as  slavish  officers  of  vengeance. 

Would  send  a  glistering  guardian,  if  need  were, 

To  keep  my  life  and  honour  unassail'd. 

Was  I  deceived,  or  did  a  sable  cloud  * 

Turn  forth  her  silver  lining  on  the  night? 

I  did  not  err;  there  does  a  sable  cloud 

Turn  forth  her  silver  lining  on  the  night, 

And  casts  a  gleam  over  this  tufted  grove : 

I  cannot  halloo  to  my  brothers,*  but 

Such  noise  as  I  can  make  to  be  heard  farthest, 

I'll  venture;  for  my  new-enliven'd  spirits 

Prompt  me :  and  they  perhaps  are  not  far  off. 

SONG. 

Sweet  Echo,  sweetest  nymph,  that  livest  unseen ' 
Within  thy  aery  shell. 
By  slow  Meander's  margent  green, 
And  in  the  violet-embroider'd  "=  vale, 

*  Thou  hovcHng  angel,  girt  with  golden  wings. 
Thus,  in  Shakspeare's  "Lover's  Complaint,"  "Which  like  a  cherubim,  above  them 
horer'd."    But  "hovering"  is  here  applied  with  peculiar  propriety  to  the  angel  Hope, 
in  sight,  on  the  wing;  and  if  not  approaching,  yet  not  flying  away;  still  appearing. 
Contemplation  soars  on  golden  wings,  "  II.  Pens."  v.  52 :  and  we  have  that  "  golden- 
winged  host,"  in  the  "  Ode  on  the  Death  of  an  Infant,"  st.  ix. — T.  Warton. 
y  And  thou,  nnhlemish'd form  of  Chastity!  <fcc. 
In  the  same  strain,  Fletcher's  Shepherdess  in  the  soliloquy  just  cited : — 

Then,  strongest  Chastity, 
Be  thou  my  strongest  guard  ;  for  here  I'll  dwell 
Ic  opposition  against  late  and  hell. — T.  Wakton. 

2  Was  I  deceived,  or  did  a  sable  cloud,  Ac. 
These  lines  are  turned  like  that  verse  of  Ovid,  "Fast."  lib.  v.  545  :  "Fallor?  an  arma 
sonant?  non  fallimur:  arma  sonabant." — Hurd. 

See  also  note  on  Eleg.  v.  5.  The  repetition,  arising  from  the  conviction  and  confi- 
dence of  an  unaccusing  conscience,  is  inimitably  beautiful.  When  all  succour  seems  to 
be  lost.  Heaven  unexpectedly  presents  the  silver  lining  of  a  sable  cloud  to  the  virtuous. 
— T.  Warton. 

»  /  cannot  halloo  to  my  brothers,  Ac. 
So  the  jailer's  daughter  in  Beaumont  and  Fletcherj  benighted  also  and  alone  in  a 
■wood,  whose  character  affords  one  of  the  finest  female  mad  scenes  in  our  language,  "  Two 
Noble  Kins."  a.  i'.i.  s.  2.     She  is  in  search  of  Palamon. 
I  cannot  halloo,  &c. 
I  have  heard 
Strange  howls  this  livelong  night,  &c — ^T.  Waetoh. 

b  That  livest  unseen. 
So  Sylvester,  "  Du  Bartas,"  p.  1210. 

Babbling  echo,  voice  of  vallies, 
Aierie  elfe  exempt  from  view. — TosD. 

e  Violet-embroider' d. 
This  is  a  beautiful  compound  epithet,  and  the  combination  of  the  two  words  that 
compose  it,  natural  and  easy. — Jos.  Waeton. 


646  COMUS. 

Where  the  love-lorn  ■'  nightingale 
Nightly  to  thee  her  sad  song  mourneth  well;* 
Canst  thou  not  tell  me  of  a  gentle  pair ' 

That  likest  thy  Narcissus  are  ? 

0,  if  thou  have 
Hid  them  in  some  flowery  cave,s 

Tell  me  but  where,"* 
Sweet  queen  of  parly,  daughter  of  the  sphere  I' 
So  mayst  thou  be  translated  to  the  skies, 
And  give  resounding  grace  to  all  Heaven's  harmonies.^ 

Enter  CoMUS. 

Com.  Can  any  mortal  mixture  of  earth's  mould 
Breathe  such  divine  enchanting  ravishment  ? " 

d  Love-lorn. 
Deprived  of  her  mate ;  as  "  lass-lorn"  in  the  "  Tempest,"  a.  iv.  a.  2. — T.  Warton. 

e  Nightly  to  thee  her  sad  song  mowrneth  well. 
Compare  Virgil,  "  Georg."  iv.  513. 

ilia 
Fiet  noctem,  ramoque  sedens  miserabile  carmen 
Integrat,  tee. — Todd. 

'  A  gentle  pair. 
So  Fletcher,  "Faith.  Shep."  a.  i.  s.  1. 

A  gentle  pair 
Have  promised  equal  love T.  Waeton. 

s  0,  if  thou  have 
Hid  them  in  some  flowery  cave. 
Here  is  a  seeming  inaccuracy  for  the  sake  of  the  rhyme :  hut  the  sense  heing  hypo- 
thetical and  contingent,  we  will  suppose  an  ellipsis  of  "shouldst"  before  "have." — A 
verse  in  St  John  affords  an  apposite  illustration : — "  If  thou  have  born  him  hence,  tell 
tne  where  thou  hast  laid  him,"  ix.  15. — T.  Warton. 

•>  Tell  me  hut  where. 
Mr.  Steevens  suggests  that  part  of  the  address  to  the  sun,  which  Southern  has  put 
into  the  mouth  of  Oroonoko,  is  evidently  copied  from  this  passage : — 

Or,  if  thy  sister  goddess  has  preferr'd 

Her  beauty  to  the  skies- to  be  a  star, 

O,  tell  me  where  she  shines. — T.  WAnTON. 

'  Daughter  of  the  sphere. 
Milton  has  given  her  a  much  nobler  and  more  poetical  original  than  any  of  the 
ancient  mythologists  :  he  supposes  her  to  owe  her  first  existence  to  the  reverberation  of 
the  music  of  the  spheres ;  in  consequence  of  which  he  had  just  before  called  the  horizon 
her  "aery  shell:"  and  from  the  gods,  like  other  celestial  beings  of  the  classical  order, 
she  came  down  to  men. — Warburton. 

J  And  give  resounding  grace  to  all  Heaven's  harmonies. 

That  is,  the  grace  of  their  being  accompanied  with  an  echo.  The  goddess  Echo  was 
of  peculiar  service  in  the  machinery  of  a  mask,  and  therefore  often  introduced. — T. 
Warton. 

This  Alexandrine,  as  well  as  almost  all  the  Alexandrines,  has  a  magnificent  swell, 
and  shows  that  Milton  had  a  fine  lyrical  ear. 

k  Can  any  mortal  mixture  of  earth's  mould 
Breathe  such  divine  enchanting  ravishment  f 
This  was  plainly  personal.  Here  the  poet  availed  himself  of  an  opportunity  of 
paying  a  just  compliment  to  the  voice  and  skill  of  a  real  songstress  ;  just  as  the  two 
boys  are  complimented  for  their  beauty  and  elegance  of  figure :  and  afterwards,  the 
strains  that  "might  create  a  soul  under  the  ribs  of  death,'  are  brought  home,  and 
found  to  be  the  voice  "  of  my  most  honour'd  Lady,"  v.  564,  where  the  real  and  assumed 
characters  of  the  speaker  are  blended. — T.  Wabton. 


COMUS.  647 

Sure  something  holy  lodges  in  that  breast, 

And  with  these  raptures  moves  the  vocal  air 

To  testify  his  hidden  residence. 

How  sweetly  did  they  float  upon  the  wings 

Of  silence,  through  the  empty-vaulted  night, 

At  every  fall  smoothing  the  raven-down 

Of  darkness,  till  it  smiled !     I  have  oft  heard 

My  mother  Circe  with  the  sirens  three,' 

Amidst  the  flowery-kirtled  Naiades, 

Culling  their  potent  herbs,  and  baleful  drugs ; 

Who,  as  they  sung,  would  take  the  prison'd  soul 

And  lap  it  in  Elysium  :  ■»  Scylla  wept. 

And  chid  her  barking  waves  into  attention. 

And  fell  Charybdis  murmur'd  soft  applause : » 

Yet  they  in  pleasing  slumber  lull'd  the  sense. 

And  in  sweet  madness  robb'd  it  of  itself; " 

1  7  have  oft  heard 
My  mother  Circe  with  the  sirens  three,  Ac. 
Originally  from  Ovid,  "  Metam."  xiv.  264,  of  Circe : — 

Nereides,  Nymphsecjue  simul,  quae  vellera  motis 
Nulla  traliunt  digitis,  nee  fila  sequentia  ducunt, 
Gramina  disponunt ;  sparsosque  sine  ordine  florea 
Secernunt  calathis,  variasque  coloribus  herbas. 
Ipsa,  quod  haj  faciunt,  opus  exigit;  ipsa  quid  USUB 
Quoque  sit  in  folio,  quse.  sit  Concordia  mistis, 
Novit;  et  aflvertens  pensas  examinat  herbas. 

Milton  calls  the  Naiades  (lie  should  have  said  Nereides)  "  flowery-kirtled,"  because 
they  were  employed  in  collecting  flowers. — T.  Warton. 

™  Who,  as  they  sung,  would  take  the  prison'd  soul, 
And  lap  it  in  Elysium, 
The  mermaidens  of  modern  tale  and  story  inherit  all  the  powers  of  the  sirens  of 
classic  song :  they  are  described  as  women  to  the  waist,  and  fair,  with  bright  eyes ;  and 
locks  which  they  are  continually  braiding :  nor  has  fancy  hesitated  to  supply  them  with 
small  round  looking-glasses,  in  which  seamen  aver  they  are  fond  of  surveying  their 
charms.  The  parts  below  the  waves  may  be  given  up  to  the  imagination ;  they  are 
supposed  to  be  otherwise  than  lovely ;  but  the  part  above,  the  glowing  words  of  poesy 
nave  been  called  in  to  describe ;  nor  has  any  poet  surpassed  in  description  the  loveli- 
ness with  which  popular  belief  has  endowed  them.  One  of  those  sea-maidens  haunted, 
if  we  may  credit  the  district  legends,  a  river  in  Galloway :  the  charms  of  her  person 
were  even  surpassed  by  those  of  her  voice:  the  first  verse  which  she  sung  caused  the 
wild  birds  to  leave  their  nests,  nor  regard  their  enemy  the  owl ;  at  the  second  verse, 
the  fox  leaped  up  from  the  lamb  he  had  worried,  and  wiping  his  bloody  lips,  wondered 
what  this  might  mean ;  but  with  the  third  verse,  a  gallant  young  bridegroom  was  so 
bewitched,  that  he  left  his  bridal  train,  and  approaching  too  close  to  the  mermaiden, 
was  seized  and  carried  into  one  of  her  sea-palaces,  and  never  more  returned  to  upper 
air.  Other  legends,  both  Swedish  and  Scottish,  relate  similar  stories  of  those  alluring 
dames :  one  of  their  lovers,  however,  contrived  by  stratagem  to  escape  from  "  coral  caves 
and  beds  of  pearl,"  and  was  heard  to  declare,  that  lovely  as  the  sea-maidens  were,  they 
had  a  maritime  savour  about  them  which  was  anything  but  ambrosial. — C. 

o  Scylla  teept. 
And  chid  her  barking  waves  into  attention. 
And  fell  Charyhdis  murmur'd  soft  applause. 
Silius  Italicus,  of  a  Sicilian  shepherd  tuning  his  reed,  "Bell.  Pun."  xix.  467:— 
"  Scyllaei  tacuere  canes;  stetit  atra  Charybdis." — T.  Wauton. 

The  "  barking  waves,"  it  must  be  added,  are  from  "Virgil,  "  Mn."  vii.  588,  "  multis 
circumlatrantibus  undis." — Todd. 

0  And  in  sweet  madness  robb'd  it  of  itself,  Ac. 

Compare  Shakspeare,  "  Winter's  Tale,"  a.  and  s.  ult : — 

O  sweet  Paulina ! 
Make  me  to  think  bo  twenty  years  togather ; 


648  COMUS. 

But  such  a  sacred  and  home-felt  delight, 

Such  sober  certainty  of  waking  bliss, 

I  never  heard  till  now. — I'll  speak  to  her. 

And  she  shall  be  my  queen. — Hail,  foreign  wonder  I » 

Whom  certain  these  rough  shades  did  never  breed, 

Unless  the  goddess  that  in  rural  shrine 

Dwell'st  here  with  Pan,  or  Sylvan ;  by  bless'd  song 

Forbidding  every  bleak  unkindly  fog 

To  touch  the  prosperous  growth  of  this  tall  wood.« 

Lad.  Nay,  gentle  shepherd,  ill  is  lost  that  praise, 
That  is  address' d  to  unattending  ears; 
Not  any  boast  of  skill,  but  extreme  shift 
How  to  regain  my  sever' d  company, 
Compell'd  me  to  awake  the  courteous  Echo 
To  give  me  answer  from  her  mossy  couch. 

Com.  "What  chance,  good  Lady,  hath  bereft  you  thus  ?  ' 

Lad.  Dim  darkness,  and  this  leavie  labyrinth. 

Com.  Could  that  divide  you  from  near-ushering  guides  ? 

Lad.  They  left  me  weary  on  a  grassy  turf. 

Com.  By  falsehood,  or  discourtesy,  or  why  ? 

Lad.  To  seek  in  the  valley  some  cool  friendly  spring.* 

Com.  And  left  your  fair  side  all  unguarded.  Lady  ? 

Lad.  They  were  but  twain,  and  purposed  quick  return. 

Com.  Perhaps  forestalling*  night  prevented  them. 

No  Bettled  senses  of  the  world  can  match 
The  pleasure  of  that  madness. — Todd. 

P  Hail,  foreign  wonder  ! 
Thus  Fletcher,  "  Faith.  Shep."  a.  v.  s.  1.    But  perhaps  our  author  had  an  unperceived 
retrospect  to  the  "  Tempest,"  a.  i.  s.  2 : — 

Fer.  Most  sure  the  goddess 

Gn  whom  these  airs  attend  ! 

. My  prime  request, 

Which  I  do  last  pronounce,  is,  O  you  wonder  ! 
If  you  be  maid  or  no  ? — T.  Waiiton. 

q  Comus's  address  to  the  Lady,  from  v.  265,  to  the  end  of  this  line,  is  in  a  very  high 
style  of  classical  gallantry.  As  Cicero  says  of  Plato's  language,  that  if  Jupiter  were  to 
speak  Greek,  he  would  speak  as  Plato  has  written ;  so  .we  may  say  of  this  language  of 
Milton,  that  if  Jupiter  were  to  speak  English,  he  would  express  himself  in  this  manner. 
The  passage  is  exceedingly  beautiful  in  every  respect;  but  all  readers  of  taste  will 
acknowledge,  that  the  style  of  itis  much  raised  by  the  expression  "unless  the  goddess," 
an  elliptical  expression,  unusual  in  our  language,  though  common  enough  in  Greek 
and  Latin.  But  if  we  were  to  fill  it  up,  and  say,  "  unless  thou  beest  the  goddess ;" 
how  flat  and  insipid  would  it  make  the  composition,  compared  with  what  it  is ! — Lobs 

MONBODSO. 

»■  Here  is  an  imitation  of  those  scenes  in  the  Greek  tragedies,  where  the  dialogue 
proceeds  by  question  and  answer,  a  single  verse  being  allotted  to  each.  The  Greeks, 
doubtless,  found  a  grace  in  this  sort  of  dialogue :  as  it  was  one  of  the  characteristics  of 
the  Greek  drama,  it  was  natural  enough  for  our  young  poet,  passionately  fond  of  the 
Greek  tragedies,  to  affect  this  peculiarity ;  but  he  judged  better  in  his  riper  years,  there 
being  no  instance  of  this  dialogue,  I  think,  in  his  "  Samson  Agonistes." — Hurd. 

»  To  seek  in  the  valley  some  cool  friendly  spring. 
Here  Mr.  Sympson  observed  with  me,  that  this  is  a  different  reason  from  what  she 
had  assigned  before,  v.  186  : — "  To  bring  me  berries,"  Ac.     They  might  have  left  her 
on  both  accounts. — Newton. 

t  Forestalling. 
The  word  "forestall,"  was  formerly  used  in  the  sense  of  prevent^  hinder,  &c.,  asin 
"Par.  Lost,"  b.  x.  1024.— T.  "Wartok.      ■ 


COMUS.  649 

Lad.  How  easy  my  misfortune  is  to  hit ! 

Com.  Imports  their  loss,  beside  the  present  need  ? 

Lad.  No  less  than  if  I  should  my  brothers  lose. 

Com.  Were  they  of  manly  prime,  or  youthful  bloom  ?  ^ 

Lad.  As  smooth  as  Hebe's  their  unrazor'd  lips.^ 

Com.  Two  such  I  saw  what  time  the  labour'd  ox 

In  his  loose  traces  from  the  furrow  came,^ 

And  the  swink'd  hedger  at  his  supper  sat; » 

I  saw  them  under  a  green  mantling  vine. 

That  crawls  along  the  side  of  yon  small  hill, 

Plucking  ripe  clusters  from  the  tender  shoots : 

Their  port  was  more  than  human,  as  they  stood : 

I  took  it  for  a  faery  vision 

Of  some  gay  creatures  of  the  element,^ 

That  in  the  colours  of  the  rainbow  live. 

And  play  in  the  plighted  clouds."     I  was  awe-struck, 

u  Were  they  of  manly  prime,  or  youthful  bloom  f 
Were  they  young  men,  or  striplings?     "Prime"  is  perfection.     "Nature  here  wan- 
ton'd  as  in  her  prime,"  "  Par.  Lost,"  b.  v.  295.    Again,  b.  iii.  646 : — 

And  now  a  stripling  cherub  he  appears, 
Not  of  the  prime,  &c. — T.  Warion. 

»  Their  unrazor'd  lips. 
The  anpleasant  epithet  "unrazor'd"  has  one  much  like  it  in  the  "Tempest,"  a.  ii.  s. 
5:— 

till  new-born  chms 
Are  roogh  and  razorable. — T.  Waeton. 

w  What  time  the  labour'd  ox 
In  his  loose  traces  from  the  furrow  came. 
The  notation  of  time  is  in  the  pastoral  manner,  as  in  Virg.  "  Eel."  ii.  66,  and  Hor^ 
•*  Od."  m.  tL  41. — Newton. 

X  And  the  sxoink'd  hedger  at  his  supper  sat. 
The  "swink'd  hedger's  supper"  is  from  nature  :  and  "hedger,"  a  word  new  in  poetry, 
although  of  common  use,  has  a  good  effect.   "  Swink'd"  is  tired,  fatigued. — T.  Waeton. 

y  TSe  element. 
In  the  north  of  England  this  term  is  still  made  use  of  for  the  sky. — Thyer. 

*  And  play  in  the  plighted  clouds. 
The  lustre  of  Milton's  brilliant  imagery  is  half  obscured,  while  "  plighted"  remains 
unexplained.  We  are  to  understand  the  braided  or  embroidered  clouds ;  in  which  cer- 
tain airy  elemental  beings  are  most  poetically  supposed  to  sport,  thus  producing  a 
variety  of  transient  and  dazzling  colours,  as  our  author  says  of  the  sun,  "  Par.  Lost," 
b.  iv.  696. 

Arraying  with  reflected  purple  and  gold 
The  clouds  that  on  his  western  throne  attend. 

It  is  obvious  to  observe  that  the  modern  word  is  "plaited." — T.  Warton. 

Visions  of  the  kind  intimated  by  the  poet  were  not  uncommon  in  other  days.  It  is 
related,  that  a  traveller,  happening  to  be  both  hungry  and  benighted  among  the  pasto- 
ral hills  of  the  Border,  resolved  to  quit  the  road  on  which  he  was  walking,  and  fellow  a 
little  stream  or  brook  which  he  knew  would  conduct  him  soon  to  some  shepherd's  hut 
or  farm-house :  the  moon  was  up ;  the  night  was  quiet  and  clear ;  no  other  sound  save 
that  of  the  stream  was  to  be  heard.  On  entering  a  little  glen,  he  was  startled  to  see  a 
green  table  placed  across  the  rivulet;  and  both  his  eyes  and  his  sharpened  sense  of 
smell  told  him  that  it  was  furnished  with  meat  and  wine.  He  stood  and  gazed :  the 
plates  were  of  silver,  the  cups  of  gold ;  the  meat  seemed  savoury,  and  the  wine  scented 
all  the  air.  He  could  not  for  his  heart  resist  the  temptation ;  but  he  had  the  grace, 
before  he  began,  to  say,  "With  your  leave,  good  folk :"  the  words  were  not  well  out  of 
his  mouth,  till  fairies  started  up  all  around  the  table :  one  helped  him  to  meat;  another 
to  wine ;  while  a  third,  equally  courteous,  fashioned  a  good  strong  steady  chair  out  of 
mushroom  for  his  accommodation.  At  parting,  they  bestowed  a  cup  on  him  of  a  mira- 
82 


650  COMUS. 

And,  as  I  pass'd,  I  worshipp'd ;  if  those  you  seek, 
It  were  a  journey  like  the  path  to  heaven, 
To  help  you  find  them. 

Lad.  Gentle  villager, 

What  readiest  way  would  bring  me  to  that  place  ? 

Com.  Due  west  it  rises  from  this  shrubby  point." 

Lad.  To  find  out  that,  good  shepherd,  I  suppose, 
In  such  a  scant  allowance  of  star-light, 
Would  overtask  the  best  land-pilot's  art. 
Without  the  sure  guess-  of  well-practised  feet. 

Com.  I  know  each  lane,  and  every  alley  green,  • 

Dingle,  or  bushy  dell  of  this  wild  wood. 
And  every  bosky  bourn  from  side  to  side,"* 
My  daily  walks  and  ancient  neighbourhood  j 
And  if  your  stray  attendance  be  yet  lodged. 
Or  shroud  within  these  limits,  I  shall  know 
Ere  morrow  wake,  or  the  low-roosted  lark 
From  her  thatch' d  pallet  rouse ;  if  otherwise 
I  can  conduct  you.  Lady,  to  a  low 
But  loyal  cottage,  where  you  may  be  safe 
Till  farther  quest. 

Lad.  Shepherd,  I  take  thy  word, 

And  trust  thy  honest  offer'd  courtesy, 
Which  oft  is  sooner  found  in  lowly  sheds 
With  smoky  rafters,  than  in  tapestry  halls 
And  courts  of  princes,  where  it  first  was  named,' 
And  yet  is  most  pretended :  in  a  place 
*  Less  warranted  than  this,  or  less  secure, 

I  cannot  be,  that  I  should  fear  to  change  it.— 

oulons  make,  for  it  was  ever  full  of  wine,  let  the  drinker  be  ever  so  drouthy.  It  con- 
tinued in  the  family,  till  a  guest,  more  devout  than  ordinary,  proceeded  to  ask  Qod's 
blessing  on  the  liquor;  when  the  cup  became  in  an  instant  dry,  and,  it  is  said,  con- 
tinued so. — C. 

»  Due  tvest  it  rises  from  this  shrubby  point. 

Milton  had  perhaps  a  predilection  for  the  west,  from  a  similar  but  more  picturesqae 
information  in  "As  you  Like  It,"  a.  iv.  s.  1. 

West  of  this  place,  down  in  the  neighboar  bottom,  &c. — T.  Wabton 

b  Dingle,  or  bushy  dell  of  this  wild  ivood, 
And  every  bosky  bourn  from,  side  to  side,  &e. 
The  word  "dingle"  is  still  in  use,  and  signifies  a  valley  between  two  steep  hills. 
"Dimble"  is  the  same  word.  A  "bourn,"  the  sense  of  which  in  this  passage  has  never 
been  explained  with  precision,  properly  signifies  here,  a  winding,  deep,  and  narrow 
valley,  with  a  rivulet  at  the  bottom.  In  the  present  instance,  the  declivities  are  inter- 
spersed with  trees  and  bushes.  This  sort  of  valley  Comus  knew  from  "side  to  side:* 
he  knew  both  the  opposite  sides  or  ridges,  and  had  consequently  travelled  the  interme- 
diate space.  Such  situations  have  no  other  name  in  the  west  of  England  at  this  day. 
In  the  waste  and  open  countries,  bourns  are  the  grand  separations  or  divisions  of  one 
part  of  the  country  from  another,  and  are  natural  limits  of  districts  and  parishes  :  for 
bourn  is  simply  nothing  more  than  a  boundary. — T.  Warton. 

e  And  courts  of  princes,  where  it  first  was  named, 

Mr.  Sympson  perceived  with  me  that  this  is  plainly  taken  from  Spenser,  "  Faer. 
Qu."  vi.  i.  1. 

Of  court,  it  seems,  men  courtesie  do  call, 

For  that  it  there  most  useth  to  abound. — Newton. 


COMUS.  651 

Eye  me,  bless'd  Providence,  and  square  my  trial 

To  my  proportion'd  strength ! — shepherd,  lead  on.  [Uxeunt. 

Enter  the  Two  Brothers. 

El.  Br.  Unmuffle,*  ye  faint  stars ;  and  thou,  fair  moon, 
That  wont'st  to  love  the  traveller's  benison,* 
Stoop  thy  pale  visage  through  an  amber  cloud,' 
And  disinherit  chaos,s  that  reigns  here 
In  double  night  of  darkness  and  of  shades ; 
Or,  if  your  influence  be  quite  damm'd  up 
With  black  usurping  mists,  some  gentle  taper. 
Though  a  rush-candle  from  the  wicker  hole 
Of  some  clay  habitation,  visit  us"" 
With  thy  long-level' d  rule  of  streaming  light;' 
And  thou  shalt  be  our  star  of  Arcady, 
Or  Tyrian  cynosure.J 

Sec.  Br.  Or,  if  our  eyes 

Be  barr'd  that  happiness,  might  we  but  hear 
The  folded  flocks"  penn'd  in  their  wattled  cotes, 

^  Vnmuffie. 
"  Muffle  "  was  not  so  low  a  word  as  at  present.    Drayton,  "  Heroic.  Epist."  vol.  i. 
p.  251,  of  night : — 

And  in  thick  vapours  muffle  up  the  world. — T.  Warton. 

See  also  Sliakspeare,  "  Komeo  and  Juliet,"  a.  v.  s.  8.    "  Muffle  me,  night,  awhile." 
—Todd. 

e  That  wonfst  to  love  the  traveller's  benison. 

Mr.  Kiehardson  and  Mr.  Thyer  here  saw  with  me,  that  there  was  an  allusion  to 
Spenser,  "Faer.  Qu."  iii.  i.  43. 

As  when  fayre  Cynthia,  in  darksome  night, 

Is  in  a  noyous  cloud  enveloped, 

Where  she  may  finde  the  substance  thin  and  light, 

Breakes  forth  her  silver  beames.  and  her  bright  head 

Discovers  to  the  world  discomfited  ; 

Of  the  poore  traveller  that  went  astray, 

With  thousand  blessings  she  is  heried. — Newton. 

f  Stoop  thy  pale  visage  through  an  amber  cloud. 
See  "  II.  Pens."  V.  71. 

And  oft,  as  if  her  head  she  bow'd, 
Stooping  through  a  fleecy  cloud. — Todd. 

s  Disinherit  Chaos. 
This  expression  should  be  animadverted  upon,  as  hyperbolical  and  bombast,  &nd 
akin  to  that  in  Scriblerus,  *'  Mow  my  beard." — Jos.  Wabton. 

•>  Visit  us,  &c. 
See  "  Par.  Lost,"  b.  ii.  398.     "  Not  unvisited  of  heaven's  fair  light:"  and  St.  Luke, 
i.  78.     "  The  day-spring  from  on  high  hath  visited  us."— T.  Wabton. 

>  Zong-levePd  rule  of  streaming  light. 
The  sun  is  said  to  "level  his  evening  rays,"  "Par.  Lost,"  b.  iv.  543.— T.  Wabton. 

j  Our  star  of  Arcady, 
Or  Tyrian  cynosure. 
Our  greater  or  lesser  bear-star.  Calisto,  the  daughter  of  Lycaon,  King  of  Arcadia, 
was  changed  into  the  greater  bear,  called  also  Helice,  and  her  son  Areas  into  the 
lesser,  called  also  Cynosura,  by  observing  of  which  the  Tyrians  and  Sidonians  steered 
their  course,  as  the  Grecian  mariners  did  by  the  other.  See  Ovid,  "Fast,"  iii.  107, 
and  Val.  Flaccus,  "Argon."  i.  17. — Newton. 

^  The  folded  flocks,  &c. 
Compare,  as  Mr.  Warton  directs,  ''  Par.  Lost,"  b.  iv.  185.    And  see  the  notes  on 
Milton's  "  Epitaphium  Damonis,"  v.  140. — Todd. 


652  COMUS. 

Or  sound  of  pastoral  reed  with  oaten  stops, 
Or  whistle  from  the  lodge,  or  village  cock 
Count  the  night  watches  to  his  feathery  dames, 
'Twouid  be  some  solace  yet,  some  little  cheering, 
In  this  close  dungeon  of  innumerous'  boughs. 
But,  0,  that  hapless  virgin,  our  lost  sister ! 
Where  may  she  wander  now,  whither  betake  her 
From  the  chill  dew,  among  rude  burs  and  thistles  ? 
Perhaps  some  cold  bank  is  her  bolster  now, 
Or  'gainst  the  rugged  bark  of  some  broad  elm 
Leans  her  unpillow'd  head,  fraught  with  sad  fears. 
What,  if  in  wild  amazement  and  affright ; 
Or,  while  we  speak,  within  the  direful  grasp 
Of  savage  hunger,  or  of  savage  heat  ? 

EL  Br.  Peace,  brother;  be  not  over-exquisite" 
To  east  the  fashion  of  uncertain  evils  :  ° 
For  grant  they  be  so,  while  they  rest  unknown/ 
What  need  a  man  forestall  his  date  of  grief, 
And  run  to  meet  what  he  would  most  avoid  'i 
Or  if  they  be  but  false  alarms  of  fear, 
How  bitter  is  such  self-delusion  ! 
I  do  not  think  my  sister  so  to  seek, 
Or  so  unprincipled  in  Virtue's  book. 
And  the  sweet  peace  that  goodness  bosoms  ever, 
As  that  the  single  want  of  light  and  noise 
^ot  being  in  danger,  as  I  trust  she  is  noti") 
Could  stir  the  constant  mood  of  her  calm  thoughts, 
And  put  them  into  misbecoming  plight. 
"  Virtue  could  see  to  do  what  Virtue  would 
By  her  own  radiant  light,i  though  sun  and  moon 

1  Inniimerous. 
"  Innumerous"  is  uncommon.     But  see  "  Par.  Lost,"  b.  vii.  455.     "  Innumerous  living 
creatures."     The  expression,  "  Innumerous  boughs,"  has  been  adopted  in  Pope's  Odys- 
8cy. — T.  Waeton. 

ro  Exquisite. 
"  Exquisite"  was  not  now  uncommon  in  its  more  original  signification.    Beaumont 
and  Fletcher,  "Little  Fr.  Law."  a.  v.  s.  1. 

They  are  exquisite  in  mischief. — T.  Warton. 

n  To  cast  the  fashion  of  uncertain  evils. 

A  metaphor  taken  from  the  founder's  art. — Warburton. 

Rather  from  astrology,  as  "  to  cast  a  nativity."  The  meaning  is  to  predict,  prefigure, 
compute,  Ac. — T.  Warton. 

0  This  line  obscures  the  thought,  and  loads  the  expression.  It  had  been  better  out^  as 
any  one  may  see  by  reading  the  passage  without  it. — Warburton. 

p  As  that  the  single  want  of  light  and  noise 
(iVb^  being  in  danger,  as  I  trust  she  is  not). 
A  profound  critic  cites  the  entire  context,  as  containing  a  beautiful  example  of  Mil- 
ton's using  the  parenthesis,  a  figure  which  he  has  frequently  used  with  great  effect. — 
"  Origin  and  Prog,  of  Language,"  b.  iv.  p.  ii.  vol.  iii.  p.  76.  Some  perhaps  may  think 
this  beauty  quite  accidental  and  undesigned.  A  parenthesis  is  often  thrown  in  for  the 
sake  of  explanation,  after  a  passage  is  written. — T.  Warton. 

q  Virtue  could  see  to  do  what  Virtue  would 
By  her  otcn  radiant  light. 
It  has  been  noticed  by  many  critics,  that  this  noble  sentiment  was  inspired  from 
Spenser,  "Faerie  Queene,"  i.  i.    2: — 


COMUS.  653 

Were  in  the  flat  sea  sunk ;  and  Wisdom's  self 

Oft  seeks  to  sweet  retired  solitude : ' 

Where,  with  her  best  nurse,  Contemplation,* 

She  plumes  her  feathers,*  and  lets  grow  her  wings, 

That  in  the  various  bustle  of  resort 

Were  all-to  ruffled,"  and  sometimes  impair'd. 

He,  that  has  light  within  his  own  clear  breast, 

May  sit  in  the  centre,  and  enjoy  bright  day  :^ 

But  he,  that  hides  a  dark  soul  and  foul  thoughts. 

Benighted  walks  under  the  mid-day  sun; 

Himself  is  his  own  dungeon.* 

)Sec.  Br.  'Tis  most  true. 

That  Musing  Meditation  most  affects 
The  pensive  secresy  of  desert  cell. 
Far  from  the  cheerful  haunt  of  men  and  herds, 

Vertue  gives  herselfp  light  through  daiknesse  for  to  wade. 
But  may  not  Jonson  here  be  also  aotieed,  who,  in  his  Mask,  "  Pleasure  reconciled  to 
Virtue,"  (to  which  I  have  ventured  to  assign  other  allusions  in  "  Comus,")  says  of 
Virtue ; — 

She,  she  it  is  in  darknesse  shines  ; 

'Tis  she  that  still  herself  refines, 

By  her  own  light  to  every  eye. — Todd. 

f  0/t  seeks  to  siveet  retired  solitude. 
For  the  same  uncommon  uso  of  "  seek,"  Mr.  Bowie  cites  Bale's  "  Examinacyon  of 
A.  Askew,"  p.  24.    "Hath  not  he  moche  nedeofhelpe  who  seeketh  to  soche  a  surgeon?" 
So  also  in  Isaiah,  xi.  10.     "To  it  shall  the  Gentiles  seek." — T.  Warton. 

'  Her  best  nurse,  Contemplation. 
In  Sidney's  "  Arcadia,"  Solitude  is  the  nurse  of  Contemplation,  b.  i.  p.  31,  ed5t.  1674. 
"Such  contemplation,  or  more  excellent,  I  enjoy  in  solitariness;  and  my  solitariness  is 
perchance  the  nurse  of  these  contemplations." — Dunster. 

'  She  plumes  her  feathers. 
I  believe  the  true  reading  to  be  "  prunes,"  which  Lawes  ignorantly  altered  to  "plumes," 
afterwards  imperceptibly  continued  in  ihe  poet's  own  edition.     To  "prune  wings,"  is  to 
Bmoothe,  or  set  them  in  order,  when  ruffled :  for  this  is  the  leading  idea.     Spenser, 
"Faer.  Qu."  ii.  iii.  36:— 

She  'gins  her  feathers  foule  disfigured 
Proudly  to  prune. — T.  Waeton. 

u  Were  all-to  ruffled. 
So  read  as  in  editions  1637,  1645,  and  1673.  Not  too,  nimis.  "All-to,"  or  "al-to,"  is 
entirely.  See  Tyrwhitt's  Glossary,  Chaucer,  v.  To.  And  Upton's  Glossary,  Spenser, 
V.  All.  Various  instances,  occur  in  Chauoer  and  Spenser,  and  in  later  writers.  The 
corruption,  supposed  to  be  an  emendation,  "all  too  ruffled,'' began  with  Tickell,  who 
had  no  knowledge  of  our  old  language,  and  has  been  continued  by  Fenton,  and  Dr. 
Newton.     Tonson  has  the  true  reading,  in  1695,  and  1705.— T.  Wartox. 

See  Judges  ix.  53  : — "  And  a  certain  woman  cast  a. piece  of  a  mill-stone  upon  Abimo- 
lech's  head,  and  all-to  brake  his  skull :"  for  so  it  should  be  printed.  Some  editionsof 
the  Bible  corruptly  read,  "  all  to  break,"  placing  the  verb  improperly  in  the  infinitive 
mood. — Todd. 

V  He  that  has  light  within  his  own  clear  breast. 
May  sit  in  the  centre,  and  enjoy  bright  day. 
So,  in  his  "  Prose  Works,"  i.  217,  edit.  1698  :— "  The  actions  of  just  and  pioufl_  men 
do  not  darken  in  their  middle  course ;  but  Solomon  tells  us,  they  are  as  the  shining 
light,  that  shineth  more  and  more  unto  the  perfect  day." — Todd. 
w  Himself  is  his  own  dunaeon. 
In  "Samson  Agonistes,"  v.  155,  the  Chorus  apply  this  solemn  and  forcible  expression 
to  the  captive  and  afflicted  hero  : — 

Thou  art  hecome  (O  worst  imprisnoment !) 
The  dungeon  of  thyself.  —Todd. 


654  COMUS. 

And  sits  as  safe  as  in  a  senate-bouse ; ' 

For  who  would  rob  a  hermit  of  his  weeds, 

His  few  books,  or  his  beads,  or  maple  dish, 

Or  do  his  gray  hairs  any  violence  ? 

But  Beauty,y  like  tl\e  fair  Hesperian  tree 

Laden  with  blooming  gold,  had  need  the  guard 

Of  dragon  watch  with  unenchanted  eye," 

To  save  her  blossoms,  and  defend  her  fruit, 

From  the  rash  hand  of  bold  Incontinence. 

You  may  as  well  spread  out  the  unsunn'd  heaps 

Of  miser's  treasure  by  an  outlaw's  den, 

And  tell  me  it  is  safe,  as  bid  me  hope 

Danger  will  wink  on  opportunity, 

And  let  a  single  helpless  maiden  pass* 

Uninjured  in  this  wild  surrounding  waste. 

Of  night,  or  loneliness,  it  recks  me  not ; 

I  fear  the  dread  events  that  dog  them  both. 

Lest  some  ill-greeting  touch  attempt  the  person 

Of  our  unowned  sister. 

Bl.  Br.  I  do  not,  brother, 

«  And  aita  at  safe  a»  in  a  senate-house. 
Not  many  years  after  this  was  written,  Milton's  friends  showed  that  the  safety  of  a 
senate-house  was  not  inviolable  ;  but,  when  the  people  turn  legislators,  what  place  is 
safe  from  the  tumults  of  innovation,  and  the  insults  of  disobedience  ? — T.  Warton. 

y  But  beauty,  Ac. 

These  sentiments  are  heightened  from  the  "  Faithful  Shepherdess,"  a.  i.  s.  1 : — 

Can  such  beauty  be 
Safe  in  its  own  guard,  and  not  drawe  the  eye 
Of  him  that  passeth  on  to  greedy  gaze,  &c. — T.  Warton. 

»  With  unenchanted  eye. 

That  is,  which  cannot  be  enchanted.  Here  is  more  flattery ;  but  certainly  such  as 
was  justly  due,  and  which  no  poet  in  similar  circumstances  could  resist  the  opportunity, 
or  rather  the  temptation,  of  paying. — T.  Warton. 

When  the  Christian  religion  supplanted  the  pagan  worship,  such  was  the  attachment 
even  of  zealous  converts  to  the  old  established  days  of  jubilee  and  joy  in  honour  of  the 
gods  and  goddesses  of  Olympus,  that,  it  was  found  necessary  to  do  something  of  the 
aort  for  the  Christian  cause ;  and  accordingly  a  long  line  of  saints,  male  and  female, 
took  possession  of  the  set  times  of  heathen  jubilee,  and  reigned  in  the  stead  of  Diana 
and  Apollo.  In  like  manner,  the  domestic  mythology  of  the  pagans  yielded  to  that  of 
the  Christians ;  and  the  deeds  which  the  infernal  gods  wrought  of  old,  were  now  accom- 
plished by  their  successor  Satan.  Instead  of  a  dragon  being  placed  as  a  sentinel  over 
concealed  treasure  of  any  kind,  one  of  the  inferior  fiends  was  reluctantly  compelled  to 
perform  the  office :  the  corsairs  in  latter  times  carried  this  much  farther,  and,  it  is  said, 
slew  a  prisoner  over  their  treasure-chest,  and  commanded  his  spirit  to  k  eep  watch  and 
ward.  When  Dalswinton  castle  was  stormed  and  taken  by  Robert  Bruce,  Comyn,  who 
was  very  rich,  caused  his  strong-box  to  be  sunk  in  one  of  the  deepest  pools  of  the  Nith, 
which  in  those  days  ran  close  by  the  castle  walls.  Times  of  peace  returned,  and  a 
diver  was  employed  to  search  for  the  gold ;  but  when  he  descended  to  the  bottom  of 
the  pool,  he  found,  it  is  said,  a  fiend  seated  on  the  lid  of  the  treasure-chest,  who  not 
only  seemed  disposed  to  contest  the  matter,  but,  as  our  version  of  the  legend  avers, 
actually  held  a  human  victim  under  each  paw,  and  with  his  mouth  gaped  wistfully  for 
a  third.  Two  divers,  it  seems,  had  tried  the  adventure  before,  and  failed  ;  nor  did  the 
third  and  last  succeed. — C. 

»  And  let  a  single  Jtelpless  maiden  pass,  &c. 
Eosalind  argues  in  the  same  manner,  in  "As  you  Like  It,"  a.  i.  s.  3 : — 
Alas  !  what  danger  will  it  be  to  us. 
Maids  as  we  are,  to  travel  forth  so  far  ! 
Beauty  provoketh  thieves  sooner  than  gold.— T.  Warton. 


__^ ^^ COMUS.  655 

Infer  as  if  I  thought  my  sister's  state 
Secure,  without  all  doubt  or  controversy  j 
Yet,  where  an  equal  poise'  of  hope  and  fear 
Does  arbitrate  the  event,  ray  nature  is 
That  I  incline  to  hope,  rather  than  fear, 
And  gladly  banish  squint  suspicion. "= 
My  sister  is  not  so  defenceless  left 
As  you  imagine ;  she  has  a  hidden  strength, 
Which  you  remember  not. 

Sec.  Br.  What  hidden  strength, 

Unless  the  strength  of  Heaven,  if  you  mean  that  ? 

El.  Br.  I  mean  that  too,  but  yet  a  hidden  strength, 
Which,  if  Heaven  gave  it,  may  be  term'd  her  own  : 
'Tis  Chastity,  my  brother,  Chastity  : 
She,  that  has  that,  is  clad  in  complete  steel; 
And,  like  a  quiver'd  nymph  with  arrows  keen,* 
May  trace  huge  forests,^  and  unharbour'd  heaths, 
Infamous  hills,'  and  sandy  perilous  wilds. 
Where,  through  the  sacred  rays  of  Chastity,* 
No  savage  fierce,  bandite,  or  mountaineer,*" 
Will  dare  to  soil  her  virgin  purity : 
Yea,  there,  where  very  desolation  dwells, 
By  grots  and  caverns  shagg'd  with  horrid  shades, 

•>  Yet  where  an  equal  poise,  &c. 
"Boni  animi  proprium  est  in  dubiis  meliora  supponere,  donee  probetur  in  contra- 
num."    Mat.  Paris,  "Hist."  p.  774.— Bowle. 

0  And  gladly  banish  squint  suspicion. 

Alluding  probably,  in  the  epithet,  to  Spenser's  description  of  Suspicion,  in  his 
Mask  of  Cupid,  "Faery  Queen,"  iii.  xii.  15: — 

For  he  was  foul,  ill-favoured,  and  grim, 

Under  his  eye-brows  looking  still  ascaunce. — Thyer. 

d  And,  nice  a  quiver'' d  nymph  with  arrows  keen. 

I  make  no  doubt  but  Milton  in  this  passage  had  his  eye  upon  Spenser's  Belphcebe, 
whose  character,  arms,  and  manner  of  lii'e  perfectly  correspond  with  this  description. 
— Thyek. 

^  May  trace  huge  forests,  &c. 

Shakspeare's  Oberon,  as  Mr.  Bowie  observes,  would  breed  his  child- knight  to 
"trace  the  forests  wild,"  "Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  a.  ii.  s.  3.  In  Johnson's 
"  Masques,"  a  fairy  says,  vol.  v.  206  : — 

Only  we  are  free  to  trace 

All  nis  grounds,  as  he  to  chase.— T.  Warton. 

^  Infamous  hills. 

Horace,"Od."  i.  iii.  20 : — "  Infames  scopulos,"  as  Dr.  Newton  observes.  P.  Fletcher, 
in  his  "  Pise.  Eel."  published  in  1633,  has  "  infamous  woods  and  downs." — Todd. 

g  Where,  through  the  sacred  rays  of  Chastity,  &e. 

See  Fletcher,  "  Faithful  Shepherdess,"  a.  i.  s.  1.— T.  "Wabton. 

^Mountaineer. 

A  mountaineer  seems  to  have  conveyed  the  idea  of  something  very  savage  and  fe- 
rocious.   In  the  "  Tempest,"  a.  iii.  s.  3 : — 

Who  would  believe  that  there  were  mountaineers 
Dewlapp'd  like  bulls  1 

In  "  Cymbeline,"  a.  iv.  s.  2 : — 

Who  call'd  me  traitor,  mountaineer.— T.  Warton. 


656  COMUS. 

She  may  pass  on  with  unblench'd'  majesty, 
Be  it  not  done  in  pride,  or  in  presumption. 
Some  say,  no  evil  thing  that  walks  by  night^ 
In  fog  or  fire,  by  lake  or  moorish  fen,'' 
Blue  meagre  hag,  or  stubborn  unlaid  ghost 
That  breaks  his  magick  chains  at  curfeu  time,* 
No  goblin,  or  swart  faery  of  the  mine," 

'  Unblench'd. 

LTnblinded,  unconfounded, — Warton. 

J  Some  say,  no  evil  thing  that  walks  hy  night, 

Milton  had  Shakspeare  in  his  head,  "Hamlet,"  a.  i.  s.  1 : — 

Some  say,  that  ever  'gfainst  that  season  comes 
Wherein  our  Saviour's  birth  is  celebrated — 
But  then,  they  say,  no  spirit  walks  abroad. 

Another  superstition  is  ushered  in  with  the  same  form  in  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  x,  575^ 
And  the  same  form  occurs  in  the  description  of  the  physical  effects  of  Adam's  fall,  b.  z. 
668.— T.  Wakton. 

k  In  fog  or  fire,  hy  lake  or  moorish  fen,  SbO. 
Milton  here  had  his  eye  on  the  "  Faithful  Shepherdess,"  a.  i.     He  has  borrowed  tlie 
sentiment,  but  raised  and  improved  the  diction  : — 

I  have  heard  (my  mother  told  it  me, 
And  now  1  do  believe  it)  if  I  keep 
My  virgin  flower  uncropt,  pure,  chaste,  and  fair, 
No  goblm,  wood-god,  fairy,  elfe,  or  fiend, 
Satyr,  or  other  power  that  haunts  the  groves, 
Shall  hurt  my  body,  or  by  vain  illusion 
Draw  me  to  wander  after  idle  fires  ; 
Or  voices  calling  me,  &c. — Nkwtok. 

I  Stubborn  unlaid  ghost 
That  breaks  his  magick  chains  at  curfeu  time. 
An  unlaid  ghost  was  among  the  most  vexatious  plagues  of  the  world  of  spirits.    It 
is  one  of  the  evils  deprecated  at  Fidele's  grave,  in  "  Cymbeline,"  a.  iv.  s.  2 : — 

No  exerciser  harm  thee., 

Nor  no  witchcraft  charm  thee, 

Ghost  unlaid  forbear  thee. — T.  Warton. 

That  Milton  looked  with  learned  eyes  on  the  superstitious  beliefs  which  he  wrought 
Into  his  verse,  these  lines  bear  proof,  but  his  learning  adorned  rather  than  oppressed 
popular  fiction :  the  horned  and  hoofed  fiend  of  Gothic  belief  became  in  his  hands  a 
sort  of  infernal  Apollo :  the  witch  who  drained  cows  dry,  shook  ripe  corn,  and  sunk 
venturous  boats,  grew  with  him  "a  blue  meagre  hag,"  a  description  which  inspired  the 
pencil  of  Fuseli.  The  "midnight  hags"  of  British  belief  suffered  a  sore  change  in 
their  persons  during  the  course  of  time.  When  we  first  hear  of  them,  instead  of  all 
being  "  beldames  auld  and  droll,"  they  counted  in  their  ranks  much  youth  and  beauty  ; 
music  and  dancing  made  a  part  of  their  entertainments;  nor  did  they  hesitate  to  mount 
their  ragweed  nags  :  and,  picking  up  some  handsome  and  wandering  youth  by  the  way, 
carry  him  with  them  ;  and  initiating  him  into  the  mysteries  of  love  and  wine,  set  him 
down  on  Mount  Caucasus,  and  let  him  find  his  way  back  to  Plinlimmon  or  Shehallion 
as  he  best  could.  The  witches  of  latter  days  were  all  old,  withered,  unlovely,  and 
repulsive ;  their  pranks,  too,  were  of  a  low  order,  and  their  spells  easily  averted.  A 
wand  of  mountain-ash  protected  a  whole  herd  of  cows;  a  neck-band  of  the  red  berries 
of  the  same  tree  was  a  full  security  to  the  wearer;  nay,  devout  and  skilful  people 
retaliated  upon  them,  and  made  them  suffer  greater  miseries  than  they  were  able  to 
inflict.— C. 

»•  Sicart  faery  of  the  mine. 

In  the  Gothic  system  of  pneumatology,  mines  were  supposed  to  be  inhabited  by 
various  sorts  of  spirits.  See  Olaus  Magnus's  chapter  "  De  Metallicis  Daemonibus,  Hist. 
Gent.  Septentrional."  In  an  old  translation  of  Lavaterus  "  De  Spectris  et  Lemuribus," 
is  the  following  passage : — "  Pioners  or  diggers  for  metall  do  afiBrme,  that  in  many 
mines  there  appeare  straunge  shapes  and  spirites,  who  are  apparelled  like  vnto  the 
laborers  in  the  pit.  These  wander  vp  and  downe  in  caues  and  underminings,  and 
seemo  to  besturre  themselves  in  all  kinde  of  labor;  as,  to  digge  after  the  veine,  to 
Carrie  together  the  oare,  to  put  into  basketts,  and  to  turn  the  winding  wheele  to  draw 
it  vp,  when  in  very  deed  they  do  nothinge  lesse,"  Ac. — "  Of  Ghostes  and  Spirites  walk- 


COMUS.  651 

Hath  hurtful  power  o'er  true  Virginity. 

Do  ye  believe  me  yet,  or  shall  I  call 

Antiquity  from  the  old  schools  of  Grreece 

To  testify  the  arms  of  Chastity  ? 

Hence  "  had  the  huntress  Dian  her  dread  bow, 

Fair  silver-shafted  queen,  for  ever  chaste, 

Wherewith  she  tamed  the  brinded  lioness 

And  spotted  mountain-pard,  but  set  at  naught 

The  frivolous  bolt  of  Cupid  j »  gods  and  men 

Fear'd  her  stern  frown,  and  she  was  queen  of  the  woods 

What  was  that  snaky-headed  Gorgon  shield, 

That  wise  Minerva  wore,  unconquer'd  virgin, 

Wherewith  she  freezed  her  foes  to  congeal' d  stone, 

But  rigid  looks  p  of  chaste  austerity, 

And  noble  grace  that  dash'd  brute  violence  ' 

With  sudden  adoration  and  blank  awe  ? 

So  dear  to  Heaven  is  saintly  chastity, 

ing  by  night,"  Ac,     Lond.  1572,  ch.  xvi.  p.  73.    And  hence  we  see  why  Milton  givei 
this  species  of  fairy  a  swarthy  or  dark  complexion. — T.  Warton. 

The  true  British  goblin,  called  elsewhere  by  Milton  the  "lubbar  fiend,"  and  by  the 
Scotch  poets  the  " billie-blin"  or  "brownie,"  is  a  sort  of  drudging  domestic  fiend, 
ulightly  inclined  to  work  mischief  on  sluttish  housemaids  and  lazy  hinds,  but  not  at 
all  disposed  to  injure  virgins,  or  harm  the  good  and  the  industrious.  Indeed  the  main 
business  of  the  brownie  seems  to  have  been  to  watch  over  the  flocks,  the  crops,  and  the 
fortunes  of  the  house  to  which  he  was  attached.  He  has  been  known  to  reap  a  twenty- 
acre  field  of  corn  between  twilight  and  dawn,  as  much  for  the  purpose  of  astonishing 
the  reapers,  as  to  prevent  it  from  being  shaken  by  the  wind.  Milton  himself  ascribes 
to  him  the  power  of  thrashing  as  much  grain  at  a  time  as  ten  day-labourers  could  do; 
and  tradition  says,  that  on  one  occasion,  when  a  drowsy  domestic  was  unwilling  to  ride 
and  bring  the  midwife  for  the  mistress  of  the  mansion,  brownie  mounted  the  saddled 
horse,  brought  the  dame  with  supernatural  haste,  and  finished  his  excursion  by  flogging 
the  lazy  menial  with  the  iron-bitted  bridle  till  he  cried  for  mercy.  The  elfin  page  of 
Scott  is  a  more  elegant  sort  of  brownie;  but  tradition  always  represents  the  latter  as  a 
solitary  creature,  that  shuns  the  sight  of  man,  and  of  whom  only  one  glimpse  in  twenty 
years  could  be  obtained  by  the  most  watchful  and  wary.  He  accepted  only  the  choicest 
food,  such  as  cream  and  honey;  his  stature  was  about  half  the  human  height;  hid 
complexion  was  brown ;  his  arms  long,  and  his  strength  immense.  He  seems  to  have 
been  utterly  naked,  and  it  is  known  that  he  had  no  partiality  to  clothes ;  for  when  the 
brownie  of  Lethan-hall  was  presented  with  a  new  mantle  and  hood,  he  was  heard  wail- 
ing like  a  child  for  three  nights ;  after  which  he  departed,  and  returned  no  more. — C. 

»  Hence,  Ac. 
Milton,  I  fancy,  took  the.  hint  of  this  beautiful  mythological  interpretation  from  a 
dialogue  of  Lucian,  betwixt  Venus  and  Cupid;  where  the  mother  asking  her  son  how, 
after  having  attacked  all  the  other  deities,  he  came  to  spare  Minerva  and  Diana,  Cupi(i 
replies,  that  the  former  looked  so  fiercely  at  him,  and  frightened  him  so  with  the 
Gorgon  head  which  she  wore  upon  her  breast,  that  he  durst  not  meddle  with  her;  and 
that  as  to  Diana,  she  was  always  so  employed  in  hunting,  that  he  could  not  catch  her 
— Thyer. 

0  The  frivolous  bolt  of  Cupid. 
This  reminds  one  of  "  the  dribbling  dart  of  love,"  in  "  Measure  for  Measure."   "  Bolt," 
I  believe,  is  properly  the  arrow  of  a  crossbow. — T.  Warton. 
See  Shakspeare,  "  Mids.  Night's  Dream,"  a.  ii.  s.  5 : — 

Yet  mark'd  I  whera  the  bolt  of  Cupid  fell.— Todd. 

p  But  rigid  looks,  Ac. 
"  Rigid  looks"  refer  to  the  snaky  locks,  and  "  noble  grace"  to  the  beautiful  face  as 
Gorgon  is  represented  on  ancient  gems. — Warburtow. 

q  Brute  violence. 
See  "Par.  Rey."  b.  i.  218.— Thykb. 
83 


658  COMUS. 

That,  when  a  soul  is  found  sincerely  so, 

A  thousand  liveried  angels  lacky  her,' 

Driving  far  off  each  thing  of  sin  and  guilt  j 

And  in  clear  dream  and  solemn  vision, 

Tell  her  of  things  that  no  gross  ear  can  hear;' 

Till  oft  converse  with  heavenly  habitants 

Begin  to  cast  a  beam  on  the  outward  shape, 

The  unpolluted  temple  of  the  mind,* 

And  turns  it  by  degrees  to  the  soul's  essence,* 

Till  all  be  made  immortal :  but  when  lust, 

By  unchaste  looks, '^  loose  gestures,  and  foul  talk, 

But  most  by  lewd  and  lavish  act  of  sin. 

Lets  in  defilement  to  the  inward  parts ; 

The  soul  grows  clotted  by  contagion,'' 

T  A  thousand  liveried  angeh  lacky  her. 
The  idea,  without  the  lowness  of  allusion  and  expression,  is  repeated  in  "  Par.  Lostf" 
b.  viii.  559  : — 

About  her  as  a  guard  angelick  placed. — T.  Waeton. 

•  Tell  her  of  things  that  no  gross  ear  can  hear. 
See  "Arcades,"  v.  72.  This  dialogue  between  the  two  Brothers  is  an  amicable  con- 
test between  fact  and  philosophy :  the  younger  draws  his  arguments  from  common 
apprehension,  and  the  obvious  appearance  of  things :  the  elder  proceeds  on  a  pro- 
founder  knowledge,  and  argues  from  abstracted  principles.  Here  the  difference  of  their 
ages  is  properly  made  subservient  to  a  contrast  of  character :  but  this  slight  variety 
must  have  been  insuflSeient  to  keep  so  prolix  and  learned  a  disputation  alive  upon  the 
atage :  it  must  have  languished,  however  adorned  with  the  fairest  flowers  of  eloquence. 
The  whole  dialogue,  which  indeed  is  little  more  than  a  solitary  declamation  in  blank 
verse,  much  resembles  the  manner  of  our  author's  Latin  Prolusions,  where  philosophy 
is  enforced  by  pagan  fable  and  poetical  allusion. — T.  AVarton. 

'  The  unpolluted  temple  of  the  mind. 
For  this  beautiful  metaphor  he  was  probably  indebted  to  St  John,  ii.  21.    "He  spake 
of  the  temple  of  his  body:"  and  Shakspeare  has  the  same,  "Tempest,"  ai  i.  s.  6: — 
There's  nothing  ill  can  dwell  in  such  a  temple. — ^Newton. 
n  And  turns  it  hy  degrees  to  the  soul's  essence. 
This  is  agreeable  to  the  system  of  the  materialists,  of  which  Milton  was  one. — War- 
burton. 

The  same  notion  of  body's  working  up  to  spirit  Milton  afterwards  introduced  into  hia 
"Par.  Lost,"  b.  v.  469,  &c.,  which  is  there,  I  think,  liable  to  some  objection,  as  he  was 
entirely  at  liberty  to  have  chosen  a  more  rational  system,  and  as  it  is  also  put  into  the 
mouth  of  an  archangel :  but  in  this  place  it  falls  in  so  well  with  the  poet's  design,  gives 
cnch  a  force  and  strength  to  this  encomium  on  chastity,  and  carries  in  it  such  a  dignity 
of  sentiment;  that,  however  repugnant  it  may  be  to  our  philosophical  ideas,  it  cannot 
miss  striking  and  delighting  every  virtuous  and  intelligent  reader. — Thyer. 

v  By  unchaste  looks,  Ac. 
"  He  [Christ]  censures  an  unchaste  look  to  be  an  adultery  already  committed :  another 
time  he  passes  over  actual   adultery  with  less  reproof  than  for  an  unchaste  look," 
"  Divorce,"  b.  ii.  c.  1.     Matth.  v.  28.— T.  Warton. 

w  The  soul  groics  clotted  hy  contagion,  &c. 
I  cannot  resist  the  pleasure  of  translating  a  passage  in  Plato's  "  Phagdon,"  which 
Milton  here  evidently  copies: — "A  soul  with  such  affections,  does  it  not  fly  away  to 
Boraething  divine  and  resembling  itself?  To  something  divine,  immortal,  and  wise? 
Whither  when  it  arrives,  it  becomes  happy;  being  freed  from  error,  ignorance,  fear, 
love,  and  other  human  evils.  But  if  it  departs  from  the  body  polluted  and  impure, 
with  which  it  has  been  long  linked  in  a  state  of  familiarity  and  friendship,  and  by 
whose  pleasures  and  appetites  it  has  been  bewitched,  so  as  to  think  nothing  else  true, 
but  what  is  corporeal,  and  which  may  be  touched,  seen,  drunk,  and  used  for  the  gratifi- 
cations of  lust;  at  the  same  time,  if  it  has  been  accustomed  to  hate,  fear,  or  shun  what- 
ever is  dark  acd  invisible  to  the  human  eye,  yet  discerned  and  approved  by  philosophy ; 


COMUS.  .  659 

Imbodies,  and  imbrutes,*  till  she  quite  lose 
The  divine  property  of  her  first  being. 
Such  are  those  thick  and  gloomy  shadows  damp, 
Oft  seen  in  charnel  vaults  and  sepulchres 
Lingering,  and  sitting  by  a  new-made  grave, 
As  loth  to  leave  the  body  that  it  loved, 
And  link'd  itself  by  carnal  sensuality 
To  a  degenerate  and  degraded  state. 

Sec.  Br.  How  charming  is  divine  philosophy !  ^ 
Not  harsh  and  crabbed,  as  dull  fools  suppose ; 
But  musical  as  is  Apollo's  lute,* 
And  a  perpetual  feast  of  nectar' d  sweets, 
Where  no  crude  surfeit  reigns. 

Ul.  Br.  List,  list  j  I  hear 

Some  far-off  halloo  break  the  silent  air. 

Sec.  Br.  Methought  so  too ;  what  should  it  be  ? 

El.  Br.  For  certain 

Either  some  one  like  us  night-founder'd  here. 
Or  else  some  neighbour  woodman,  or  at  worst, 

— I  ask,  if  a  soul  so  disposed  will  go  sincere  and  diseHcumbered  from  the  body  ?  By 
no  means.  And  will  it  not  be^  as  I  have  supposed,  infected  and  involved  with  corporeal 
contagion,  which  an  acquaintance  and  converse  with  the  body,  from  a  perpetual  asso- 
ciation, has  made  congenial  ?  So  I  think.  But,  my  friend,  we  must  pronounce  that 
substance  to  be  ponderous,  depressive,  and  earthy,  which  such  a  soul  draws  with  it; 
and  therefore  it  is  burdened  by  such  a  clog,  and  again  is  dragged  oflF  to  some  visible 
place,  for  fear  of  that  which  is  hidden  and  unseen ;  and,  as  they  report,  retires  to  tombs 
and  sepulchres,  among  which  the  shadowy  phantasms  of  these  brutal  souls,  being 
loaded  with  somewhat  visible,  have  often  actually  appeared.  Probably,  0  Socrates: 
and  it  is  equally  probable,  0  Cebes,  that  these  are  the  souls  of  wicked,  not  virtuous 
men,  which  are  forced  to  wander  amidst  burial-places,  suffering  the  punishment  of  an 
impious  life :  and  they  so  long  are  seen  hovering  about  the  monuments  of  the  dead, 
till,  from  the  accompaniment  of  the  sensualities  of  corporeal  nature,  they  are  again 
clothed  with  a  body,"  &c.  Phsed.  0pp.  Platen,  p.  386,  edit.  Lugdun.  1590,  fol.  An 
admirable  writer,  the  late  bishop  of  Worcester,  has  justly  remarked,  that  "  this  poetical 
philosophy  nourished  the  fine  spirits  of  Milton's  time,  though  it  corrupted  some."  It  is 
highly  probable,  that  Henry  More,  the  great  Platonist,  who  was  Milton's  contemporary 
at  Christ's-college,  might  have  given  his  mind  an  early  bias  to  the  study  of  Plato. — 
T.  Warton. 

X  Imbodies  and  imhrutes. 

Thus  also  Satan  speaks  of  the  debasement  and  corruption  of  its  original  dirine 
essence,  "  Par.  Lost,"  b.  ix.  165 : — 

mix'd  with  bestial  slime, 
This  essence  to  mcarnate  and  irabrute. 
That  to  the  highth  of  Deity  aspired— T.  Wabtoh. 

V  How  charming  is  divine  philosophy. 

This  is  an  immediate  reference  to  the  foregoing  speech,  in  which  the  divine  philoso- 
phy of  Plato  concerning  the  nature  and  condition  of  the  human  soul  after  death  is  so 
largely  and  so  nobly  displayed.  Much  the  same  sentiments  appear  in  the  "  Tractate 
on  Education :" — "  I  shall  not  detain  you  longer  in  the  demonstration  of  what  we  should 
not  do ;  but  straight  conduct  you  to  a  hill-side,  where  I  will  point  ye  out  the  right  path 
of  a  vertuous  and  noble  education,  laborious  indeed  at  the  first  ascent,  but  also  eg 
smooth,  so  green,  so  full  of  goodly  prospect  and  melodious  sounds,  that  the  harp  of  0*. 
pheus  was  not  more  charming,"  p.  101,  ed.  1675.  And  see  "  Par.  Reg."  b.  i.  478,  &c.— 
T.  Warton. 

«  But  mtisical  as  is  Apollo's  lute. 

Perhaps  from  ''  Love's  Labonr's  Lost,"  as  Mr.  Bowie  suggests,  a,  iv.  s.  S. 

As  sweet  and  musical 
As  bright  Apollo's  lute.— T.  Wabton. 


660  COMUS. 

Some  roving  robber  calling  to  his  fellows. 

Sec.  Br.  Heaven  keep  my  sister.     Again,  again,  and  near  I 
Best  draw,  and  stand  upon  our  guard. 

M.  Br.  I'll  halloo  : 

If  he  be  friendly,  he  comes  well ;  if  not. 
Defence  is  a  good  cause,  and  Heaven  be  for  us. 

Enter  the  Attendant  Spirit,  habited  like  a  $hepherd. 

That  halloo  I  should  know ;  what  are  you  ?  speak ; 
Come  not  too  near ;  you  fall  on  iron  stakes  else. 

Spir.  What  voice  is  that  ?  my  young  lord  ?  speak  again. 

Sec.  Br.  0  brother,  'tis  my  father's  shepherd,  sure. 

£JL  Br.  Thyrsis  ?  whose  artful  strains  *  have  oft  delay'd 
The  huddling  brook  to  hear  his  madrigal,'' 
And  sweeten'd  every  muskrose  of  the  dale  ? 
How  earnest  thou  here,  good  swain  ?  hath  any  ram 
Slipp'd  from  the  fold,  or  young  kid  lost  his  dam. 
Or  straggling  wether  the  pent  flock  forsook  ? 
How  couldst  thou  find  this  dark  sequester'd  nook?* 

Spir.  O  my  loved  master's  heir,  and  his  next  joy, 
I  came  not  here  on  such  a  trivial  toy 
As  a  stray' d  ewe,  or  to  pursue  the  stealth 
Of  pilfering  wolf:  not  all  the  fleecy  wealth, 
That  doth  enrich  these  downs,  is  worth  a  thought 
To  this  my  errand,  and  the  care  it  brought. 
But,  0  my  virgin  Lady,  where  is  she  ? 
How  chance  she  is  not  in  your  company  ? 

*  Thyrsia  ?  tohoae  artful  ttrains,  Ac. 

A  compliment  to  Lawes,  who  personated  the  Spirit.  We  have  just  such  another 
above,  v.  86,  but  this  being  spoken  by  another,  comes  with  better  grace  and  prjpriety; 
or,  to  use  Dr.  Newton's  pertinent  expression,  is  more  genteel.  Milton's  eagerness  to 
praise  his  friend  Lawes  makes  him  here  forget  the  circumstances  of  the  fable :  he  is 
more  intent  on  the  musician  than  the  shepherd,  who  comes  at  a  critical  season,  and 
whose  assistance  in  the  present  diflSculty  should  have  hastily  been  asked  :  but  time  is 
lost  in  a  needless  encomium,  and  in  idle  inquiries  how  the  shepherd  could  possibly  find 
out  this  solitary  part  of  the  forest :  the  youth,  however,  seems  to  be  ashamed  or  unwil- 
ling to  tell  the  unlucky  accident  that  had  befallen  his  sister.  Perhaps  the  real  boyism 
of  the  brother,  which  yet  should  have  been  forgotten  by  the  poet,  is  to  be  taken  into 
the  account. — T.  Wakton. 

Let  it  be  remembered  that  "  Comus"  is  a  drama  of  poetic  description  rathei*  than 
theatric  interest:  besides,  I  conceive  it  exactly  in  nature  for  such  young  inlventurera 
to  dolight  in  having  their  solitude  and  distress  relieved  by  the  acquisition  of  the  aid 
and  company  of  a  faithful  domestic  of  the  family :  and  I  farther  believe  that  it  is  a  fine 
touch  of  real  nature  to  represent  them  at  the  immediate  moment  forgetting,  in  a  certain 
degree,  their  own  immediate  distress,  and  recurring  to  the  well-known  amusements  and 
employments  of  their  old  shepherd,  his  skill  in  pastoral  music,  his  zealous  care  of  his 
flock,  Ac,  all  these  domestic  circumstances  recurring  to  their  minds.  Surely  this  is 
perfectly  in  nature ;  and  if  we  criticise  such  passages,  it  should  certainly  be  to  com- 
mend, and  not  to  censure. — Dcnsteb. 

b  Sladrigal. 
The  madrigal  was  a  species  of  musical  composition,  now  actually  in  practice,  and  in 
high  vogue.     Lawes,  here  intended,  had  composed  madrigals  :  so  had  Milton's  father. 
The  word  is  not  here  thrown  out  at  random. — T.  Wakton. 

e  How  couldst  thou  find  this  dark  geqtiefter'd  nook? 
Thus  the  shepherdess  Clorin  to  Thenot,  Fletcher's  "Faith.  Shep."  a.  it  b.  1.— T. 
Warton. 


COMUS.  661 

El.  Br.  To  tell  thee  sadly,*  shepherd,  without  blame, 
Or  our  neglect,  we  lost  her  as  we  came. 

Spir.  Ay  me  unhappy !  then  my  fears  are  true. 

El.  Br.  What  fears,  good  Thyrsis  ?  Pr'ythee  briefly  shew. 

Spir.  I'll  tell  ye ;  'tis  not  vain  or  fabulous, 
(Though  so  esteem'd  by  shallow  ignorance) 
What  the  sage  poets,  taught  by  the  heavenly  Muse, 
Storied  of  old,  in  high  immortal  verse. 
Of  dire  chimeras,  and  enchanted  isles, 
And  rifted  rocks  whose  entrance  leads  to  hell;* 
For  such  there  be ;  but  unbelief  is  blind. 

Within  the  navel'  of  this  hideous  wood. 
Immured  in  cypress  shades,  a  sorcerer  dwells. 
Of  Bacchus  and  of  Circe  born,  great  Comus, 
Deep  skill'd  in  all  his  mother's  witcheries; 
^       And  here  to  every  thirsty  wanderer 

By  sly  enticement  gives  his  baneful  cup. 

With  many  murmurs  mix'd,s  whose  pleasing  poison 

The  visage  quite  transforms  of  him  that  drinks. 

And  the  inglorious  likeness  of  a  beast 

Fixes  instead,^  unmoulding  reason's  mintage 

d  Sadly. 
Sadly,  soberly,  seriously,  as  th^  word  is  frequently  used  by  our  old  authors,  and  in 
*  Par.  Lost,"  b.  vi.  541. — Newton. 

e  Storied  of  old,  in  high  immortal  verse. 
Of  dire  chimeras,  and  enchanted  isles, 
And  rifted  rocks  whose  entrance  leads  to  hell. 
The  "chimeras  dire"  of  ancient  verse  have  passed  away  from  popular  belief;  not  so 
the  "  enchanted  isles"  and  the  "  rifted  rocks,"  whose  entrance  leads  to  perdition  :  tha 
former  are  to  be  found  in  Scandinavian  song;  and,  not  to  go  farther,  the  volcanic 
mountains  not  inaptly  support  a  belief  in  the  existence  of  the  latter.     The  old  Danish 
ballad  of  Saint  Oluf  relates  how  the  devout  hero  conquered  the  Jutt  and  the  elves  of 
Hornclumner,  and  transformed  them  into  rocks  and  stones,  forms  which  they  still  keep. 
Other  instances  might  be  given  from  both  tale  and  song.     That  ^tna  was  till  lately 
believed  to  be  one  of  the  entrances  to  Satan's  realms  is  sufficiently  intimated  by  a 
northern  tradition,  which  relates,  that  on  the  very  day  and  hour  in  which  an  eminent 
British  statesman  died,  a  traveller  was  startled  with  the  vision  of  a  coach  and  six  gallop- 
ing full  speed  up  the  burning  mountain  :  as  the  pageant  swept  past,  he  heard  a  voice 

exclaim,  "  Ho !  make  way  for  his  grace  of  Q ."    In  this  way  the  poetic  peasantry 

of  the  north  avenged  themselves  on  a  nobleman,  whose  actions  were  not  to  their  mind. 
--C. 

f  Within  the  navel. 
That  is,  in  the  midst :  a  phrase  borrowed  from  the  Greeks  and  Latins. — Newton. 

5  With  many  murmurs  mix'd. 
That  is,  in  preparing  this  enchanted  cup,  the  charm  of  many  barbarous  unintelligi- 
ble words  was  intermixed,  to  quicken  and  strengthen  its  operation. — Warburton. 

h  The  visage  quite  transforms  of  him  that  drinks, 

And  the  inglorious  likeness  of  a  beast 

Fixes  instead. 
The  cup  of  Circe  is  now  dry,  and  her  enchantments  are  despised ;  nor  have  we  any 
drink  in  traditionary  belief  which  rivals  the  "pleasing  poison"  of  the  goddess.  We 
Lave  something  almost  equivalent:  an  ointment  belongs  to  the  fairies,  which  opens 
mortal  eyes  to  things  immortal,  and  shows  the  spirits  of  good  and  evil  that  watch  over 
man.  Our  witches  too  have  magic  staves  and  magic  words,  which  can  transform  a  hare 
into  a  horse,  or  a  ragwort  into  a  pony ;  nay,  one  of  them,  as  the  legend  relates,  inherited 
a  magic  bridle  of  such  wondrous  powers,  that  when  she  ehose  to  shake  it  over  a  man's 
head,  he  instantly  became  a  steed,  and  an  obedient  one,  to  carry  her  on  her  midnight 


662  COMUS. 

Character'd  in  the  face:'  this  have  I  learn' d- 

Tending  my  flocks  hard  by  in  the  hilly  crofts, 

That  brow  this  bottom-glade ;  whence  night  by  night 

He  and  his  monstrous  rout  are  heard  to  howl/ 

Like  stabled  wolves,  or  tigers  at  their  prey,^ 

Doing  abhorred  rites  to  Hecate 

In  their  obscured  haunts  of  inmost  bowers. 

Yet  have  they  many  baits  and  guileful  spells. 

To  inveigle  and  invite  the  unwary  sense 

Of  them  that  pass  unweeting  by  the  way. 

This  evening  late,  by  then  the  chewing  flocks 

Had  ta'en  their  supper'  on  the  savoury  herb 

Of  knot-grass  dew-besprent,  and  were  in  fold, 

I  sat  me  down  to  watch  upon  a  bank 

With  ivy  canopied,  and  interwove 

With  flaunting  honey -suckle ; ""  and  began,  , 

Wrapp'd  in  a  pleasing  fit  of  melancholy. 

To  meditate  my  rural  minstrelsy," 

errands.  This  gifted  dame  had  two  servant  lads,  one  lean,  the  other  fat :  on  the  Jattei 
upbraiding  the  former  with  the  humility  of  his  appearance,  he  answered, — "Lie  at  the 
bed  stock,  and  ye  will  be  lean  too."  The  exchange  was  made  :  at  midnight  the  bel- 
dame approached  with  her  bridle ;  and  before  he  could  mutter  an  averting  prayer,  ho 
was  transformed  into  a  horse,  and  compelled  to  bear  her  over  stock  and  stone  to  an 
assembly  of  sister  hags.  By  prayer  and  exertion  he  freed  himself  from  the  bridle,  and, 
restored  to  his  own  shape,  awaited  the  return  of  his  mistress:  before  she  was  aware, 
he  shook  the  bridle  over  her  head,  transformed  her  into  a  palfrey,  and  switched  her 
mercilessly  through  "  dub  and  mire."  The  adventure  ended  in  a  compromise ;  the 
witch  became  kindly  and  tolerant,  and  never  employed  the  enchanted  bridle  on  man 
again. — C. 

'  Character'd  in  the  face. 
So,  in  his  "  Divorce,"  b.  i.  pref.    "  A  law  not  only  written  by  Moses,  but  charactered 
In  us  by  nature." — T.  Warton. 

J  He  and  Ma  monstroua  rout  are  heard  to  howl,  Ac. 

Such  was  the  practice  of  Comus's  mother,  Circe.     Ovid,  "  Met."  xiv.  406. 

Magicis  Hecaten  ululatibus  orat. — Todd. 

k  Like  stabled  wolves,  or  tigers  at  their  prey. 

Perhaps  from  Virgil,  "^n,"  vii.  15,  of  Circe's  island : — 

Hinc  exaudiri  gemitus,  irocque  leonum, 

ac  formae  magnorum  ululare  luporum 

Quos  horainum  ex  facie  Dea  saeva  potentibus  herbis 
Induerat  Circe  in  vultus  ac  terga  ferarum. — Newton. 

■  Had  ta'en  their  supper,  &o. 
The  supper  of  the  sheep  is  from  a  beautiful  comparison  in  Spenser,  "  Faery  Qu,"  , 
.23. 

As  gentle  shepheard  in  sweete  eventide, 

When  ruddy  Phebus  gins  to  welke  in  west, 

High  on  a  hiU,  his  flocke  to  vewen  wide, 

Markes  which  doe  byte  their  hasty  supper  best. — T.  Warton. 

m  With  ivy  canopied,  and  interwove 
With  flaunting  honeysuckle. 
Perhaps  from  Shakspeare,  "  Mids.  Night's  Dr."  a.  ii.  s.  2. 

Quite  over-canopied  with  luscious  woodbine. — T.  Warton. 

n  To  meditate  my  rural  minstrelsy. 
Virgil,  "  Bucol."  i.  2. 

Sylvestrum  tenui  Musam  meditaris  avena. 
So  in  "Lyoldas,"  v.  66. 

Or  Btnctly  meditate  the  thankless  Muse. — T.  Warton. 


COMUS.  663 

Till  fancy  had  her  fill;  but,  ere  a  close," 
The  wonted  roar  was  up  amidst  the  woods, 
And  fiird  the  air  with  barbarous  dissonance ; 
At  which  I  ceased,  and  listen'd  them  a  while, 
Till  an  unusual  stop  of  sudden  silence 
Gave  respite  to  the  drowsy  frighted  steeds,' 
That  draw  the  litter  of  close-curtain'd  sleep : » 
At  last  a  soft  and  solemn-breathing  sound  •■ 
Rose  like  a  stream  of  rich  distill'd  perfumes, 
And  stole  upon  the  air,  that  even  Silence' 
Was  took  ere  she  was  ware,  and  wish'd  she  might 
Deny  her  nature,  and  be  never  more. 
Still  to  be  so  displaced.     I  was  all  ear,* 

0  But  ere  a  close. 
A  musical  close  on  his  pipe.    As  in  Shakspeare,  "  K.  Rich.  11."  a.  ii.  s.  1. 

The  setting  sun,  and  music  at  the  close  ; 

As  the  last  taste  of  sweets  is  sweetest  last. — T.  Warton. 

p  The  drotcay  frighted  steeds,  <fee. 
I  read,  according  to  Milton's  manuscript,  "drowsy-flighted:"  and  this  genuine 
reading  Dr.  Dalton  has  also  preserved  in  "  Comus."  "  Drowsy  frighted"  is  nonsense, 
and  manifestly  an  error  of  the  press  in  all  the  editions.  There  can  be  no  doubt,  that 
in  this  passage  Milton  had  his  eye  upon  the  description  of  night,  in  "  K.  Hen.  VI." 
p.  ii.  a.  ir.  s.  1. 

And  now  foud-howling  wolves  arouse  the  jades 
That  drag  the  tragic  melancholy  night, 
Who  with  their  drowsy,  slow,  and  flagging  wingi 
Clip  dead  men's  graves. 

The  idea  and  the  expression  of  "  drowsie-flighted"  in  the  one,  are  plainly  copied  from 
their  drowsy,  slow,  and  flagging  wings  in  the  other. — Newton. 

It  must  be  allowed,  that  "  drowsie-flighted"  is  a  very  harsh  combination.  Notwith- 
Btanding  the  Cambridge  manuscript  exhibits  "drowsie-flighted,"  yet "  drowsie  frighted" 
without  a  composition,  is  a  more  rational  and  easy  reading,  and  invariably  occurs  in 
the  editions  1637,  1645,  and  1673.  That  is  "  the  drowsy  steeds  of  Night,  who  were 
afifrighted  on  this  occasion,  at  the  barbarous  dissonance  of  Comus's  nocturnal  revelry." 
Milton  made  the  emendation  after  he  had  forgot  his  first  idea. — T.  Wakton. 

q  Close-curtain'd  sleep. 

Perhaps  from  Shakspeare,  "  Macbeth,"  a.  ii.  s.  1. 

And  wicked  dreams  abuse 
The  curtain'd  sleep. — Thyek. 

r  At  last  a  soft  and  solemn-breathing  sound,  Ac. 
Shakspeare's  "  Twelfth  Jiight,"  at  the  beginning,  has  here  been  alleged  by  Mr.  Thyer. 
The  idea  is  strongly  implied  in  the  following  lines  from  Jonson's  "Vision  of  Delight," 
a  Mask  presented  at  Court  in  the  Christmas  of  1617. 

Yet  let  it  like  an  odour  rise 

To  all  the  senses  here ; 
And  fall  like  sleep  upon  their  eyes, 

Or  musicke  in  their  eare. 

But  the  thought  appeared  before,  where  it  is  exquisitely  expressed,  in  Bacon's  "  Essays:" 
— "And  because  the  breath  of  flowers  is  farre  sweeter  in  the  aire,  where  it  comes  and 
goes  like  the  warbling  of  musicke."     Of  Gardens,  Ess.  xlvi. — T.  Wautoii. 

•  That  even  Silence,  &c. 
Silence  wat  pleased  at  the  nightingale's  song,  "  Par.  Lost,"  b.  iv.  604.    The  conceit  in 
both  passages  is  unworthy  the  poet — T.  Warton. 

'  /  was  all  ear. 
So  Catullus  of  a  rich  perfume,  "Carm."  xiii.  13. 

Quod  tu  cum  olfaciea,  Deos  rogabis 
Totum  ut  te  faciant,  Fabulle,  nasun. 

So  Shakspeare,  "Winter's  Tale,"  a.  iv.  s.  3: — "All  their  other  senses  stack  In  their 


664  COMUS. 

And  took  in  strains  that  might  create  a  soul 
Under  the  ribs  of  death  : "  but,  0  !  ere  long, 
Too  well  I  did  perceive  it  was  the  voice 
Of  my  most  honour'd  Lady,  your  dear  sister. 
Amazed  I  stood,  harrow' d  with  grief  and  fear,'' 
And,  0  poor  hapless  nightingale,  thought  I, 
How  sweet  thou  sing'st,  how  near  the  deadly  snare  I 
Then  down  the  lawns  I  ran  with  headlong  haste^ 
Through  paths  and  turnings  often  trod  by  day; 
Till,  guided  by  mine  ear,  I  found  the  place. 
Where  that  damn'd  wisard,  hid  in  sly  disguise, 
(For  so  by  certain  signs  I  knew)  had  met 
Already,  ere  my  best  speed  could  prevent. 
The  aidless  innocent  Lady,  his  wish'd  prey ; 
Who  gently  ask'd  if  he  had  seen  such  two, 
Supposing  him  some  neighbour  villager. 
Longer  I  durst  not  stay,  but  soon  I  guess'd 
Ye  were  the  two  she  meant ;  with  that  I  sprung 
Into  swift  flight,  till  I  had  found  you  here ; 
But  farther  know  I  not. 

Sec.  Br.  0  night,  and  shades  ! 

How  are  ye  join'd  with  hell  in  triple  knot 
Against  the  unarm' d  weakness  of  one  virgin. 
Alone  and  helpless  !     Is  this  the  confidence 
You  gave  me,  brother  ? 

El.  Br.  Yes,  and  keep  it  still  j  "^ 

Lean  on  it  safely ;  not  a  period 
Shall  be  unsaid  for  me  :  against  the  threats 
Of  malice,  or  of  sorcery,  or  that  power 
Which  erring  men  call  chance,  this  I  hold  firm  j— 
Virtue  may  be  assail'd,  but  never  hurt ; 
Surprised  by  unjust  force,  but  not  enthrall'd ; 
Yea,  even  that,  which  mischief  meant  most  harm, 
Shall  in  the  happy  trial  prove  most  glory : 

ears:"  and,  in  the  "Tempest,"  Prosper©  says,  "No  tongues;  all  eyes;  be  silent." — 
T.  Warton, 

o  That  might  create  a  soul 
Under  the  ribs  of  death. 

The  general  image  of  creating  a  soul  by  harmony  is  again  from  Shakspeare :  but  the 
particular  one  of  "  a  soul  under  the  ribs  of  death,"  which  is  extremely  grotesque,  is 
taken  from  a  picture  in  Alciat's  "Emblems,"  where  a  soul  in  the  figure  of  an  infant  is 
represented  within  the  ribs  of  a  skeleton,  as  in  its  prison.  This  curious  picture  is  pie- 
sented  by  Quarles. — Warburton. 

The  picture  alluded  to  is  not  taken  from  Alciat's  "  Emblems,"  but  from  Herman 
Hugo's  "  Pia  Desideria ;"  and  is  the  eighth ;  "  Suspirium  animse  amantis." — Todd. 

»  Harrow'd  tcith  grief  and  /ear. 
To  "  harrow"  is  to  conquer,  to  subdue.     The  word  is  of  Saxon  origin.     Thus  Shak- 
speare, "  Hamlet,"  a.  i.  s.  1.    "  It  harrows  me  with  fear  and  wonder." — Steevens. 

w  Yes,  and  keep  it  still,  Ac. 

This  confidence  of  the  Elder  Brother  in  favour  of  the  final  eflScacy  of  virtue,  holds 
forth  a  very  high  strain  of  philosophy,  delivered  in  as  high  strains  of  eloquence  and 
poetry. — T.  Warton. 

It  exhibits  the  sublimer  sentiments  of  the  Christian.  Religion  here  gave  energy  to 
the  poet's  strains. — Tode. 


COMUS. 665 

"But  evil  on  itself  shall  back  recoil, 

And  mix  no  more  with  goodness ;  when  at  last, 

Gather'd  like  scum,  and  settled  to  itself, 

It  shall  be  in  eternal  restless  change 

Self-fed  and  self-consumed  :  '^  if  this  fail, 

The  pillar'd  firmament  is  rottenness. 

And  earth's  base  built  on  stubble.^ — But  come ;  let's  on. 

Against  the  opposing  will  and  arm  of  Heaven 

May  never  this  just  sword  be  lifted  up  ! 

But  for  that  daran'd  magician,  let  him  be  girt 

With  all  the  grisly  legions  that  troop 

Under  the  sooty  flag  of  Acheron,* 

Harpies  and  hydras,  or  all  the  monstrous  forms' 

'Twixt  Africa  and  Ind,  I'll  find  him  out. 

And  force  him  to  return  his  purchase  back, 

Or  drag  him  by  the  curls  to  a  foul  death. 

Cursed  as  his  life. 

Spir.  Alas  !  good  venturous  youth, 

I  love  thy  courage  yet,  and  bold  emprise ; 
But  here  thy  sword  can  do  thee  little  stead ; 
Far  other  arms  and  other  weapons  must 
Be  those,  that  quell  the  might  of  hellish  charms :  * 
He  with  his  barcwand  can  unthread  thy  joints, 
And  crumble  all  thy  sinews.' 

'  Self-fed  and  self-consttmed. 

This  image  is  wonderfully  fine.     It  is  taken  from  the  conjectures  of  aslronomers 

concerning  the  dark  spots  which  from  time  to  time  appear  on  the  surface  of  the  sun's 

body,  and  after  awhile  disappear  again ;  which  they  suppose  to  be  the  scum  of  that 

fiery  matter,  which  first  breeds  it,  and  then  breaks  through  and  consumes  it. — Wak- 

BUBTON. 

y  If  this  fail, 
JTie  pillar' d  firmament  is  rottennegs, 
Ana  earth's  base  built  on  stubble. 
This  is  Shakspeare's  thought,  but  in  more  exalted  language, "  Wint.Tale,"  a.ii.  b.  1. 

If  I  mistake 
In  those  foundations  which  I  build  upon, 
The  centre  is  not  big  enough  to  bear 
A  schoolboy's  top.— Steevens. 

*  The  sooty  flag  of  Acheron. 
Compare  P.  Fletcher's/' Locusts,"  1627,  p.  58. 

All  hell  run  out,  and  sooty  flagges  display.— Todd. 
»  Harpies  and  hydras,  &c. 
Harpies  and  hydras  are  a  combination  in  an  enumeration  of  monsters,  in  Sylves- 
ters' '^Du.  Bart.'''  p.  206,  fol. 

And  the  ugly  Gorgons  and  the  sphinxes  fell, 
Hydras  and  harpies,  &c  — T.  Warton. 

i>  The  might  of  hellish  charms. 
Compare  Shakspeare's  "King  Richard  III,"  a.  iii.  s.  4. 

With  devilish  plots 
Of  damned  witchcraft ;  and  that  have  prevail'd 
Upon  my  body  with  their  hellish  charms.- T.  Warton. 

e  He  with  his  bare  wand  can  unthread  thy  joints, 
And  crumble  all  thy  sinews. 
So,  in  Prospero's  commands  to  Ariel,  "  Tempest,"  a.  iv.  s.  ult 
Go,  charge  my  goblins,  that  they  grind  their  joints 
With  dry  convulsions,  shorten  up  their  sinews 
With  aged  cramps.— T.  Wabton. 
84 


666  COMUS. 

El.  Br.  Why,  pr'y thee,  sheplierd, 

How  durst  thou  then  thyself  approach  so  near, 
As  to  make  this  relation  ? 

Spir.  Care,  and  utmost  shifts, 

How  to  secure  the  Lady  from  surprisal. 
Brought  to  my  mind  a  certain  shepherd  lad, 
Of  small  regard  to  see  to,  yet  well  skill'd 
In  every  virtuous  plant,  and  healing  herb, 
That  spreads  her  verdant  leaf  to  the  morning  ray : 
He  loved  me  well,  and  oft  would  beg  me  singj 
Which  when  I  did,  he  on  the  tender  grass 
Would  sit,  and  hearken  even  to  ecstasy; 
And  in  requital  ope  his  leathern  scrip. 
And  show  me  simples  of  a  thousand  names, 
Telling  tlieir  strange  and  vigorous  faculties : 
Amongst  the  rest  a  small  unsightly  root. 
But  of  divine  effect,  he  cuU'd  me  out; 
The  leaf  was  darkish,  and  had  prickles  on  it, 
But  in  another  country,  as  he  said, 
Bore  a  bright  golden  flower,  but  not  in  this  soil : 
Unknown,  and  like  esteem'd,*  and  the  dull  swain 

<  Bore  a  bright  golden  flower,  hut  not  in  this  soil: 
Unknown,  and  like  esteemed,  <fcc. 
Doctor  Newton  says,  that  "  redundant  verses  sometimes  occur  in  Milton."    True:  but 
lihe  redundant  syllable  is  never,  I  think,  found  in  the  second,  third,  or  fourth  foot    His 
Instance  of  v.  605,  in  this  poem. 

Harpies  and  hydras,  or  all  the  monstrous  forms— 

where  the  redundancy  is  in  the  third  foot,  and  forms  an  anapest,  does  no*  prove  his 
point  The  passage  before  us  is  certainly  corrupt,  or,  at  least,  inaccorato ;  and  had 
better,  I  think,  been  given  thus  : — 

But  in  another  country,  as  he  said, 

Bore  a  bright  golden  flower,  not  in  this  soil 

Unknown,  though  light  esteem'd. — Hdrd. 

Seward  proposed  to  read, 

but  in  this  soil 
Unknown  and  light  esteem'd. 

The  emendation  is  very  plausible  and  ingenious.  But  to  say  nothing  of  the  editions 
under  Milton's  own  inspection,  I  must  object,  that,  if  an  argument  be  here  drawn  for 
the  alteration  frcD-)  roughness  or  redundancy  of  verse,  innumerable  instances  of  the 
kind  occur  in  oiir  author.  Milton,  notwithstanding  his  singular  skill  in  music,  appears 
to  hav^s  had  a  very  bad  ear;  and  it  is  hard  to  say  on  what  principle  he  modulated  hia 
lines. — T.  Warton. 

By  another  accomplished  writer  the  passage  before  us  is  considered  as  one  of  those 
licenses,  which  are  not  disagreeable  in  dramatic,  although  they  would  certainly  displease 
in  heroic  verse : — 

Bore  a  |  blight  gol  |  den  flower,  |  but  not  in  |  this  soil. 

See  Mitford's  "  Essay  upon  the  Harmony  of  Language,"  first  ed.  p.  129.  To  the  remark 
on  "  Milton's  ear,"  the  ciceness  of  which  more  conspicuously  displays  itself  in  "  Comus," 
the  following  observation,  or  general  rule,  may  be  safely  opposed : — "  There  is  no  kind 
or  degree  of  harmony,  of  which  our  language  is  capable,  which  may  not  be  found  in 
numberless  instances  in  Milton's  writings;  the  excellency  of  whose  ear  seems  to  have 
been  equal  to  that  of  his  iqiagination  and  learning."  See  Foster's  "  Essay  on  Accent," 
second  ed.  p.  67. — Todd. 

I  am  astonished  at  Warton's  observation,  that  Milton  bad  a  very  bad  ear.  The  line 
ought  to  be  sfanned  thus : — 

B&re  &  bright  |  gOlddn  |  flCwer,  bflt  |  n&t  in  |  this  sOil. 


COMIJS.  661 

Treads  on  it  daily  with  his  clouted  shoon  :  • 

And  yet  more  med'cinal  is  it  than  that  naoly,' 

That  Hermes  once  to  wise  Ulysses  gave : 

He  call'd  it  hseraony,  and  gave  it  me, 

And  bade  me  keep  it  as  of  sovran  use 

'Gainst  all  enchantments,  mildew,  blast,  or  damp, 

Or  ghastly  furies'  apparition.* 

I  pursed  it  up,""  but  little  reckoning  made, 

Till  now  that  this  extremity  compell'd : 

But  now  I  find  it  true ;  for  by  this  means 

I  knew  the  foul  enchanter  though  disguised, 

Enter'd  the  very  lime-twigs  of  his  spells, 

And  yet  came  off :  if  you  have  this  about  you,' 

(As  I  will  give  you  when  we  go)  you  may 

Boldly  assault  the  necromancer's  hall  j 

Where  if  he  be,  with  dauntless  hardihood. 

And  brandish'd  blade,  rush  on  him;J  break  his  glass, 

e  Clouted  ahoon. 
See  "  Cymbeline,"  a.  iv.  s.  2 : — 

I  thought  he  slept,  and  put 
My  clouted  brogues  from  off  ray  feet,  whose  rudeness 
Answer'd  my  steps  too  loud. 

Clouts  are  thin  and  narrow  plates  of  iron  affixed  ■with  hobnails  to  the  soles  of  the  shoes 
of  rustics.  These  made  too  much  noise.  The  word  "  brogues"  is  still  used  for  shoea 
among  the  peasantry  of  Ireland. — T.  Wabton. 

The  expression  occurs  in  the  present  version  of  our  Bible,  Joshua  ix.  5. — Todd. 

f  And  yet  more  med'cinal  ia  it  than  that  moly. 
Drayton  introduces  a  shepherd  "his  sundry  simples  sorting,"  who,  among  other  rare 
plants,  produces  moly,  "  Mus.  Elys.  Nymph."  v.  vol.  iv.  p.  1489  : — 

Here  is  my  moly  of  much  fame, 
In  magics  often  used. 

It  is  not  agreed,  whether  Milton's  haemony  is  a  real  or  poetical  plant — T.  Wabton. 
S  Or  ghastly  furies'  apparition. 
Peck  supposes,  that  the  furies  were  never  believed  to  appear,  and  proposes  to  read 
"  fairies'  apparition :"   but  Milton  means  any  frightful  appearance  raised  by  magic. 
Among  the  spectres  which  surrounded  our  Saviour  in  the  wilderness,  and  which  the 
fiend  had  raised,  are  furies,  "Par.  Reg."  b.  iv.  422.— T.  Warton. 

i>  I  pursed  it  up. 

It  was  customary  in  families  to  have  herbs  in  store,  not  only  for  medical  and  culinary, 
but  for  superstitious  purposes.  In  some  houses  rue  and  rosemary  were  constantly  kept 
for  good  luck.  Among  the  plants  to  which  preternatural  qualities  were  ascribed,  Per- 
dita  in  the  "Winter's  Tale"  mentions  rue  as  the  herb  of  grace,  and  rosemary  as  the 
emblem  of  remembrance,  a.  iv.  s.  3. — T.  Wabton. 

'  If  you  have  this  about  you,  Ac. 

The  notion  of  facing  danger,  and  conquering  an  enemy  by  carrying  a.  charm,  which 
was  often  an  herb,  is  not  uncommon  in  romance.  Hence  in  "Samson  Agon."  v.  1130, 
Ac,  and  v.  1149,  Milton's  idea  is  immediately  and  particularly  taken  from  the  ritual  of 
the  combat  in  chivalry.  When  two  champions  entered  the  lists,  each  took  an  oath  that 
he  had  no  charm,  herb,  or  any  enchantment  about  him :  and  I  think  it  is  clear,  that 
Milton,  in  furnishing  the  Elder  Brother  with  the  plant  hsemony,  notwithstanding  the 
idea  is  originally  founded  in  Homer's  moly,  when  like  a  knight  he  is  to  attack  the 
necromancer  Comus,  and  even  to  assail  his  hall,  alluded  to  the  charming  herb  of  the 
romantic  combat. — "T.  Wabton. 

J  And  brandish'd  blade,  nish  on  him. 

Thus  Ulysses  assaults  Circe,  offering  her  cup,  with  a  drawn  sword,  Ovid  "Metam." 
xiiL  293 :— 


668  COMUS. 

And  shed  the  luscious  liquor  on  the  ground," 

But  seize  his  wand;  though  he  and  his  cursed  crew* 

Fierce  sign  of  battle  make,  and  menace  high, 

Or  like  the  sons  of  Vulcan  vomit  smoke," 

Yet  will  they  soon  retire,  if  he  but  shrink. 

El,  Br.  Thyrsis,  lead  on  apace ;  I'll  follovr  thee ; 
And  some  good  angel  bear  a  shield  before  us !  ° 

The  scene  changes  to  a  stately  palace,  set  out  with  all  manner  of  delicioasness ; 
soft  music  :  tables  spread  with  all  dainties.  Comus  appears  with  his  rabble^ 
and  the  Lady  set  in  an  enchanted  chair,  to  whom  he  offers  his  glass,  whicb 
she  puts  by,  and  goes  about  to  rise. 

Com.  Nay,  Lady,  sit ;  if  I  but  wave  this  waud, 
Your  nerves  are  all  chain' d  up  in  alabaster," 

Intrat 
Ille  domum  Circes,  et,  ad  insidiosa  vocatus 
Pocula,  conantem  virga  mulcere  capilloB 
Reppulit,  et  stricto  pavidam  deterruit  enM 

See  Homer,  "Odyss."  x.  294,  321.— T.  Warton. 

Our  romances  supply  us  with  numerous  instances  of  sorcerers  and  wizards  being  van- 
quished and  foiled  by  the  daring  hardihood  of  heroes  and  warriors.  In  the  poetic  ballad 
of  Tamlane,  a  young  nobleman  is  stolen  by  the  fairies,  and  brought  up  as  a  page  to 
their  queen,  at  whose  bridal  rein  he  is  represented  as  constantly  riding.  In  one  of  his 
excursions  he  contrived  to  make  his  mistress  acquainted  with  his  situation,  and  gave 
her  instructions  how  to  win  him  back.  The  adventure  required  courage,  but  not  more 
than  the  lady  possessed  :  she  waylaid  the  fairy  procession,  seized  her  lover,  and  held 
him  fast,  though  he  became  successively  fire,  water,  red-hot  iron,  and  a  roaring  lion  in 
her  hands.  When  all  the  fairy  wiles  were  exhausted,  he  was  restored  to  his  natural 
shape,  and  the  gratified  damsel  held  in  her  arms 

A  mother-naked  man. 
A  young  man,  the  only  son  of  a  clergyman  on  the  Border,  suddenly  disappeared 
within  these  forty  years,  and  the  rumour  ran  that  he  was  seized  as  he  passed  one  of  the 
mountain  streams,  and  carried  off  by  the  fairies.  It  is  said  that  he  appeared  afterwards 
to  his  only  sister,  told  her  he  was  the  fairy  queen's  paramour,  that  he  would  ride  on 
next  Hallowmass-eve  through  a  neighbouring  glen,  and  entreated  her  to  waylay  and 
win  him,  as  Janet  won  young  Tamlane.  She  promised ;  but  when  the  fairy  procession 
approached,  she  was  so  daunted  by  the  wild  music  and  the  elfin  chivalry,  that  she  made 
but  a  weak  attempt,  and  her  brother  was  hurried  oflF  weeping  to  Elfland  amid  the 
laughter  of  his  companions. — C. 

k  Break  his  glass, 
And  shed  the  luscious  liquor  on  the  ground. 
Our  author  has  here  a  double  imitation  of  Spenser's  "  Faerie  Queene,"  which  has  not 
been  observed  or  distinguished.     The  obvious  one  is  from  Sir  Guyon  spilling  the 
bowl  of  Pleasure's  porter,  it.  xii.  49  :  but  he  also  copies  Spenser,  and  more  closely,  where 
Bir  Guyon  breaks  the  golden  cup  of  the  enchantress  Excesse,  ii.  xii.  67. — T.  Wartoh. 
1  He  and  his  cursed  crew. 
This  is  an  allusion  to  Alcina's  monsters,  "  a  brutish  cursed  crew,"  Harrington's  "  Or- 
lando Furioso,"  b.  vi.  st.  61. — Todd. 

n>  Or  like  the  sons  of  Vulcan  vomit  smoke. 
Alluding  to  Cacus.    Virgil,  "  ^n."  viii.  252  : — 

Faucibus  ingentem  fumum,  mirabile  dietUi  t 

Evomit. — Todd. 

n  And  some  good  angel  bear  a  shield  be/ore  us  ! 
From  the  divinities  of  the  classics  and  of  romance,  we  are  now  got  to  the  theology 
of  Thomas  Aquinas.     Our  author  has  nobly  dilated  this  idea  of  a  guardian-angel,  yet 
not  without  some  particular  and  express  warrant  from  Scripture,  which  ho  has  also 
poetically  heightened,  in  "  Samson  Agonistes,"  v.  1431,  Ac. — T.  Warton. 

Had  not  Milton  here  also  Tasso  in  mind  ?  See  "  Gier.  Lib."  c.  vii.  72,  viiL  84.— 
D0N8TER. 

o  Nay,  Lady,  sit;  if  I  but  wave  this  wand. 
Your  nerves  are  all  chain'd  up  in  alabaster. 
It  ie  with  the  same  magic,  and  in  the  same  mode,  that  Prospero  threatens  Ferdinand, 
in  the  "  Tempest,"  for  pretending  to  resist,  a.  i.  s.  2 : — 


COMUS.  669 

And  you  a  statue,  or,  as  Daphne  was,' 
Root-bound,  that  fled  Apollo. 

Lad.  Fool,  do  not  boast 

Thou  canst  not  touch  the  freedom  of  my  mind  « 
With  all  thy  charms,  although  this  corporal  rind 
Thou  hast  immanacled,  while  Heaven  sees  good. 

Com.  Why  are  you  vex'd.  Lady  ?  Why  do  you  fromi  ? 
Here  dwell  no  frowns,  nor  anger ;  from  these  gates 
Sorrow  flies  far :  see,  here  be  all  the  pleasures. 
That  fancy  can  beget  on  youthful  thoughts,"" 
When  the  fresh  blood  grows  lively,  and  returns 
Brisk  as  the  April  buds  in  primrose-season. 
And  first,  behold  this  cordial  julep  here. 
That  flames  and  dances  in  his  crystal  bounds. 
With  spirits  of  balm  and  fragrant  syrups  mix'd : 
Not  that  Nepenthes,'  which  the  wife  of  Thone 
In  Egypt  gave  to  Jove-born  Helena, 
Is  of  such  power  to  stir  up  joy  as  this, 
To  life  so  friendly,  or  so  cool  to  thirst. 
Why  should  you  be  so  cruel  to  yourself, 

Come  from  thy  ward  ! 
For  I  can  here  disarrn  thee  with  this  stiek — 

Come  on,  obey. Else, 

Thy  nerves  are  in  their  infancy  again, 
And  have  no  vigour  in  them. 

Milton  here  comments  upon  Shakspeare. — T.  "Warton. 

p  Or,  an  Daphne  was,  &c. 
The  poet,  instead  of  saying  "root-bound,  as  Daphne  was  that  fled  Apollo,"  throws  in 
" root-bound"  into  the  middle  betwixt  the  antecedent  and  the  relative;  a  trajection 
altogether  unusual  in  our  language,  but  which  must  be  allowed  both  to  vary  and  raiss 
the  style ;  and,  as  the  connexion  is  not  so  remote  as  to  make  the  language  obscure,  I 
think  it  may  not  only  be  tolerated,  but  praised.  This  way  of  varying  the  style  is  a 
figure  very  usual  both  in  Greek  and  Latin. — Loud  Monboddo. 

q  Thou  canst  not  touch  the  freedom  of  my  mind,  &o. 
A  fine  philosophical  sentiment.     Compare  Cicero,  "  De  Fin."  lib.  iii.ad  fin. :— "  Recta 
invictus,  cujus  etiam  si  corpus  constringatur,  animo  tamen  vincula  injici  nulla  possunt* 
—Todd. 

•■  Here  be  all  the  pleasures. 
That  fancy  can  beget  on  youthful  thoughts. 
An  echo  to  Fletcher's  '.'Faithful  Shepherdess,"  a.  i.  s.  1 : — 

Here  be  woods  as  green 
As  any,  tec. 
Here  be  aU  new  delights,  &c.— T.Wartoh. 

This  is  a  thought  of  Shakspeare's,  but  vastly  improved  by  our  poet  in  the  manner  of 
expressing  it,  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,",  a.  i.  s.  2 : — 

Such  comfort  as  do  lusty  young  men  feel, 
When  well  apparel'd  April  on  the  heel, 
Of  limping  winter  treads.— Thyek. 

•  Not  that  Nepenthes. 
The  author  of  the  lively  and  learned  "  Inquiry  into  the  Life  and  Writings  of  Homer," 
has  brought  together  many  particulars  of  this  celebrated  drug,  and  concludes,  p. 
135:— "It  is  true,  they  use  opiates  for  pleasure  all  over  the  Levant;  but  by  the  best 
Eccounts  of  them,  they  had  them  originally  from  Egypt ;  and  this  of  Helen  appears 
plainly  to  be  a  production  of  that  country,  and  a  custom  which  can  be  traced  from 
Homer  to  Augustus's  reign,  and  from  thence  to  the  age  preceding  our  own."— Joa. 
Wartok. 


670  COMUS. 

And  to  those  dainty  limbs,  which  nature  lent  * 

For  gentle  usage  and  soft  delicacy  ? 

But  you  invert  the  covenants  of  her  trust, 

And  harshly  deal  like  an  ill-borrower, 

With  that  Mhich  you  received  on  other  terms; 

Scorning  the  unexempt  condition, 

By  which  all  mortal  frailty  must  subsist, 

Refreshment  after  toil,  ease  after  pain. 

That  have  been  tired  all  day  without  repast. 

And  timely  rest  have  wanted ;  but,  fair  virgin, 

This  will  restore  all  soon. 

Lad.  'Twill  not,  false  traitor  1 

'Twill  not  restore  the  truth  and  honesty, 
That  thou  hast  banish'd  from  thy  tongue  with  lies. 
Was  this  the  cottage,  and  the  safe  abode. 
Thou  toldst  me  of?    What  grim  aspects  are  these," 
These  ugly-headed  monsters  ?     Mercy  guard  me ; 
Hence  with  thy  brew'd  enchantments,  foul  deceiver !  ^ 
Hast  thou  betray'd  my  credulous  innocence 
With  visor'd  falsehood  and  base  forgery ; 
And  wouldst  thou  seek  again  to  trap  me  here 
With  lickerish  baits,  fit  to  ensnare  a  brute  ? 
Were  it  a  draught  for  Juno  when  she  banquets, 
I  would  not  taste  thy  treasonous  offer ;  none. 
But  such  as  are  good  men,  can  give  good  things ;  ■* 
And  that  which  is  not  good,  is  not  delicious 
To  a  well-govern' d  and  wise  appetite.'' 

Com.  0  foolishness  of  men  !  that  lend  their  eara 

'  Which  Nature  lent. 
So  Shakspeare,  Sonnet  iv. : — 

Nature's  bequest  gives  nothing,  but  doth  lend; 
And,  being  frank,  she  lends  to  those  are  free. 
Then,  beauteous  niggard,  why  dost  thou  abuse 
The  bounteous  largess  given  thee  to  give  ? — Stekvkns 

•>  What  grim  aspects  are  these. 
So  Drayton,  "Polyolb."  s.  xxvii.  vol.  iii.  p.  1190  :— 

Her  grim  aspect  to  see. 
And  Spenser,  "  Faer.  Qu,"  v.  ix.  48  : — 

with  griesly  grim  aspect 

Abhorred  Murder. — T.  Waetow. 

">  Hence  with  thy  brew'd  enchantments,  foul  deceiver* 
Magical  potions,  brewed  or  compounded  of  incantatory  herbs  and  poisonous  drugs 
Shakspeare's  caldron  is  a  "  brewed  enchantment,"  but  of  another  kind. — T.  Wartok. 

w  None, 
But  such  as  are  good  men,  can  give  good  things. 
This  noble  sentiment  Milton  has  borrowed  from  Euripides, "  Medea,"  v.  618. — Newton. 

X  And  that  which  is  not  good  is  not  delicious 
To  a  well-govern'd  and  wise  appetite. 
That  is,  an  appetite  in  subjection  to  the  rational  part,  and  which  is  pleased  with 
nothing  but  what  reason  approves  of:  it  is  a  noble  sentiment,  but  expressed  in  a  man- 
her  which  will  appear  flat  and  insipid  to  those  who  admire  the  present  fashionable 
style,  far  removed  from  the  limplicity  of  the  ancients.  Milton  was  not  only  the  greatest 
scholar  and  finest  writer  of  nis  age,  but  a  good  philosopher. — Lobd  Monboddo. 


COMUS.  671 

To  those  budge  doctors  of  the  stoick  fur,»^ 

And  fetch  their  precepts  from  the  cynick  tub, 

Praising  the  lean  and  sallow  abstinanse  ! 

Wherefore  did  Nature  pour  her  bounties  forth 

With  such  a  full  and  unwithdrawing  hand, 

Covering  the  earth  with  odours,  fruits,  and  floekS; 

Thronging  the  seas  with  spawn  innumerable, 

But  all  to  please  and  sate  the  curious  taste  ? 

And  set  to  work  millions  of  spinning  worms. 

That  in  their  green  shops  weave  the  smooth-hair'd  silk, 

To  deck  her  sons ;  and,  that  no  corner  might 

Be  vacant  of  her  plenty,  in  her  own  loins 

She  hutch'd*  the  all-worshipp'd  ore,  and  precious  gems, 

To  store  her  children  with  :  if  all  the  world 

Should  in  a  pet  of  temperance  feed  on  pulse. 

Drink  the  clear  stream,  and  nothing  wear  but  frieze, 

The  All-giver  would  be  unthank'd,  would  be  unpraised, 

Not  half  his  riches  known,  and  yet  despised : 

And  we  should  serve  him  as  a  grudging  master, 

As  a  penurious  niggard  of  his  wealth ; 

And  live  like  Nature's  bastards,  not  her  sons," 

Who  would  be  quite  surcharged  with  her  own  weight, 

And  strangled  with  her  waste  fertility ; 

The  earth  cumber' d,  and  the  wing'd  air  dark'd  with  plumes,*  '* 

The  herds"  would  over-multitude  their  lords. 

The  sea  o'erfraught  would  swell,''  and  the  unsought  diamonds 

Would  so  imblaze  the  forehead  of  the  deep, 

y  To  those  hvdge  doctors  of  the  Stoick  fur. 

Those  morose  and  rigid  teachers  of  abstinence  and  mortification,  who  wear  the  gown 
of  the  Stoic  philosophy.  "Budge"  is  fur,  anciently  an  ornament  of  the  scholastic 
habit.  In  the  more  ancient  colleges  of  our  universities,  the  annual  expenses  for  fur- 
ring the  robes  or  liveries  of  the  fellows  appear  to  have  been  very  considerable.  "  The 
Btoick  fur,"  is  as  much  as  if  he  had  said  "  The  Stoick  sect."  But  he  explains  the 
obsolete  word,  in  which. there  is  a  tincture  of  ridicule,  by  a  very  awkward  tautology.— 
T.  Wabton. 

*  She  hutch'd. 

That  is,  hoarded.    "  Hutch"  is  an  old  word,  still  in  use,  for  coffer. — T.  Warton. 

»  And  live  like  Nature's  bastards,  not  Tier  sons. 
The  expression  is  taken  from  Heb.  xii.  8.    "  Then  are  ye  bastards,  and  not  sons." — 
Newton. 

b  7%e  loing'd  air  dark^d  toith  plumes. 
The  image  is  taken  from  what  the  ancients  said  of  the  air  of  the  northern  islands, 
that  it  was  clogged  and  darkened  with  feathers. — Warburtok. 

c  The  herds,  Ac. 
Mr.  Bowie  observes,  that  the  tenor  of  Comus's  argument  is  much  the  same  with  that 
of  Clarinda,  in  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  "  Sea-Voyage,"  a.  ii.  s.  1 : — 

Should  a!l  women  use  this  obstinate  abstinence, 
You  would  force  upon  us ; 

In  a  few  years  the  whole  world  would  be  peopled 
Only  with  beasts. — T.  Warton. 

<•  The  sea  o'erfraught  would  swell,  Ac. 
i)r.  Warburton  and  Dr.  Newton  remark,  that  this  and  the  four  following  lines  are 
exceedingly  childish.    Perhaps  they  are  not  inconsistent  with  the  character  of  the  wily 
speaker;  and  might  be  intended  to  expose  that  ostentatious  sophistry,  by  which  a  bad 
cause  is  generally  supported. — Toon- 


672  COMUS. 

And  so  bestud  with  stars,*  that  they  below 
Would  grow  inured  to  light,  and  come  at  last 
To  gaze  upon  the  sun  with  shameless  brows. 
List,  Lady ;  be  not  coy,  and  be  not  cosen'd 
With  that  same  vaunted  name,  virginity. 
Beauty  is  Nature's  coin,  must  not  be  hoarded, 
But  must  be  current ;  and  the  good  thereof 
Consists  in  mutual  and  partaken  bliss. 
Unsavoury  in  the  enjoyment  of  itself ; 
If  you  let  slip  time,  like  a  neglected  rose. 
It  withers  on  the  stalk  with  languish'd  head.' 
Beauty  is  Nature's  brag,5  and  must  be  shown 
In  courts,  at  feasts,  and  high  solemnities. 
Where  most  may  wonder  at  the  workmanship : 
It  is  for  homely  features  to  keep  home,'' 
They  had  their  name  thence ;  coarse  complexions, 
And  cheeks  of  sorry  grain,  will  serve  to  ply 
The  sampler,  and  to  teaze  the  huswife's  wool. 
What  need  a  vermeil-tinctured  lip  for  that, 
Love-darting  eyes,'  or  tresses  like  the  morn  ? 
There  was  another  meaning  in  these  gifts ; 
Think  what,  and  be  advised  :  you  are  but  young  yet.^ 
Lad.  I  had  not  thought  to  have  unlock'd  my  lips 
In  this  unhallow'd  air,  but  that  this  juggler 
Would  think  to  charm  my  judgment,  as  mine  eyes, 
Obtruding  false  rules  prank'd  in  reason's  garb. 

e  And  so  bestud  tcith  stars. 
So  Drayton,  in  his  most  elegant  epistle  from  King  John  to  Matilda,  which  our  author, 
as  we  shall  see,  has  more  largely  copied  in  the  remainder  of  Comus's  speech,  vol.  L  p. 
232,  of  heaven : — 

Would  she  put  on  her  star-bestadded  crown. — T.  Waetok. 

'  If  you  let  slip  time,  like  a  neglected  rose, 
It  withers  on  the  stalk  with  languish'd  head. 
See  "  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  a.  i.  s.  1 : — 

But  earthlier  happy  is  the  rose  distill'd, 

Than  that,  which,  withering  on  the  virgin  thorn, 

Grows,  lives,  and  dies,  in  single  blessedness. — T.  WartoX. 

S  Beauty  is  Nature's  brag,  and  viust  be  ihoion 
In  courts,  &o. 
See  Fletcher's  "  Faith.   Shep."  a.  i.  s.  1.     "  Give  not  yourself  to  loneliness,"  Ao. 
But  this  argument  is  pursued  more  at  large  in  Drayton's  Epistle  above  quoted.— 
T.  Wahton. 

•>  It  is  for  homely  features  to  keep  home. 
The  same  turn  and  manner  of  expression  is  in  the  "  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,*  at 
the  beginning : — 

Home-keeping  youth  have  ever  liomely  wits. — ^Nxwtom. 
'  Love-darting  eyes. 
So  in  Sylvester's  "Du  Bart."  ed.  fol.  p.  399  :— 

Whoso  beholds  her  sweet  love-darting  eyn. — T.  Wartoh. 

J  You  are  but  young  yet. 
This  was  too  personal.     Lady  Alice  Egerton,  who  acted  the  part,  was  about  twelTe : 
Bhe  here  sustained  a  feigned  character  which  the  poet  overlooked.     He  too  plainly 
adverts  to  her  age.     Particularities,  where  no  compliment  was  implied,  should  have 
been  avoided. — T.  Wartoh. 


COMUS.  613 

I  hate  when  Vice  can  bolt  her  arguments,'' 

And  Virtue  has  no  tongue  to  check  her  pride. 

Impostor  !  do  not  charge  most  innocent  Nature, 

As  if  she  would  her  children  should  be  riotous 

"With  her  abundance ;  she,  good  cateress, 

Means  her  provision  only  to  the  good. 

That  live  according  to  her  sober  laws, 

And  holy  dictate  of  spare  temperance : ' 

If  every  just  man,  that  now  pines  with  want^ 

Had  but  a  moderate  and  beseeming  share" 

Of  that  which  lewdly-pamper'd  luxury 

Now  heaps  upon  some  few  with  vast  excess. 

Nature's  full  blessings  would  be  well  dispensed 

In  unsuperfluous  even  proportion. 

And  she  no  whit  encumber'd  with  her  store ; 

And  then  the  Giver  would  be  better  thank' d, 

His  praise  due  paid  :  for  swinish  gluttony 

Ne'er  looks  to  Heaven  amidst  his  gorgeous  feast, 

But  with  besotted  base  ingratitude 

Crams,  and  blasphemes  his  feeder.     Shall  I  go  on, 

Or  have  I  said  enow  ?     To  him  that  dares 

Arm  his  profane  tongue  with  contemptuous  words 

Against  the  sun-clad  power  of  chastity. 

Fain  would  I  something  say ; — ^yet  to  what  end  ? 

Thou  hast  nor  ear,  nor  soul,"  to  apprehend 

The  sublime  notion,  and  high  mystery," 

That  must  be  utter'd  to  unfold  the  sage 

And  serious  doctrine  of  virginity ; 

And  thou  art  worthy  that  thou  shouldst  not  know 

More  happiness  than  this  thy  present  lot. 

k  I  hate  when  Vice  can  bolt  her  arguments. 

In  the  construction  of  a  mill,  a  part  of  the  machine  is  called  the  boulting-mill,  which 
separates  the  flour  from  the  bran.  The  meaning  of  the  whole  context  is  this,  ''  I 
am  oflfended  when  Vice  pretends  to  dispute  and  reason,  for  it  always  uses  sophistry." — 
T.  Wabton. 

•  Spare  temperance. 
"n.  Pens."  v.  46:— 

Spare  Fast,  that  oft  with  gods  doth  diet.— T.  Wabtom. 

»>  A  moderate  and  beseeming  share. 
So,  in  his  "  Prose  "Works,"  i.  161,  ed.  1698.     "We  cannot  therefore  do  better  than  to 
leare  this  care  of  ours  to  God :  he  can  easily  send  labourers  into  his  harvest,  that  shall 
not  cry.  Give,  give,  but  be  contented  with  a  moderate  and  beseeming  allowance." — Todd. 

n  Thou  hast  nor  ear,  nor  soul,  Ac. 
See  before,  v.  453,  Ac.    By  studying  the  reveries  of  the  Platonic  writers,  Milton  con- 
tracted a  theory  concerning  chastity  and  the  purity  of  love,  in  the  contemplation  of 
which,  like  other  visionaries,  he  indulged  his  imagination  with  ideal  refinements,  and 
with  pleasing  but  unmeaning  notions  of  excellence  and  perfection. — T.  Wabton. 

o  7%c  sublime  notion,  and  high  mystery,  Ac. 
Thus,  in  his  "  Smectymnuus,"  speaking  of  chastity : — "  Having  had  the  doctrine  of 
Holy  Scripture,  unfolding  those  chaste  and  high  mysteries,  with  timeliest  care  infused, 
that  the  body  is  for  the  Lord,  and  the  Lord  for  the  body."— Todd. 
85 


674    •  COMUS. 

Enjoy  your  dear  wit,  and  gay  rhetorick,' 
That  hath  so  well  been  tauglxt  her  dazzling  fence ;  • 
Thou  art  not  fit  to  hear  thyself  convinced  : 
Yet  should  I  try,  the  uncontrouled  worth 
Of  this  pure  cause  would  kindle  my  rapt  spirits 
To  such  a  flame  of  sacred  vehemence. 
That  dumb  things  would  be  moved  to  sympathize, 
And  the  brute  earth  would  lend  her  nerves,''  and  shake, 
Till  all  thy  magick  structures  rear'd  so  high, 
Were  shatter'd  •  into  heaps  o'er  thy  false  head. 
Com.  She  fables  not;  I  feel  that  I  do  fear* 
Her  words  set  off  by  some  superiour  power; 
And  though  not  mortal,"  yet  a  cold  shuddering  dew 
Pips  me  all  o'er,  as  when  the  wrath  of  Jove 
Speaks  thunder,  and  the  chains  of  Erebus, 
To  some  of  Saturn's  crew.     I  must  dissemble. 
And  try  her  yet  more  strongly.     Come,  no  more  : 
This  is  mere  moral  babble,  and  direct 
Against  the  canon-laws  of  our  foundation  :  ^ 
I  must  not  suffer  this ;  yet  'tis  but  the  lees  ^ 
And  settlings  of  a  melancholy  blood  : 
But  this  will  cure  all  straight ;  one  sip.  of  this 

P  Gay  rhetorick. 
See  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  "  Philaster,"  a.  iv.  s.  1.     "  I  know  not  your  rhetorick ; 
but  I  can  lay  it  on." — T.  Warton. 

q  Her  dazzling  fence. 
We  have  the  substantive  "  fence"  in  Shakspeare,  "  Much  Ado  about  Noth."  a.  t.  s.  1. 
'•■  Despight  his  nice  fence,"  Ac. — T.  Warton. 

f  And  the  brute  earth  would  lend  her  nerves. 
The  unfeeling  Earth  would  sympathize  and  assist.     It  is  Horace's  "bruta  telloa," 
Od.  i.  xxxiv.  9. — T.  Warton. 

•  Were  shattered,  &c. 
InG.  Fletcher's  "Christ's  Vict."  the  sorceresse  sings  a  song,  the  subject  of  which 
is,  Love  "  obtruding  false  rules  prank'd  in  reason's  garb,"  and.  endeavours  to  capti- 
vate our  Saviour  in  the  same  manner  as  Comus  does  me  Lady. — Headley. 

t  ThesS  six  lines  are  aside,  but  I  would  point  the  first  thus :  "  She  fables  not,  I  feel 
that ;"  that  is,  I  feel  that  she  does  not  fable,  &c. — Sympson. 

"  And  though  not  mortal,  &c. 

Her  words  are  assisted  by  somewhat  divine  ;  and  I,  although  immortal,  and  above 
the  race  of  man,  am  so  affected  with  their  force,  tliat  a  cold  shuddering  dew,  &c. 
Here  is  the  noblest  panegyric  on  the  power  of  virtue,  adorned  with  the  sublimest 
imagery.  It  is  extorted  from  the  mouth  of  a  magician  and  a  preternatural  being,  who 
although  actually  possessed  of  his  prey,  feels  all  the  terrors  of  human  nature  at  the 
bold  rebuke  of  innocence,  and  shudders  with  a  sudden  cold  sweat  like  a  guilty  man. 
— T.  Warton. 

V  Against  the  canon-laws  of  our  foundation. 

"  Canon-laws,"  a  joke  ! — Warburton. 

Here  is  a  ridicule  on  establishments,  and  the  canon-law,  now  greatly  encouraged 
by  the  church.  Perhaps  on  the  canons  of  the  church,  now  rigidly  enforced,  and  at 
which  Milton  frequently  glances  in  his  prose  tracts. — T.  Wakton. 

^  Yet  'tis  but  the  lees. 
I  like  the  manuscript  reading  best, — 

This  is  mere  moral  stuff,  the  very  leee, 
"Yet"  is  bad:  "But,''  very  inaccurate. — Hurd. 
"  Yet "  is  omitted  both  by  Tickell  and  Fenton.— Todd. 


COMUS.  675 

Will  bathe  the  drooping  spirits  in  delight, 
Beyond  the  bliss  of  dreams.     Be  wise,  and  taste. 

[The  Brother!  rush  in  with  swords  drawn,  wrest  his  glass  out  of  his  hand,  and  hreak 
it  against  the  ground;  his  rout  make  sign  of  resistance,  but  are  all  driven  in. 
The  Atte7ida7U  Spirit  comes  in.] 

Spir.  What,  have  you  let  the  false  enchanter  'scape  ? 
0,  ye  mistook ;  ye  should  have  snatch'd  his  wand,^' 
And  bound  him  fast :  without  his  rod  reversed, 
And  backward  mutters  of  dissevering  power. 
We  cannot  free  the  Lady  that  sits  here 
In  stony  fetters  fix'd,  and  motionless : 
Yet  stay ;  be  not  disturbed ;  now  I  bethink  me. 
Some  other  means  y  I  have  which  may  be  used, 
Which  once  of  Meliboeus  old  I  learn'd. 
The  soothest ''  shepherd  that  e'er  piped  On  plains.* 

There  is  a  gentle  nymph  not  far  from  hence,'' 
That  with  moist  curb  sways  the  smooth  Severn  stream, 
Sabrina  is  her  name,  a  virgin  pure ; 
Whilom  she  was  the  daughter  of  Locrine, 

»  0,  ye  mistook;  ye  thould  have  snatch'd  his  wand,  Ac. 
They  are  directed  before  t^  seize  Comus's  wand,  v.  653:  and  this  was  from  the 
"Faerie  Queene,"  where  Sir  Guyon  breaks  the  charming  staff  of  Pleasure's  porter,  as 
he  likewise  overthrows  his  bowl,  ii.  xii.  49.  But  from  what  particular  process  of  disen- 
chantment, ancient  or  modem,  did  Milton  take  the  notion  of  reversing  Comus's  wand 
or  rod  ?  It  was  from  a  passage  of  Ovid,  the  great  ritualist  of  classical  sorcery,  before 
cited,  where  the  companions  of  Ulysses  are  restored  to  their  human  shapes,  "Metam." 
xiv.  300. 

Percutimergue  caput  conversae  verbere  virgs, 

Verbaque  dicuntur  dictis  contraria  verbis. 

The  circumstance  in  the  text,  of  the  Brothers  forgetting  to  seize  and  reverse  the  magi- 
cian's rod,  while  by  contrast  it  heightens  the  superior  intelligence  of  the  Attendant 
Spirit,  affords  the  opportunity  of  introducing  the  fiction  of  raising  Sabrina;  which, 
exclusive  of  its  poetical  ornaments,  is  recommended  by  a  local   propriety,  and  waa 

Eeculiarly  interesting  to  the  audience,  as  the  Severn  is  the  famous  river  of  the  neigh- 
ourhood. — T.  Warton. 

y  Some  other  means,  &c. 
Dr.  Johnson  reprobates  this  "long  narration,"  as  he  styles  it,  about  Sabrina;  which, 
lie  says,  "is  of  no  use  because  it  is  false,  and  therefore  unsuitable  to  a  good  being."  By 
the  poetical  reader  this  fiction  is  considered  as  true.  In  common  sense,  the  relator  is 
not  true  :  and  why  may  not  an  imaginary  being,  even  of  a  good  character,  deliver  an 
imaginary  tale  ?  Where  is  the  moral  impropriety  of  an  innocent  invention,  especially 
when  introduced  for  a  virtuous  purpose  ?  In  poetry  false  narrations  are  often  more 
useful  than  true.  Something,  and  something  preternatural,  and  consequently  false, 
but  therefore  more  poetical,  was  necessary  for  the  present  distress. — T.  Warton. 

^  The  soothest. 
The  truest,  faithfulest.     "  Sooth"  is  truth ;  "  in  sooth"  is  indeed :  and  therefore  what 
this  soothest  shepherd  teaches  may  be  depended  upon. — Newton. 

a  That  e'er  piped  on  plains. 
Spenser  thus  characterizes  Hobbinol,  as  Mr.  Bowie  observes,  in  "  Colin  Clout's  come 
Home  again :" — 

A  ioUy  groome  was  hee, 
As  euer  piped  on  an  oaten  reed.— T.  Warton. 

b  There  is  a  gentle  nymph  not  far  from  hence,  &c. 
The  part  of  the  fable  of  "  Comus,"  which  may  be  called  the  disenchantment,  is 
evidently  founded  on  Fletcher's  "  Faithful  Shepherdess."    The  moral  of  both  dramas 
is  the  triumph  of  chastity.     This  in  both  is  finely  brought  about  by  the  same  sort 
of  machinery.— T.  Warton. 


676  COMUS. 

That  had  the  sceptre  from  his  fatlier  Brute. 
The  guiltless  damsel,  flying  the  mad  pursuit 
Of  her  enraged  stepdame  Guendolenj 
Commended  her  fair  innocence  to  the  flood, 
That  staid  her  flight  with  his  cross-flowing  course 
The  water  nymphs,  that  in  the  bottom  play'd, 
Held  up  their  pearled  wrists,  and  took  her  in, 
Bearing  her  straight  to  aged  Nereus'  hall ; 
Who,  piteous  of  her  woes,  rear'd  her  lank  head, 
And  gave  her  to  his  daughters  to  imbathe " 
In  nectar'd  lavers,*  strew'd  with  asphodel ; 
And  through  the  porch '  and  inlet  of  each  sense 
Dropp'd  in  ambrosial  oils,  till  she  revived. 
And  underwent  a  quick  immortal  change,' 
Made  goddess  of  the  river :  still  she  retains 
Her  maiden  gentleness,  and  oft  at  eve 
Visits  the  herds  along  the  twilight  meadows,* 
Helping  all  urchin  blasts,''  and  ill-luck  signs  ^ 

That  the  shrewd  meddling  elfe  delights  to  make, 
Which  she  with  precious  vial'd  liquours  heals : 
For  which  the  shepherds  at  their  festivals 
Carol  her  goodness  loud  in  rustick  lays, 

e  Imbathe. 

The  word  "imbathe"  occurs  in  our  author's  "Reformation  :" — " Methinks  a  sovran 
and  reviving  joy  must  needs  rush  into  the  bosom  of  him  that  reads  or  hears;  and  the 
Bweet  odour  of  the  returning  gospel  imbathe  his  soul  with  the  fragrance  of  Heaven." 
What  was  enthusiasm  in  most  of  the  puritanical  writers,  was  poetry  in  Milton. — T. 
Warton.  ^ 

<J  In  nectar'd  lavers. 

This,  at  least,  reminds  us  of  Alcseus's  epigram  or  epitaph  on  Homer,  who  died  in  the 
island  of  lo.  The  Nereids  of  the  circumambient  sea  bathed  his  dead  body  with  nectar. 
The  process  which  follows,  of  dropping  ambrosial  oils  "  into  the  porch  and  inlet  of 
each  sense"  of  the  drowned  Sabrina,  is  originally  from  Homer,  where  Venus  anoints 
the  dead  body  of  Patroclus  with  rosy  ambrosial  oil.     II.  xxiii.  186. — T.  Warton. 

•  And  through  the  porch. 
The  same  metaplior  in  "  Hamlet,"  a.  i.  s.  8. 

And  in  the  porches  of  mine  ear  did  pour 
The  leperous  distilment. — Newton. 

^  And  underwent  a  quick  immortal  change. 
So  in  the  "  Tempest,"  a.  i.  s.  2. 

Nothing  of  him  that  doth  fade, 

But  doth  suffer  a  seachange.— Steevens. 

s  Visits  tJie  herds  along  the  twilight  meadows,  &c. 
The  virgin  shepherdess  Clorin,  in  Fletcher's  pastoral  play,  so  frequently  quoted, 
possesses  the  skill  of  Sabrina,  a.  i.  s.  1. — T.  Wabton. 

•>  Helping  all  urchin  blasts. 
The  urchin,  or  hedge-hog,  from  its  solitariness,  the  ugliness  of  its  appearance,  and 
from  a  popular  opinion  that  it  sucked  or  poisoned  the  udders  of  cows,  was  adopted 
into  the  demonologic  system ;  and  its  shape  was  sometimes  supposed  to  be  assumed 
by  mischievous  elves.  Hence  it  was  one  of  the  plagues  of  Caliban  in  the  "  Tem- 
pest," a.  ii.  s.  2. 

His  spirits  hear  me. 
And  yet  I  needs  must  curse :  but  they'll  not  pinch, 
Fright  me  with  urchin-shows,  pitch  me  in  the  mire,  &c. — T.  Warton. 


And  throw  sweet  garland  wreaths  into  her  stream  * 

Of  pansies,  pinks,  and  gaudy  daffodils  : 

And,  as  the  old  swain  said,  she  can  unlock 

The  clasping  charm,  and  thaw  the  numming  spelI,J 

If  she  be  right  invoked  in  warbled  song ; 

For  maidenhood  she  loves,  and  will  be  swift 

To  aid  a  virgin,  such  as  was  herself," 

In  hard-besetting  need ;  this  will  I  try, 

And  add  the  power  of  some  adjuring  verse. 

SONG 

Sabrina  fair. 

Listen  where  thou  art  sitting 
Under  the  glassy,  cool,  translucent  wave, 

In  twisted  braids  of  lilies '  knitting 
The  loose  train  of  thy  amber-dropping  hair : " 

Listen  for  dear  honour's  sake, 

Goddess  of  the  silver  lake ; 
Listen,  and  save ! 
Listen,  and  appear  to  us, 
In  name  of  great  Oceanus ; " 
By  the  earth-shaking  Neptune's  mace," 
And  Tethys'  grave  majestick  pace ; 

"  And  throw  sweet  garland  wreathe  into  her  stream, 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher  exhibit  a  passage  immediately  to  the  purport  of  the  text, 
"False  One,"  a.  iii.  s.  3. 

With  incense  let  us  bless  the  brim ; 

And  as  the  wanton  fishes  swim, 

Let  us  gums  and  garlands  fling,  &c.— ^.  Wabton. 

J  She  can  unlock 
The  clasping  charm,  and  thaw  the  numming  spell. 
This  notion  of  the  wisdom  or  skill  of  Sabrina,  is  in  Drayton,  "  Polyolb."  s.  r.  vol.  ii. 
p.  763.— T.  Warton. 

k  To  aid  a  virgin,  such  as  was  herself. 
Alluding  perhaps  to  the  Danaids'  invocation  of  Pallas,  wherein  they  use  the  same 
argument,  ^schyl.  "Supp."  v.  155. — Thyer. 

1  In  twisted  braids  of  lilies. 
We  are  to  understand  water-lilies,  with  which  Drayton  often  braids  the  tresses  of  his 
water-nymphs,  in  the  "  Polyolbion." — T.  Warton. 

■n  The  loose  train  of  thy  amber-dropping  hair. 

We  have  "  an  amber  cloud"  above,  v.  333.  And,  in  "  L'Allegro,"  "  the  sun  is  robed 
in  flames  and  amber  light,"  v.  61.  But  liquid  amber  is  a  yellow  pellucid  gam.  Sa- 
brina's  hair  drops  amber,  because  in  the  poet's  idea,  her  stream  was  supposed  to  be 
transparent;  as  the  river  of  bliss  in  "Paradise  Lost,"  b.  iii.  358;  and  Choaspes  has  an 
"  amber  stream,"  "  Paradise  Regained,"  b.  iii.  288.  But  Choaspes  was  called  the 
"golden  water."  Amber,  when  applied  to  water,  means  a  luminous  clearness;  when  to 
hair,  bright  yellow. — T.  Warton. 

A  curious  passage  in  Nash's  "  Terrors  of  the  Night,"  1594,  will  minutely  illustrate 
the"  amber-dropping  hair"  of  Sabrina:  Nash  is  describing  a  "troupe  of  naked  virgins. 
Their  hair  they  ware  loose  vnrolled  about  their  shoulders,  whose  dangling  amber 
trammels,  reaching  downe  beneath  their  knees,  seemed  to  drop  baulme  on  their  deli- 
cious bodies." — Todd. 

■>  In  name  of  great  Oceanus, 

It  will  be  curious  to  observe  how  the  poet  has  distinguished  the  sea-deities  by  the 
epithets  and  attributes,  which  are  assigned  to  each  of  them  in  the  best  classic  authors. 
"  Great  Oceanus,"  as  in  Heuiod,  "  Theog."  20.  'Stxtaviv  n  fiiyav. — Newton. 

0  By  the  earth-shaking  Neptune's  mace,  Ac. 
Neptune  is  usually  called  "earth-shaking,"  in  "II."  xii.  27,  xx.  13.   Tethys  the  wife 


678  COMUS. 

By  hoary  Nereus'  wrinkled  look, 
And  the  Carpathian  wizard's  hook; 
By  scaly  Triton's  winding  shell,' 
And  old  soothsaying  G-laucus'  spell; 
By  Leucothea's  lovely  hands. 
And  her  son  that  rules  the  strands ; 
By  Thetis'  tinsel-slipper'd  feet,« 
And  the  songs  of  sirens  sweet ;  "■ 
By  dead  Parthenope's  dear  tomb, 
And  fair  Ligea's  golden  comb,' 
Wherewith  she  sits  on  diamond  rocks, 
Sleeking  her  soft  alluring  locks; 
By  all  the  nymphs  that  nightly  dance 
Upon  thy  streams  with  wily  glance ; 
Rise,  rise,  and  heave  thy  rosy  head, 
From  thy  coral-paven  bed. 
And  bridle  in  thy  headlong  wave, 

of  Oceanus,  and  mother  of  the  gods,  may  well  be  supposed  to  have  "a  grave  majcstick 
pace:"  Hesiod  calls  her  "the  venerable  Tethys,"  " Theog."  368.  Milton  had  before 
called  Nereus,  at  v.  835,  "aged,"  as  in  Virgil,  "Georg."  iv.  392,  "grandaevus  Nereus:" 
he  may  be  called  "hoary"  too  upon  another  account: — "Fere  omncs  Dii  marini  senes 
sunt,  albent  enim  eorum  capita  spumis  aquarum."  Servius,  in  "  Georg."  iv.  403  : — "  The 
Carpathian  wizard"  is  Proteus,  who  had  a  cave  at  Carpathus,  an  island  in  the  Mediterra- 
nean, and  was  a  wizard  or  prophet,  as  also  Neptune's  shepherd ;  and  as  such  bore  a 
hook.  See  Virgil,  "  Georg."  iv.  387. — Newton. 
And  Ovid,  "  Met"  xi.  249 : — "'  Carpathius  vates." — Todd. 

P  Triton's  winding  shell,  Ac. 
Triton  was  Neptune's  trumpeter,  and  was  "scaly,"  as  all  these  sorts  of  creatures  are: 
— "  squamis  modo  hispido  corpore,  etiam  qua  humanam  efiBgiem  habent."  Plin.  lib.  ix. 
sect.  iv.  His  "winding  shell"  is  particularly  described  in  Ovid,  "Met."  i.  333.  Glaucu8 
was  an  excellent  fisher  or  diver,  and  so  was  feigned  to  be  a  sea-god.  Aristotle  writes 
that  he  prophesied  to  the  gods,  and  Nicandor  says  that  Apollo  himself  learnt  the  art  of 
prediction  from  Glaucus.  See  Athenaeus,  lib.  vii.  cap.  12.  And  Euripides,  "  Orest." 
863,  calls  him  the  seaman's  prophet,  and  interpreter  of  Nereus;  and  ApoUon.  Rhodius, 
"  Argonaut,"  1310,  gives  him  the  same  appellation.  Ino,  flying  from  the  rage  of  he» 
husband  Athamas,  who  was  furiously  mad,  threw  herself  from  the  top  of  a  rock  into 
the  sea,  with  her  son  Melicerta  in  her  arms.  Neptune,  at  the  intercession  of  Venus, 
changed  them  into  sea-deities,  and  gave  them  new  names ;  Leucothea  to  her,  and  to 
him  Palaemon.  See  Ovid,  "Met."  iv.  538.  She,  being  Leucothea,  or  the  white  god- 
dess, may  well  be  supposed  to  have  "lovely  hands,"  which  I  presume  the  poet  men- 
tions in  opposition  to  Thetis's  feet:  and  her  son  "rules  the  strands,"  having  the 
command  of  the-ports,  and  therefore  called  in  Latin  Portumnus.  See  Ovid,  "  Fast."  vL 
545. — Newton. 

q  Tinsel-slipper'd /eet. 

The  poet  meant  this  as  a  paraphrase  of  "silver-footed,"  the  usual  epithet  of  Thetid 
in  Homer. — Newton. 

>■  Sirens  sweet,  Ac. 

The  sirens  are  introduced  here,  as  being  sea-nymphs,  and  singing  apoa  the  coast— 
Newton. 

•  Parthenope  and  Ligea  were  two  of  the  sirens.  Parthenope's  tomb  was  at  Naples, 
which  was  therefore  called  Parthenope.  Plin.  lib.  iii.  sect  ix.  Silius  Ital.  xii.  83. 
Ligea  is  also  the  name  of  a  sea-nymph  in  Virgil,  "Georg."  iv.  336 ;  and  the  poet  draws 
her  in  the  attitude  in  which  mermaids  are  represented.  See  Ovid,  "  Met."  iv,  310,  of 
Balmacis. — Newton. 

One  of  the  employments  of  the  nymph  Salmacis  in  Ovid,  is  to  comb  her  hair;  bat 
that  fiction  is  here  heightened  with  the  brilliancy  of  romance.  Ligea's  comb  is  of  gold, 
and  she  sits  on  diamond  rocks.  These  were  new  allurements  for  the  unwary. — T. 
Warton. 


COMUS.  619 

Till  thou  OUT  summons  answer'd  have. 

Listen,  and  save  I* 

[Sabrina  rises,  attended  by  Water  Nymphs,  and  sings.] 
By  the  rushy-fringed  bank," 
Where  grows  the  willow,  and  the  osier  dank,' 

My  sliding  chariot  stays. 
Thick  set  with  agate, "^  and  the  azure  sheen  ■ 
Of  turkis  blue,  and  emerald  green, 

That  in  the  channel  strays ; 
Whilst  from  oflE"  the  waters  fleet 
Thus  I  set  my  printless  feet^ 
O'er  the  cowslip's  velvet  head,» 

That  bends  not  as  I  tread : » 
Gentle  swain,  at  thy  request, 

I  am  here. 

Sjpir.  Goddess  dear,  ■ 

We  implore  thy  powerful  hand 

To  undo  the  charmed  band.  ' 

Of  true  virgin  here  distress' d. 
Through  the  force,  and  through  the  wile, 
Of  unbless'd  enchanter  vile. 

Sab.  Shepherd,  'tis  my  office  best 

'  Listen,  and  save  I 

The  repetition  of  the  prayer,  ver.  866  and  889,  in  the  invocation  of  Sabrina,  is  simi- 
tar to  that  of  ^schylus's  Chorus  in  the  invocation  of  Darius's  shade,  "  Persae,"  ver.  666 
and  674. — Thyek. 

Thus  Amaryllis,  in  the  "  Faithful  Shepherdess,"  invokes  the  priest  of  Pan  to  protect 
her  from  thb  sullen  shepherd,  a.  v.  s.  1,  p.  184. — T.  Wartok. 

»  By  the  rushy-fringed  bank. 
See  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  iv.  262 :— "  The  fringed  band  with  myrtle  crown'd."— T. 
Warton. 

»  Where  grows  the  willow,  and  the  osier  dank. 
See  the  "Faithful  Shepherdess,"  a.  iii.  s.  1,  p.  153. — T.  Warton. 

"  My  sliding  chariot  stays, 
Thick  set  with  agate,  Ac. 
See  Drayton,  "  Polyolb.  s.  v.  vol.  ii.  p.  752. — T.  Warton. 

«  The  azure  sheen. 
"  Sheen"  is  again  used  as  a  substantive  for  brightness,  in  this  poem,  ver.  1008.— 
Todd. 

y  Printless  feet. 
So  Prosper©  to  his  elves,  but  in  a  style  of  much  Jiigher  and  wilder  fiction,  "Temp." 
a.  V.  a.  1 : — 

And  ye  that  on  the  sands  with  printless  foot, 
Do  chase  the  ebbing  Neptune,  and  do  fly  him 
When  he  comes  back. — T.  Waeton. 

z  Velvet-head. 
In  the  "Faithful  Shepherdess,"  a.  ii.  s.  1:— "The  dew-drops  hang  on  the  velvet, 
heads"  of  flowers^^ — Todd. 

»  That  bends  not  as  I  tread. 
Beo  "England'fl  Helicon,"  ed.  1614,  by  W.  H.  :— 

Where  she  doth  waiko, 
Scarce  she  doth  the  primerose  head 
Depresse,  or  tender  stalke 
Of  blew-vein'd  violets, 
Whereon  her  foot  she  setp. — T.  Wabtow. 


680  COMUS. 

To  help  ensnared  chastity : 

Brightest  Lady,  look  on  me.* 

Thus  I  sprinkle  on  thy  breast 

Drops,  that  from  my  fountain  pure 

I  have  kept,  of  precious  cure ; «  .  , 

Thrice  upon  thy  finger's  tip,*  ("' 

Thrice  upon  thy  rubied  lip  :  •  ,  T' ' 

Next  this  marble  venom'd  seat, 

Smear'd  with  gums  of  glutinous  heat,  ' ' 

I  touch  with  chaste  palms  moist  and  cold  :— 

Now  the  spell  hath  lost  his  hold ; ' 

And  I  must  haste,  ere  morning  hour, 

To  wait  in  Amphitrite's  bower.* 

[Sabrina  descends,  and  the  Lady  rises  out  of  her  seat.] 

S^ir.  -Virgin,  daughter  of  Locrine, 
Sprung  of  old  Anchises'  line,'' 
May  thy  brimmed  waves  for  this 
Their  full  tribute  never  miss' 
From  a  thousand  petty  rills. 
That  tumble  down  the  snowy  hills  : 

b  Brightest  Lady,  look  on  me. 
In  the  manuscript,  virtuous :  but "  brightest"  is  an  epithet  thus  applied  in  the  "Faith- 
ful Shepherdess." — T.  Warton. 

e  Drops,  that  from  my  fountain  pure 
I  have  kept,  of  precious  cure. 
Galton  proposed  to  read  ure,  that  is,  use.    The  word,  it  must  be  owned,  was  not 
uncommon  :  but  the  rhymes  of  many  couplets  in  the  "  Faithful  Shepherdess,"  relating  to 
the  same  business,  and  ending  "pure"  and  "cure,"  shows  that  cure  was  Milton's  word, 
— T.  Warton. 

^  Thrice  upon  thy  finger's  tip,  Ac. 
Compare  Shakspeare,  "  Mids.  Night's  Dream,"  a.  ii.  s.  6.    But  Milton,  in  most  of  the 
circumstances  of  dissolving  this  charm,  is  apparently  to  be  traced  in  the  "  Faithful 
Shepherdess." — T.  Warton. 

e  Thy  rubied  lip. 
So  in  Browne's  "  Brit.  Past."  b.  ii.  s.  iii.  p.  78 : — 

The  melting  rubyes  on  her  cherry  lip. — Todd. 

f  /  touch  with  chaste  palms  moist  and  cold : — 
Now  the  spell  hath  lost  his  hold. 
Compare  Fletcher's  "Faithful  Shepherdess,"  a.  v.  s.  Ij  a.  iii.  s.  1. — T.  Wartok. 
The  chaste  hands  also  of  Britomart,  the  flower  of  chastity,  "  Faer.  Qu."  iii.  xi.  6, 
were  not  here  forgotten  by  Milton. — Todd. 

B  To  wait  in  Amphitrite's  bower. 
Drayton's  Sabrina  is  arrayed  in 

A  watchet  weed,  with  many  a  curious  wave, 
Which  as  a  princely  gift  great  Amphitrite  gave. 

"Polyolb."  s.  V.  vol.  ii.  p.  752.    And  we  have  "Amphitrite's  bower,"  ibid.  s.  zxyiiii 
V.  iii.  p.  1193.— T.  Warton. 

^  Sprung  of  old  Anchises'  line. 
For  Locrine  was  the  son  of  Brutus,  who  was  the  son  of  Silvius,  Silvius  of  Ascanius, 
Ascanius  of  iEneas,  .ffineas  of  Anchises.    See  Milton's  "  History  of  England,"  b.  i. — 
Newton. 

>  Their  full  tribute  never  miss,  Ac. 
The  torrents  from  the  Welsh  mountains  sometimes  raise  the  Severn  on  a  sudden  to  a 
prodigious  height:  but  at  the  same  time  they  "fill  her  molten  crystal  with  mud  :"  her 
stream,  which  of  itself  is  clear,  is  then  discoloured  and  muddy.    The  poet  adverts  to 
the  known  natural  properties  of  the  river. — T.  Wabtok. 


COMUS.  681 

Summer  drowth,  or  singed  air 
Never  scorch  thy  tresses  fair, 
Nor  wet  October's  torrent  flood 
Thy  molten  crystal  fill  with  mud ; 
May  thy  billows  roll  ashore 
The  beryl  and  the  golden  ore;^ 
May  thy  lofty  head  be  crown'd" 
With  many  a  tower'  and  terrace  round, 
And  here  and  there  thy  banks  upon 
With  groves  of  rayrrh  and  cinnamon  ! " 

Come,  Lady,  while  heaven  lends  us  grace, 
Let  us  fly  this  cursed  place, 
Lest  the  sorcerer  us  entice 
With  some  other  new  device. 
Not  a  waste  or  needless  sound, 
Till  we  come  to  holier  ground ; 
I  shall  be  your  faithful  guide 
Through  this  gloomy  covert  wide ; 
And  not  many  furlongs  thence 
Is  your  father's  residence, 
Where  this  night  are  met  in  state 
Many  a  friend  to  gratulate 
His  wish'd  presence;  and  beside 
All  the  swains,  that  there  abide, 
With  jigs  and  rural  dance  resort : 
We  shall  catch  them  at  their  sport ; 
And  our  sudden  coming  there 
Will  double  all  their  mirth  and  chere. 

J  May  thy  hilloros  roll  ashore 
The  beryl  and  the  golden  ore. 
This  is  reasonable  as  a  wish ;  but  jewels  were  surely  out  of  place  among  the  deco- 
rations of  Sabrina's  chariot,  on  the  supposition  that  they  were  the  natural  productions 
of  her  stream.  The  wish  is  equally  ideal  and  imaginary,  that  her  banks  should  be 
covered  with  groves  of  myrrh  and  cinnamon.  A  wish  conformable  to  the  real  state  of 
things,  to  English  seasons  and  English  fertility,  would  have  been  more  pleasing,  as 
less  unnatural:  yet  we  must  not  too  severely  try  poetry  by  truth  and  reality. — T. 
Waeton. 

k  May  thy  lofty  head  he  crown'd,  Ac. 
This  votive  address  of  gratitude  to  Sabrina  was  suggested  to  our  author  by  that  of 
Amoret  to  the  river-god  in  Fletcher's  "  Faithful  Shepherdess,"  a.  iii.  s.  1. — T.  Wartom. 

1  With  many  a  toieer,  Ac. 
Mr.  Warton  thinks  that  Windsor  Castle  suggested  this  description.    Milton  was 
thinking  lather  of  Spenser. — Todd. 

n»  And  here  and  there  thy  banks  upon 
With  groves  of  myrrh  and  cinnamon. 
The  construction  of  these  two  lines  is  a  little  diflBcult:  to  crown  her  head  with  towers 
is  true  imagery;  but  to  crown  her  head  upon  her  banks  will  scarcely  be  allowed  to  be 
80.    I  would  therefore  put  a  colon  instead  of  a  comma  at  v.  935,  and  then  read 

And  here  and  there  thy  banks  upon 

Be  groves  of  myrrh  and  cinnamon.— Skward. 

In  V.  936,  "  banks"  is  the  nominative  case,  as  "  head"  was  in  the  last  verso  but  one. 
The  sense  and  syntax  of  the  whole  is.  May  thy  head  be  crown'd  round  about  with 
towers  and  terraces,  and  here  and  there  may  thy  banks  be  crowned  upon  with  grovesi 
&tt.    The  phrase  is  Greek.— Calton. 
86 


682  COMUS. 

Come,  let  as  haste ;  the  stars  grow  high ; 
But  night  sits  monarch  yet  in  the  mid  sky." 

[The  scene  changes,  presenting  Ludlow  town  and  the  President's  castle:  then  come 
in  Country  Dancers ;  after  them  the  Atteridant  Spirit,  with  the  Two  Jirothers, 
and  the  LadyJl 

SONG. 

Spir.  Back  shepherds,  back ;  enough  your  play, 
Till  next  sunshine  holiday : 
Here  be,  without  duck  or  nod," 
Other  trippings  to  be  trod 
Of  lighter  toes,  and  such  court  guise 
As  Mercury  did  first  devise, 
With  the  mincing  Dryades, 
On  the  lawns  and  on  the  leas. 

[This  second  Song  presents  them  to  their  Father  and  Mother.] 

Noble  Lord,  and  Lady  bright, 
I  have  brought  ye  new  delight  j 
Here  behold  so  goodly  grown 
Three  fair  branches  of  your  own : 
Heaven  hath  timely  tried  their  youth. 
Their  faith,  their  patience,  and  their  truth; 
And  sent  them  here  through  hard  assays 
With  a  crown  of  deathless  praise, 
To  triumph  in  victorious  dance 
O'er  sensual  folly  and  intemperance. 

[The  Dances  ended,  the  Spirit  epiloguizes.] 

Spir.  To  the  ocean  now  I  fly,' 
And  those  happy  climes  that  lie 

"  7%e  stars  grow  high, 
But  night  sits  monarch  yet  in  the  mid  sky. 
Compare  Fletcher's  play,  a.  ii.  s.  1. — T.  Waiiton. 

o  Mere  be,  without  duck  or  nod,  Ac. 
By  "  ducks  and  nods"  our  author  alludes  to  the  country  people's  awkward  way  of 
dancing :  and,  the  Two  Brothers  and  the  Lady  being  now  to  dance,  he  describes  their 
elegant  way  of  moving  by  "trippings,"  "lighter  toes,"  "  court  guise,"  Ac.     He  follows 
Shakspeare,  who  makes  Ariel  tell  Prospero,  that  his  maskers. 

Before  you  can  say,  come  and  go, 
And  breathe  twice,  and  cry  so,  so, 
Each  one,  trippinf;  on  his  toe, 
Will  be  here  with  mop  and  mow. 

And  Oberon  commands  his  fairies : — 

Every  elfe,  and  fairy  sprite, 
Hop  as  light  as  bird  from  briar, 
And  this  ditty  after  me 
Sing,  and  dance  it  trippingly. 

The  Dryads  were  wood-nymphs :  but  here  the  ladies  who  appeared  on  this  occasion  at 
the  sourt  of  the  lord  president  of  the  marches,  are  very  elegantly  terned  Dryades. 
Indeed  the  prophet  complains  of  the  Jewish  women  for  mincing  as  they  go,  Isaiah  iiL 
16.    But  our  author  uses  that  word,  only  to  express  the  neatness  of  their  gait. — Peck. 

p  To  the  ocean  now  I  fly,  Ac. 
This  speech  is  evidently  a  paraphrase  on  Ariel's  song  in  the  "  Tempost,"  a.  T.  B.  1 : — 
Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I. — ^Waebubton. 


COMUS.  683 

Where  day  never  shuts  his  eye, 

Up  in  the  broad  fields  of  the  sky  :  ^ 

There  I  suck  the  liquid  air' 

All  amidst  the  gardens  fair 

Of  Hesperus,  and  his  daughters  three ' 

That  sing  about  the  golden  tree  :  * 

Along  the  crisped  shades  and  bowers 

Revels  the  spruce  and  jocund  Spring; 

The  Graces,  and  the  rosy-bosom'd  Hours, 

Thither  all  their  bounties  bring  j 

There  eternal  Summer  dwells. 

And  west  winds,  with  musky  wing, 

About  the  cedar'd  alleys  fling 

Nard  and  cassia's  balmy  smells. 

Iris  there  with  humid  bow 

Waters  the  odorous  banks,  that  blow" 

Flowers  of  more  mingled  hew 

Than  her  purfled  scarf  can  shew ; 

And  drenches  with  Elysian  deW^ 

q  Up  in  the  broad  fields  of  the  sky. 

It  may  be  doubted  whether  from  Virgil,  "  Aeris  in  campis  latis,"  Ma.  vi.  888,  for  at 
first  he  had  written  "plain  fields,"  with  another  idea;  a  level  extent  of  verdure. — 
T.  Warton. 

He  wrote  "  broad  fields"  frofti  Fairfax,  b.  viii.  at.  67.  "  O'er  the  broad  fields  of 
heanen's  bright  wildernesse." — Todd. 

<■  There  I  such  the  liquid  air. 
Thus  Ubaldo,  in  Fairfax's  "  Tasso,"  a  good  wizard,  who  dwells  in  the  centre  of  the 
earth,  but  sometimes  emerges,  to  breathe  the  purer  air  of  Mount  Carmel,  b.  xiv.  at 
43  J- 

And  there  in  liquid  ayre  myself  di«port. — T.  "Warton. 

•  All  amidst  the  gardens  fair 
Of  Hesperus,  and  his  daughters  three. 
The  daughters  of  Hesperus,  the  brother  of  Atlas,  first  mentioned  in  Milton's  manu- 
Bcript  as  their  father,  had  gardens  or  orchards  which  produced  apples  of  gold.  Spenser 
makes  them  the  daughters  of  Atlas,  "  Faer.  Qu."  ii.  vii.  54.  See  Ovid,  "  Metam."  ix. 
636:  and  Appollodor.  "Bibl."  1.  ii.  §  11.  But  what  ancient  fabler  celebrates  these 
damsels  for  their  skill  in  singing?  AppoUonius  Rhodius,  an  author  whom  Milton 
taught  to  his  scholar's,  "Argon."  iv.  1396.  Hence  Lucan's  virgin-choir,  overlooked  by 
the  commentators,  is  to  be  explained,  where  he  speaks  of  this  golden  grove,  ix.  360 . — 

fuit  aurea  silva, 
Divitiisque  graved  ct  fulvo  ^ermine  rcmij 
Virgineufique  chorus,  nitidi  custodia  luci, 
£t  nunquam  somno  damnatus  lumina  serpens,  &c 

Milton  frequently  alludes  to  these  ladies,  or  their  gardens,  "  Par.  Lost,"  b.  iii.  568,  It. 
620,  viii  631.     "  Par.  Reg."  b.  ii.  357.     And  the  Mask  before  us,  v.  392,— T.  WAnTOK. 

'  The  golden  tree. 
Many  say  that  the  apples  of  Atlas's  garden  were  of  gold :  Ovid  is  the  only  ancient 
WTiter  that  says  the  trees  were  of  gold,  "  Metam."  iv.  636. — T.  Warton. 

1 "  Blow"  is  here  actively  used,  as  in  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  "  Lover's  Progress,'' 
a.  ii.  8.  1  : — 

The  wmd  that  blows  the  April-flowers  not  softer. 
That  is,  "  makes  the  flowers  blow."    So,  in  Jonson's  "  Mask  at  Highgate,"  1604  :— 
For  these,  Favonius  here  shall  blow 
New  flowers,  &c.— T.  Wabton. 

V  And  drenches  tcith  Elysian  dew. 
As  in  "  Par.  Lost,"  b.  xi.  367,  the  angel  says  to  Adam, 

Let  Eve,  for  I  have  drench'd  her  eyei, 
Here  sleep  below. — T.  Waktom. 


684  COMUS. 

(List,  mortals,  if  your  ears  be  true'') 
Beds  of  hyacinth  and  roses, 
Where  young  Adonis  oft  reposes, 
Waxing  well  of  his  deep  wound 
In  slumber  soft,  and  on  the  ground* 
Sadly  sits  the  Assyrian  queen  :  ^ 
But  far  above  in  spangled  sheen  » 
Celestial  Cupid,  her  famed  son,  advanced, 
Holds  his  dear  Psyche  sweet  entranced. 
After  her  wandering  labours  long. 
Till  free  consent  the  gods  among 
Make  her  his  eternal  bride. 
And  from  her  fair  unspotted  side 
Two  blissful  twins  are  to  be  born, 
Youth  and  Joy ; "  so  Jove  hath  sworn. 
But  now  my  task  is  smoothly  done,"" 
I  can  fly,  or  I  can  run. 
Quickly  to  the  green  earth's  end," 
Where  the  bow'd  welkin  slow  doth  bend ;  * 
And  from  thence  can  soar  as  soon 
To  the  corners  of  the  moon." 

w  If  your  ears  be  true. 
Intimating  that  this  song,  which  follows,  of  Adonis,  and  Cupid  and  Psyche,  Is  not  for 
the  profane,  but  only  for  well-purged  ears. — Hurd. 

*  See  Spenser's  "  Astrophel,"  st.  48. — T.  Warton. 

y  The  Assyrian  queen. 
Venus  is  called  "  the  Assyrian  queen,"  because  she  was  first  worshipped  by  the 
Assyrians.    See  Pausanias,  "  Attio."  lib.  i.  cap.  14. — Newton. 

»  In  spangled  sheen. 
"  Mids.  N.  Dream,"  a.  ii.  $.  1 : — 

By  fountain  clear,  or  spangled  starlight  sheen.— Todd. 
«  Undoubtedly  Milton's  allusion  at  large,  is  here  to  Spenser's  allegorical  garden  of 
Adonis,  "  Faer.  Qu."  iii.  vi.  46,  seq.,  but  at  the  same  time,  his  mythology  has  a  reference 
to  Spenser's  "  Hymne  of  Love,"  where  Love  is  feign'd  to  dwell  "  in  a  paradise  of  all 
delight,"  with  Hebe,  or  Youth,  and  the  rest  of  the  darlings  of  Venus,  who  sport  with 
his  daughter  Pleasure. — T.  Warton. 

•>  But  now  my  task  is  smoothly  done,  &c. 
So  Shakspeare's  Prospero,  in  the  epilogue  to  the  "  Tempest :" — 
Now  my  charms  are  all  o'erthrown,  &c. 
And  thus  the  satyr,  in  Fletcher's  "Faithful  Shepherdess,"  who  bears  thecharacter  of 
our  Attendant  Spirit,  when  his  office  or  commission  is  finished,  displays  his  power  and 
activity,  promising  any  farther  services,  s.  ult. — T.  Warton. 

e  The  green  earth's  end. 
Cape  de  Verd  isles. — Syhpson. 

d  Where  the  bow'd  welkin  slow  doth  bend. 
A  curve  which  bends  or  descends  slowly,  from  its  great  sweep.    "  Bending"  has  the 
same  sense,  of  Dover  cliff,  in  "  K.  Lear,"  a.  iv.  s.  1 : — 

There  is  a  cliff,  whose  high  and  bending  head 
Looks  fearfully  on  the  confined  deep. 

And  in  the  "Faithful  Shepherdess,"  "bending  plain,"  p.  105.    Jonson  has  "bending 
vale,"  viL  39. — T.  Warton. 

*  And  from  thence  can  soar  as  soon 
To  the  corners  of  the  moon. 
Oberon  says  of  the  swiftness  of  his  fairies,  "  Mids.  N.  Dr."  a.  iv.  s.  1 : — 


COMUS. 


685 


Mortals,  that  would  follow  me, 
Love  Virtue ;  she  alone  is  free  : 
She  can  teach  ye  how  to  clime' 
Higher  than  the  sphery  chime ; « 
Or,  if  Virtue  feeble  were. 
Heaven  itself  would  stoop  to  her. 

We  the  globe  can  compass  soon 
Swifter  than  the  wandering  moon. 

And  Puck's  fairy,  ibid.  a.  ii.  s.  1 : — 

I  do  wander  every  where, 

Swifter  than  the  moono's  sphere. — T.  Waetoh. 

f  iS7ie  can  teach  ye  hoic  to  clime,  <fec. 
Dr.  Warburton  has  observed,  that  the  last  four  verses  furnished  Pope  with  the  thought 
for  the  conclusion  of  his  "  Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day."    A  prior  imitation  may  be  traced 
in  the  close  of  Dryden's  Ode. — Todd. 

S  TTie  sphery  chime. 
"  Chime,"  Ital.  Cima.     Yet  he  uses  "  chime"  in  the  common  sense,  "  Ode  Natir."  v. 
128.     He  may  do  so  here,  but  then  the  expression  is  licentious,  I  suppose  for  the  sake 
of  the  rhyme. — Hurd. 

The  "sphery  chime"  is  the  music  of  the  spheres. — T.  Wartos. 

h  The  moral  of  this  poem  is  very  finely  summed  up  in  the  six  concluding  lines :  the 
thought  contained  in  the  last  two  might  probably  be  suggested  to  our  author  by  a  pas- 
sage in  the  "  Table  of  Cebes,"  where  Patience  and  Perseverance  are  represented  stooping 
and  stretching  out  their  hands  to  help  up  those,  who  are  endeavouring  to  climb  the 
craggy  hill  of  Virtue,  and  yet  are  too  feeble  to  ascend  of  themselves. — Thvek. 

Had  this  learned  and  ingenious  critic  duly  reflected  on  the  lofty  mind  of  Milton,  "  smit 
with  the  love  of  sacred  song,"  and  so  often  and  so  sublimely  employed  on  topics  of  reli- 
gion, he  might  readily  have  found  a  subject,  to  which  the  poet  obviously  and  divinely 
alludes,  in  these  concluding  lines,  without  fetching  the  thought  from  the  "Table  of 
Cebes."  In  the  preceding  remark,  I  am  convinced  Mr.  Thyer  had  no  ill  intention  :  but, 
by  overlooking  so  clear  and  pointed  an  allusion  to  a  subject,  calculated  to  kindle  that 
lively  glow  in  the  bosom  of  every  Christian,  which  the  poet  intended  to  excite,  and  by 
referring  it  to  an  image  in  a  profane  author,  he  may,  beside  stifling  the  sublime  eff"ect 
BO  happily  produced,  afi"ord  a  handle  to  some,  in  these  "  evil  days,"  who  are  willing  to 
make  the  religion  of  Socrates  and  Cebes  (or  that  of  Nature)  supersede  the  religion  of 
Christ.  "  The  moral  of  this  poem  is,  indeed,  very  finely  summed  up  in  the  six  con- 
cluding lines ;"  in  which,  to  wind  up  one  of  the  most  elegant  productions  of  his  genius, 
"the  poet's  eye,  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling,"  threw  up  its  last  glance  to  Heaven,  in  rapt 
contemplation  of  that  stupendous  mystery,  whereby  He,  the  lofty  theme  of  "  Paradise 
Regained,"  stooping  from  above  all  height,  "  bowed  the  heavens,  and  came  down  on 
earth,  to  atone  as  man  for  the  sins  of  men,  to  strengthen  feeble  virtue  by  the  influence 
of  his  grace,  and  to  teach  her  to  ascend  his  throne." — Francis  Henky  Egerton,  after- 
wards Earl  of  Bridgewater; 

The  Attendant  Spirit  opens  the  poem  with  a  description  of  the  rewards  which  Virtue 
promises,  "  after  this  mortal  life,  to  her  true  servants :"  the  poem,  therefore,  may  be 
considered  more  perfect,  in  closing,  as  it  commenced,  with  the  solemn  and  impressive 
sentiments  of  Scripture.^ToDD. 

In  the  peculiar  disposition  of  the  story,  the  sweetness  of  the  numbers,  the  justness 
of  the  expression,  and  the  moral  it  teaches,  there  is  nothing  extant  in  any  language 
like  the  "  Mask  of  Comus." — Toland. 

Milton's  "Juvenile  Poems"  are  so  no  otherwise,  than  as  they  were  written  in  hia 
younger  years ;  for  their  dignity  and  excellence,  they  are  suflScient  to  have  set  him 
among  the  most  celebrated  of  the  poets,  even  of  the  ancients  themselves :  his  "  Mask" 
and  "  Lycidas"  are  perhaps  superior  to  all  in  their  several  kinds. — Richardson. 

"  Comua"  is  written  very  much  in  imitation  of  Shakspeare's  "  Tempest,"  and  the 
''Faithful  Shepherdess"  of  Fletcher;  and  though  one  of  the  first,  is  yet  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  of  Milton's  compositions. — Newton. 

Milton  seems  in  this  poem  to  have  imitated  Shakspeare's  manner  moie  than  in  any 
other  of  his  works ;  and  it  was  very  natural  for  a  young  author,  preparing  a  piece  for 


686  COMUS. 

the  stage,  to  propose  to  himself  for  a  pattern  the  most  celebrated  master  of  English 
dramatic  poetry. — Thyek. 

Milton  has  here  more  professedly  imitated  the  manner  of  Shakspeare  in  his  fairy 
Bcenes,  than  in  any  other  of  his  works :  and  his  poem  is  much  the  better  for  it,  not 
only  for  the  beauty,  variety,  and  novelty  of  his  images,  but  for  a  brighter  vein  of 
poetry,  and  an  ease  and  delicacy  of  esipression  very  superior  to  his  natural  manner. — 
Warburton. 

If  this  Mask  had  been  revised  by  Milton,  when  his  ear  and  judgment  were  perfectly 
formed,  it  had  been  the  most  exquisite  of  all  his  poems.  As  it  is,  there  are  some  puerili- 
ties in  it,  and  many  inaccuracies  of  expression  and  versification.  The  two  editions  of 
his  poems  are  of  1645  and  1673.  In  1(145,  he  was,  as  he  would  think,  better  employed ; 
in  1673,  he  would  condemn  himself  for  having  written  such  a  thing  as  a  Mask,  espe- 
cially for  a  great  Lord  and  a  sort  of  viceroy. — Hurd. 

The  greatest  of  Milton's  juvenile  performances  is  the  " Mask  of  Comus,"  in  'which 
may  very  plainly  be  discovered  the  dawn  or  twilight  of  "  Paradise  Lost."  Milton 
appears  to  have  formed  very  early  that  system  of  diction,  and  mode  of  verse,  which 
his  maturer  judgment  approved,  and  from  which  he  never  endeavoured  nor  desired  to 
deviate.  Nor  does  "  Comus"  afford  only  a  specimen  of  his  language ;  it  exhibits  like- 
wise his  power  of  description  and  his  vigour  of  sentiment,  employed  in  the  praise  and 
defence  of  virtue.  A  work  more  trulj'  poetical  is  rarely  found ;  allusions,  images,  and 
descriptive  epithets  embellish  almost  every  period  with  lavish  decoration :  as  a  series 
of  lines,  therefore,  it  may  be  considered  as  worthy  of  all  the  admiration  with  which  the 
votaries  have  received  it ;  as  a  drama  it  is  deficient.  The  action  is  not  probable.  A 
Mask,  in  those  parts  where  supernatural  intervention  is  admitted,  must  indeed  be  given 
up  to  all  the  freaks  of  imagination ;  but,  so  far  as  the  action  is  merely  human,  it  ought 
to  be  reasonable,  which  can  hardly  be.  said  of  the  conduct  of  the  two  Brothers ;  who, 
when  their  sister  sinks  with  fatigue  in  a  pathless  wilderness,  wander  both  away  together 
in  search  of  berries  too  far  to  find  their  way  back,  and  leave  a  helpless  lady  to  all  the 
sadness  and  danger  of  solitude.  This,  however,  is  a  defect  overbalanced  by  its  con- 
venience. What  deserves  more  repre'hension  is,  that  the  prologue  spoken  in  the  wild 
wood  by  the  Attendant  Spirit  is  addressed  to  the  audience ;  a  mode  of  communication 
BO  contrary  to  the  nature  of  dramatic  representation,  that  no  precedents  can  support  it. 
The  discourse  of  the  Spirit  is  too  long;  an  objection  that  may  be  made  to  almost  all 
the  following  speeches :  they  have  not  the  sprightliness  of  a  dialogue  animated  by 
reciprocal  contention,  but  seem  rather  declamations  deliberately  composed,  and  formally 
repeated,  on  a  moral  question  :  the  auditor  therefore  listens  as  to  a  lecture,  without  pas- 
sion, without  anxiety.  The  song  of  Comus  has  airiness  and  jollity;  but,  what  may 
recommend  Milton's  morals  as  well  as  his  poetry,  the  invitations  to  pleasure  are  so 
general,  that  they  excite  no  distinct  images  of  corrupt  enjoyment,  and  take  no  dangerous 
hold  on  the  fancy.  The  following  soliloquies  of  Comus  and  the  Lady  are  elegant,  but 
tedious.  The  song  must  owe  much  to  the  voice,  if  it  ever  can  delight.  At  last  the 
Brothers  enter  with  too  much  tranquillity;  and  when  they  had  feared  lest  their  sister 
should  be  in  danger,  and  hoped  that  sihe  is  not  in  danger,  the  Elder  makes  a  speech  in 
praise  of  chastity,  and  the  Younger  finds  how  fine  it  is  to  be  a  philosopher.  Then 
descends  the  Spirit  in  form  of  a  shepherd ;  and  the  Brother,  instead  of  being  in  haste 
to  ask  his  help,  praises  his  singing,  and  inquires  his  business  in  that  place.  It  is  remark- 
able, that  at  this  interview  the  Brother  is  taken  with  a  short  fit  of  rhyming.  The  Spirit 
relates  that  the  Lady  is  in  the  power  of  Comus;  the  Brother  moralizes  again;  and  the 
Spirit  makes  a  long  narration,  of  no  use  because  it  is  false,  and  therefore  unsuitable  to 
a  good  being.  In  all  these  parts  the  language  is  poetical,  and  the  sentiments  are 
generous ;  but  there  is  something  wanting  to  allure  attention.  The  dispute  between  the 
Lady  and  Comus  is  the  most  animated  and  affecting  scene  of  the  drama,  and  wants 
nothing  but  a  brisker  reciprocation  of  objections  and  replies  to  invite  attention  and 
iti  The  songs  are  vigorous,  a,nd  full  of  imagery ;  but  they  are  harsh  in  their 
diction,  and  not  very  musical  in  their  numbers.  Throughout  the  whole,  the  figures  are 
too  bold,  and  the  language  too  luxuriant,  for  dialogue :  it  is  a  drama  in  the  epic  style, 
inelegantly  splendid,  and  tediously  instructive. — Johnson. 

Milton's  "  Comus"  is,  I  think,  one  of  the  finest  productions  of  modern  times ;  and  I 
do  not  know  whether  to  admire  most  the  poetry  of  it,  or  the  philosophy,  which  is  of 
the  noblest  kind.  The  subject  of  it  I  like  better  than  that  of  the  "Paradise  Lost," 
which,  I  think,  is  not  human  enough  to  touch  the  common  feelings  of  humanity,  as 
poetry  ought  to  do ;  the  divine  personages  he  has  introduced  are  of  too  high  a  kind  to 
act  any  part  in  poetry,  and  the  scene  of  the  action  is,  for  the  greater  part,  quite  out  of 
natum ;  but  the  subject  of  the  "  Comus"  is  a  fine  mythological  tale,  marvellous  enough, 
as  all  poetical  subjects  should  be,  but  at  the  same  time  human.    He  begins  his  piece  in 


COMUS.  68T 

the  manner  of  Euripides ;  and  the  descending  Spirit  that  prologuizes,  makes  the  finest 
and  grandest  opening  of  any  theatrical  piece  that  I  know,  ancient  or  modem.  The 
conduct  of  the  piece  is  answerable  to  the  beginning,  and  the  versification  of  it  is  finely 
vaned  by  short  and  long  verses,  blank  and  rhyming,  and  the  sweetest  songs  that  ever 
were  composed ;  nor  do  I  know  anything  in  English  poetry  comparable  to  it  in  this 
respect,  except  Dryden's  "Ode  on  St.  Cecilia;"  which,  for  the  length  of  the  piece,  has 
all  the  variety  of  versification  that  can  well  be  imagined.  As  to  the  style  of  "  Comus," 
it  is  more  elevated,  I  think,  than  that  of  any  of  his  writings,  and  so  much  above  what 
is  written  at  present  that  I  am  inclined  to  make  the  same  distinction  in  the  English 
language,  that  Homer  made  of  the  Greek  in  his  time ;  and  to  say  that  Milton's  language 
is  the  language  of  the  gods ;  whereas  we  of  this  age  speak  and  Write  the  language  of 
mere  mortal  men.  If  the  "  Comus"  was  to  be  properly  represented,  with  all  the  deco- 
rations which  it  requires,  of  machinery,  scenery,  dress,  music,  and  dancing,  it  would  be 
the  finci't  exhibition  that  ever  was  seen  upon  any  modern  stage :  but  I  am  afraid,  with 
all  these,  the  principal  part  would  be  still  wanting ;  I  mean  players  that  could  wield 
the  language  of  Milton,  and  pronounce  those  fine  periods  ot  his,  by  which  he  has  con- 
trived to  give  his  poetry  the  beauty  of  the  finest  prose  composition,  and  without  which 
there  can  be  nothing  great  or  noble  in  composition  of  any  kind.  Or  if  we  could  find 
players  who  had  breath  and  organs  (for  these,  as  well  as  other  things,  begin  to  fell  in 
this  generation),  and  sense  and  taste  enough,  properly  to  pronounce  such  periods,  I 
doubt  it  would  not  be  easy  to  find  an  audience  that  could  relish  them,  or  perhaps,  they 
would  not  have  attention  and  comprehension  sufiRcient  to  connect  the  sense  of  them ; 
being  accustomed  to  that  trim,  spruce,  short  cut  of  a  style,  which  Tacitus,  and  his 
modern  imitators,  French  and  English,  have  made  fashionable. — Lord  Monboddo. 

In  poetical  and  picturesque  circumstances,  in  wildness  of  fancy  and  imagery,  and  in 
weight  of  sentiment  and  moral,  how  greatly  does  "  Comus"  excel  the  "  Aminta"  of 
Tasso,  and  the  "  Pastor  Fido"  of  Guarini !  which  Milton,  from  his  love  of  Italian  poetry, 
must  frequently  have  read.  "  Comus"  like  these  two,  is  a  pastoral  drama ;  and  I  have 
often  wondered  it  is  not  mentioned  as  such. — Jos.  Warton. 

We  must  not  read  "  Comus**  with  an  eye  to  the  stage,  or  with  the  expectation  of  dra- 
matic propriety.  Under  this  restriction  the  absurdity  of  the  Spirit  speaking  to  an 
audience  in  a  solitary  forest  at  midnight,  and  the  want  of  reciprocation  in  the  dialogue, 
are  overlooked.  "  Comus"  is  a  suite  of  speeches,  not  interesting  by  discrimination  of 
character;  not  conveying  a  variety  of  incidents,  nor  gradually  exciting  curiosity:  but 
perpetually  attracting  attention  by  sublime  sentiment,  by  fanciful  imagery  of  the  rich- 
est vein,  by  an  exuberance  of  picturesque  description,  poetical  allusion,  and  ornamental 
expression.  While  it  widely  departs  from  the  grotesque  anomalies  of  the  mask  now  in 
fashion,  it  does  not  nearly  approach  to  the  natural  constitution  of  a  regular  play.  There 
is  a  chastity  in  the  application  and  conduct  of  the  machinery ;  and  Sabrina  is  intro- 
duced with  much  address  after  the  Brothers  had  imprudently  suffered  the  enchantment 
of  Comus  to  take  efiect.  This  is  the  first  time  the  old  English  mask  was  in  some  degree 
reduced  to  the  principles  and  form  of  a  rational  composition ;  yet  still  it  could  not  but 
retain  some  of  its  arbitrary  peculiarities.  The  poet  had  here  properly  no  more  to  do 
with  the  pathos  of  tragedy,  than  the  character  of  comedy ;  nor  dc  I  know  that  he  was 
confined  to  the  usual  modes  of  theatrical  interlocution.  A  great  critic  observes,  tha't 
the  dispute  between  the  Lady  and  Comus  is  the  most  animated  and  affecting  scene  of 
the  piece.  Perhaps  some  other  scenes,  either  consisting  only  of  a  soliloquy,  or  of  three 
or  four  speeches  only,  have  afforded  more  true  pleasure.  The  same  critic  thinks,  that 
in  all  the  moral  dialogue)  although  the  language  is  poetical,  and  the  sentiments  gene- 
rous, something  is  still  wanting  to  "  allure  attention."  But  surely,  in  such  passages, 
Bentiments  so  generous,  and  language  so  poetical,  are  sufiBcient  to  rouse  all  our  feelings. 
For  this  reason  I  cannot  admit  his  position,  that  "  Comus"  is  a  drama  "  tediously 
instructive:"  and  if,  as  he  says,  to  these  ethical  discussions  "the  auditor  listens  as  to  a 
lecture,  without  passion,  without  anxiety,"  yet  he  listens  with  elevation  and  delight 
The  action  is  said  to  be  improbable;  because  the  Brothers,  when  their  sister  sinks  with 
fatigue  in  a  pathless  wilderness,  wander  both  away  together  in  search  of  berries  too 
far  to  find  their  way  back  ;  and  leave  a  helpless  lady  to  all  the  sadness  and  danger  of 
solitude.  But  here  is  no  desertion  or  neglect  of  the  Lady :  the  Brothers  leave  their 
sister  under  a  spreading  pine  in  the  forest,  fainting  for  refreshment :  they  go  to  procure 
berries  or  some  other  fruit  for  her  immediate  relief;  and,  with  great  probability,  lose 
their  way  in  going  or  returning;  to  say  nothing  of  the  poet's  art,  in  making  this  very 
natural  and  simple  accident  to  be  productive  of  the  distress,  which  forms  the  future 
business  and  complication  of  the  fable.  It  is  certainly  a  fault  that  the  Brothers, 
although  with  some  indications  of  anxiety,  should  enter  with  so  much  tranquillity,  when 
their  sister  is  lost,  and  at  leisure  pronounce  philosophical  panegyrics  on  the  mysteries  of 
virginity :  but  we  must  not  too  scrupulously  attend  to  the  exigencies  of  situation,  nor 


688 


COMUS. 


suffer  ourselves  to  suppose  that  we  are  reading  a  play,  which  Milton  did  not  mean  to 
write.  These  splendid  insertions  will  please,  independently  of  the  story,  from  which 
however  they  result ;  and  their  elegance  and  sublimity  will  overbalance  their  want  ot 
place.  In  a  Greek  tragedy,  such  sentimental  harangues,  arising  from  the  subject, 
would  have  been  given  to  a  Chorus.  On  the  whole,  whether  "  Comus"  be  or  be  not  defi- 
cient as  a  drama,  whether  it  is  considered  as  an  epic  drama,  a  series  of  lines,  a  mask, 
or  a  poem,  I  am  of  opinion,  that  our  author  is  here  only  inferior  to  his  own  "  Paradise 
Lost." — T.  .Warton. 

Milton's  "  Comus"  is,  in  my  judgment,  the  most  beautiful  and  perfect  poem  of  that 
sublime  genius. — Wakefield. 

Perhaps  the  conduct  and  conversation  of  the  Brothers,  which  Mr.  Warton  blames  in 
the  preceding  note,  may  not  be  altogether  indefensible.  They  have  lost  their  way  in  a 
forest  at  night,  and  are  in  "  want  of  light  and  noise  :"  it  would  now  be  dangerous  for 
them  to  run  about  an  unknown  wilderness ;  and  if  they  should  separate,  in  order  to 
week  their  sister,  they  might  lose  each  other :  in  the  uncertainty  of  what  was  their  best 
plan,  they  therefore  naturally  wait,  expecting  to  hear  perhaps  the  cry  of  their  lost  sister, 
or  some  noise  to  which  they  would  have  directed  their  stepv.  The  Younger  Brother 
anxiously  expresses  his  apprehensions  for  his  sister :  the  Elder,  in  reply,  trusts  that  she 
is  not  in  danger;  and,  instead  of  giving  way  to  those  fears,  which  the  Younger  repeats, 
expatiates  on  the  strength  of  chastity ;  by  the  illustration  of  which  argument  he  confi- 
dently maintains  the  hope  of  their  sister's  safety,  while  he  beguiles  the  perplexity  of 
their  own  situation.  It  has  been  observed,  that  "Comus"  is  not  calculated  to  shine  in 
theatric  exhibition  for  those  very  reasons  which  constitute  its  essential  and  specific 
merit.  The  "  Pastor  Fido"  of  Guarini,  which  also  ravishes  the  reader,  and  "  The 
Faithful  Shepherdess"  of  Fletcher,  could  not  succeed  upon  the  stage.  However,  it  is 
sufficient,  that  "  Comus"  displays  the  true  sources  of  poetical  delight  and  moral  instruc- 
tion, in  its  charming  imagery,  in  its  original  conceptions,  in  its  sublime  diction,  in  its 
virtuous  sentiments.  Its  few  inaccuracies  weigh  but  as  dust  in  the  balance  against 
its  general  merit :  and,  in  short,  if  I  may  be  allowed  respectfully  to  differ  from  the 
high  authority  of  a  preceding  note,  I  am  of  opinion,  that  this  enchanting  poem,  or 
pastoral  drama,  is  both  gracefully  splendid,  and  delightfully  instructive. — Todd. 

Dr.  Johnson  is  more  inclined  to  be  favourable  to  "  Comus  "  than  to  any  other  poem 
of  Milton :  he  begins  fairly  enough,  and  gives  it  some  of  the  praises  which  justfy  be- 
long to  it ;  but  he  gradually  i-eturns  to  his  captious  ill-humour,  and  ends  with  saying 
that  it  is  "  inelegantly  splendid  and  tediousl^'  instructive."  After  this  close,  what  is 
the  value  of  his  praise?  If  it  is  truly  poetical,  it  cannot  be  inelegantly  splendid ! 
Milton's  decorations  are  never  out  of  place  in  this  Mask :  it  contains  not  a  single  im- 
age or  epithet  which  does  not  fill  the  reader  of  taste  with  delight :  it  contains  no 
passion,  but  he  did  not  intend  it.  Masks  were  always  designed  to  play  with  the 
fancy  ;  and  from  beginning  to  end,  without  the  abatement  of  a  single  line,  Milton  has 
effected  this.  Such,  a  series  of  rural  and  pastoral  pioturesqueness  was  never  before 
brought  together.  It  is  worthy  of  remark  with  what  admirable  skill  the  poet  gather- 
ered  from  all  his  predecessors,  Spenser^  Shakspeare,  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  Dray- 
ton, and  twenty  more,  every  nappy  adiective  of  description  and  imaginative  force, 
and  combined  tnem  into  the  texture  of  his  own  fiction.  As  his  power  of  creation  was 
great,  so  was  his  memory  both  exact  and  abundant :  whatever  he  borrowed,  he  made 
new  by  the  fervid  power  of  amalgamation. 

The  flowing  strains  of  the  whole  poem  are  eloquent  and  beautiful,  enriched  with 
philosophic  moral  learning,  and  exalted  by  pure,  generous,  and  lofty  sentiment. 

Can  any  mortal  mixture  of  earth's  mould 
Breathe  such  divine  enchanting  ravishment  ■? 
Sure  something  holy  lodges  in  that  breast, 
And  with  these  raptures  moves  the  vocal  air 
To  testify  his  hidden  residence  ! 
Again,  v.  476  :— 

How  charming  is  divine  philosophy  ! 

Not  harsh  and  crabbed,  as  dull  loofs  suppose, 

But  musical  as  is  Apollo's  lute, 

And  a  perpetual  feast  of  nectar'd  sweets, 

Where  no  crude  surfeit  reigns. 

This  poem  is  stated  to  have  been  the  congenial  prelude  to  "  Paradise  Lost."  In  that 
opinion  I  do  not  concur :  the  fable  is  too  gay ;  the  images  are  too  full  of  delight :  all 
the  topics  lie  too  much  upon  the  surface.  There  is  a  rich  invention,  but  it  has  not  the 
depth,  pr  strength,  or  sublimity  of  "  Paradise  Lost."  This  is  playful ;  that  is  full  of 
solemnity  and  awe.  More  than  that,  though  the  combination  gives  originality  to 
"  Comus,"  yet  it  has  nothing  like  the  degree  of  originality  of  the  great  epic :  of  which 


COMUS.  689 

a  large  portion  of  the  invention  has  no  prototype.  Nor  do  I  admit  that  even  the  lan- 
guage is  of  the  same  structure  :  it  is,  for  the  most  part,  more  fluent  and  soft;  it  is,  in 
short,  pastoral,  while  the  other  is  heroic. 

The  sort  of  spiritual  beings,  which  is  introduced  into  "Comus,"  is  of  a  much  more 
humble  degree  than  those  of  the  latter  poems.  These  invisible  inhabitants  of  the  earth 
gratify  the  gay  freaks  of  our  imagination:  they  do  not  excite  the  profounder  move- 
ments of  the  soul,  and  fill  us  with  a  sublime  terror,  like  Satan  and  his  crews  of  fallen 
angels. 

In  the  long  interval  between  the  composition  of  the  Mask,  and  of  "  Paradise  Lost," 
the  wings  of  Milton's  genius  had  expanded,  and  strengthened  an  hundred-fold :  he  was 
no  longer  a  shepherd,  of  whose  enchanting  pipe  the  beautiful  echoes  resounded  through 
the  woods ;  but  a  sage,  an  oracle,  and  a  prophet,  with  the  inspired  tongu&  of  a  divinity. 

1  have  observed,  from  the  words  of  several  of  the  critics  here  cited,  that  they  have 
an  opinion  of  poetry  which  I  cannot  believe  to  be  quite  correct.  They  seem  to  assume 
that  picturesque  imagery,  drawn  from  the  surface  of  natural  scenery,  combined  with  a 
sort  of  wild  fiction  of  story  which  goes  beyond  the  bounds  of  reality,  constitutes  the 
primary  and  most  unmixed  essence  of  poetry. — I  admit  that  it  does  constitute  very 
pure  and  beautiful  poetry ;  but  not  the  highest.  The  highest  must  go  beyond  sublu- 
nary objects :  there  must  be  an  invention  of  character,  not  only  ideal,  but  sublime : 
there  must  be  intermingled  intellectual  and  argumentative  greatness :  there  must  be  a 
fable,  which  embodies  abstract  truths  of  severe  and  mighty  import :  there  must  be  dis- 
tinct characters,  elevated  by  grand  passions^  ^ach  acting  according  to  his  own  appro- 
priate impulses,  and  all  going  forward  in  regular  progression,  according  to  the  rules  of 
probability,  to  the  accomplishment  of  the  end  proposed. 

This  has  been  efiected  by  Milton's  epics ;  but  there  certainly  is  an  implication  on  the 
part  of  these  critics,  that  these  compositions  have  not  as  much  unmixed  and  positive 
poetry  as  the  "  Comus ;"  and  this,  because  of  the  greater  variety  of  their  ingredients, 
and  the  introduction  of  other  matter  besides  imagery  and  description.  Such  a  reason 
shows  the  narrowness  of  their  conception  of  this  divine  art.  All  the  finest  passages  of 
poetry  are  complex,  in  which  the  heart  and  understanding  have  essential  co-operation  : 
the  bard  must  imagine  what  theTieart  must  colour,  or  perhaps  instigate,  and  the  under- 
standing enlighten.  Imagery  is  material,  and  will  not  do  alone ;  there  must  be  the 
union  of  spirituality  with  it.  The  fault  of  a  great  part  of  Pope  is,  that  there  is  nothing 
but  reasoning,  wi^out  either  imagination  or  sentiment. 

But,  to  return  to  "  Comus :"  let  it  not  be  inferred  that  I  mean  in  the  smallest  degree 
to  detract  from  its  merits.  I  only  wish  to  protest  against  rules  and  definitions  injurious 
to  still  greater  poems  of  the  same  inimitable  author !  "  Comus"  is  perfect  in  its  kind ; 
but  a  pastoral  Mask  cannot  be  put  upon  a  footing  with  a  grand  heroic  poem. 

Milton,  when  he  wrote  these  strains,  was  in  the  very  opening  of  early  youth,  not 
more  than  twenty-four  years  old.     Then  all  was, — 

'  The  purple  light  of  love,  and  bloom  of  young  desires. 
The  woods  and  the  rivers  and  all  nature  then  seemed  to  his  eyes  to  smile  with  de- 
light ;  but  as  years  passed  along,  and  he  saw  the  obliquities  of  mankind  and  the  sor- 
rows of  life,  his  lays  took  a  deeper  tone,  and  his  music  was  more  magnificent  and 
soul-moving.  The  Lady  and  the  two  Brothers  in  "  Comus  "  are  all  calm  philosophy, 
and  tender,  hopeful  confidence :  to  them  the  dawn  is  joy ;  the  night-fall,  peaceful 
slumbers :  the  demons  of  darkness  dare  not  hurt  them :  the  Lady  has  faith,  even 
when  left  alone  amid  the  dangersof  a  haunted  forest.  0  fond  imagmation  1  0  beamy 
visionariness  of  innocent  inexperience ! 


ARCADES: 

PART  OP  A  MASK, 
PRESENTED  AT  HAREFIELD, 

BJIFOEK 

ALICE'    COUNTESS    BOWAGEE    OF   DEKBY. 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 
The  same  character  may  be  given  of  the  style,  sentiments,  imagery,  and  tone  of 
these  Fragments,  as  far  as  they  go,  as  of  "  Comus."    Warton  observes — 

"  Unquestionably  this  Mask  was  a  much  longer  performance.  Milton  seems  only  to 
have  written  the  poetical  part,  consisting  of  these  three  songs,  and  the  recitative  soli- 
loquy of  the  Genius ;  the  rest  was  probably  prose  and  machinery.  In  many  of  Jonson's 
Masques,  the  poet  but  rarely  appears,  amidst  a  cumbersome  exhibition  of  heathen  gods 
and  mythology.  'Arcades'  wa£  acted  by  persons  of  Lady  Derby's  own  family.  The 
Genius  says,  v.  26 : — 

Stay  gentle  swains;  for,  though  in  this  disguise, 
I  see  bright  honour  sparltle  through  your  eyes: 

that  is,  *  although  ye  are  disguised  like  rustics,  I  perceive  that  ye  are  of  honourable 
birth ;  your  nobility  cannot  be  concealed.'  " 

Many  parts  of  the  soliloquy  of  the  Genius  are  very  highly  poetical,  as  the  passage 
beginning  at  v.  56 : — 

And  early,  ere  the  odorous  breath  of  morn 

Awakes  the  slumbering  leaves,  or  tassel'd  horn 

Shakes  the  high  thicket,  haste  I  all  about. 

Number  my  ranks,  and  visit  every  sprout 

With  puissant  words,  and  murmurs  made  to  bless. 


PRELIMINARY  NOTES  ON  ARCADES. 

HAREFIELD. 
We  are  told  by  Norden,  an  accurate  topographer,  who  wrote  about  the  year  1590,  in 
his  "  Spedulum  Britannise,"  under  Harefield  in  Middlesex,  "  There  sir  Edmond  Ander- 
son, knight,  lord  chief  justice  of  the  common  pleas,  hath  a  faire  house  standing  on  the 
edge  of  the  hill ;  the  riuer  Colne  passing  neare  the  same,  through  the  pleasant  med- 
dowes  and  sweet  pastures,  yealding  both  delight  and  profit."  "  Spec.  Brit."  p.  i.  page  21. 
I  viewed  this  house  a  few  years  ago,  when  it  was  for  the  most  part  remaining  in  its  ori- 
ginal state  :  it  has  since  been  pulled  down  :  the  porters'  lodges  on  each  side  of  the  gate- 
way are  converted  into  a  commodious  dwelling-house :  it  is  near  Uxbridge  :  and  Milton, 
when  he  wrote  "  Arcades,"  was  still  living  with  his  father  at  Horton  near  Colnebrook 
In  the  same  neighbourhood.  He  mentions  the  singular  felicity  he  had  in  vain  antici- 
pated, in  the  society  of  his  friend  Deodate,  on  the  shady  banks  of  the  river  Colne. 
"Epitaph.  Damon."  v.  149. 

Imus,  at  arguta  paulum  recubamus  in  umbra, 

Aut  ad  aquas  Colni,  &c. 

Amidst  the  fruitful  and  delightful  scenes  of  this  river,  the  nymphs  and  shepherds  had 
no  reason  to  regrst,  as  in  the  third  Song,  the  Arcadian  "Ladon's  lilied  banks." — T. 
Wahton 

(690) 


ARCADES.  691 


See  an  account  of  Harefield,  in  Lysons'  "Environs  of  London,"  with  a  print  of  the 
Countess  of  Derby's  monument  there- 
It  is  probable  that  these  "  persona  of  Lady  Derby's  own  family"  were  the  children  of 
the  Earl  of  Bridgewater,  who  had  married  a  daughter  of  the  Countess:  and  "Arcades" 
perhaps  was  acted  the  year  before  "  Comus."  In  1632  Milton  went  to  reside  with  his 
father  at  Horton,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Harefield ;  and  might  have  been  soon  after- 
wards  desired  to  compose  this  dramatic  entertainment.  Lord  Brackley,  Mr.  Thomas 
Egerton,  and  Lady  Alice  Egerton,  the  performers  in  "  Comus,"  appeared  upon  the  stage 
at  court  in  1633,  in  Carew's  Mask  of  "Coelum  Britannicum ;"  and  "Arcades"  might  be 
a  domestic  exhibition  somewhat  prior  to  that  of  Carew's  Mask;  as  being  intended  per- 
haps to  try,  and  encourage,  their  confidence  and  skill,  before  they  performed  more 
publicly.  Among  the  manuscripts  that  once  belonged  to  Lord  Chancellor  Egerton,  and 
which  are  now  in  the  possession  of  the  Marquis  of  Stafford,  there  is  a  curious  illustra- 
tion of  domestic  manners,  on  three  folio  sheets,  in  an  "Account  of  disbursements  for 
Harefield,  where  the  Lord  Keeper  Egerton  and  the  Countess  of  Derby  resided  in  1602." 
—Todd. 


COUNTESS  DOWAGER  OF  DERBY. 

Alice,  Countess  Dowager  of  Derby,  married  Ferdinando  Lord  Strange ;  who,  on  the 
death  of  his  father  Henry,  in  1594,  became  Earl  of  Derby,  but  died  the  next  year.  She 
was  the  sixth  daughter  of  Sir  John. Spenser  of  Althorp  in  Northamptonshire  :  she  was 
afterwards  married  [in  1600]  to  Lord  Chancellor  Egerton,  who  died  in  1617.  See  Dugd. 
Baron,  iii.  251,  414.  She  died  Jan.  26, 1635-6,  and  was  buried  at  Harefield :  "Arcades" 
could  not  therefore  have  been  acted  after  1636. 

Milton  is  not  the  only  great  ijnglish  poet  who  has  celebrated  this  Countess  Dowager 
of  Derby.  She  was  the  sixth  daughter,  as  we  have  seen,  of  Sir  John  Spenser,  with 
whose  family  Spenser  the  poet  claimed  an  alliance.  In  his  "Colin  Clout's  come  home 
again,"  written  about  1595,  he  mentions  her  under  the  appellation  of  Amaryllis,  with 
her  sisters  Phyllis,  or  Elizabeth ;  and  Charillis,  or  Anne ;  these  three  of  Sir  John  Spen- 
ser's daughters  being  best  known  at  court.     See  v.  546. 

Ne  less  praise-worthie  are  the  sisters  three, 
The  honor  of  the  noble  familie, 
Of  which  I  meanest  boast  myselfe  to  be  ; 
And  most  that  unto  them  I  am  so  nie  : 
Phyllis,  Charillis,  and  sweet  Amaryllis. 

After  a  panegyric  on  the  first  two,  he  next  comes  to  Amaryllis,  or  Alice,  our  Lady,  the 
Dowager  of  the  above-mentioned  Ferdinando  Lord  Derby,  lately  dead : — 

But  Amaryllis,  whether  fortunate 

Or  else  vnfortunate  may  I  aread. 

That  freed  is  from  Cupids  yoke  by  fate, 

Since  which  she  doth  new  bands  aduenture  dread.^ 

Shepheard,  whatever  thou  hast  heard  to  be 

In  this  or  that  praysd  diuersly  apart, 

In  her  thou  maiest  them  all  assembled  see. 

And  sealed  vp  in  the  threasure  of  her  heart. 

A.nd  in  the  same  poem,  he  thus  apostrophizes  to  her  late  husband  earl  Ferdinand,  under 
the  name  Amyntas.     See  v.  434. 

Amyntas  quite  is  gone,  and  lies  full  low,. 

Having  his  Amaryllis  left  to  mone  ! 

Heipe,  0  ye  shepheards,  help  ye  all  in  this;— 

Her  losse  is  yours,  your  losse  Amyntas  is  ; 

Amyntas,  floure  of  shepheards  pride  forlome  ; 

He,  whilest  he  liued,  was  the  noblest  swaine 

That  euer  piped  on  an  oaten  quill  ; 

Both  did  he  other  which  could  pipe  maintaine, 

And  eke  could  pipe  himselfe  with  passing  skill. 

And  to  the  same  Lady  Alice,  when  Lady  Strange,  before  her  husband  Ferdinand's  suc- 
seesion  to  the  earldom,  Spenser  addresses  bis  "  Tears  of  the  Muses,"  published  in  1591 , 


692  ARCADES. 


in  a  dedication  of  the  highest  regard;  where  he  speaks  of  "your  excellent  beautie, 
four  virtuous  behauiour,  and  your  noble  match  with  that  most  honourable  lorde,  the 
rerie  patterne  of  right  nobilitie."  He  then  acknowledges  the  particular  bounties  which 
she  had  conferred  upon  the  poets.  Thus  the  lady  who  presided  at  the  representation 
of  Milton's  "  Arcades,"  was  not  only  the  theme,  but  the  patroness  of  Spenser.  The 
peerage  book  of  this  most  respectable  countess  is  the  poetry  of  her  times. — T.  Wakton, 

Alice,  Countess  of  Derby,  was  the  youngest  of  six  daughter^  of  Sir  John  Spenser  of 
Althorp  in  Northamptonshire,  who  died  the  8th  November,  1586,  by  Katharine,  daughter 
of  Sir  Thomas  Kiston,  of  Hengrave  in  Suffolk,  knight,*  which  Sir  John  was  son  of 
Sir  William  Spenser,  of  Althorp,  who  died  22d  of  June,  1532,  by  Susan,  daughter  of 
Sii  Richard  Knightley,  of  Fawsly,  in  Northamptonshire.  Sir  William  was  son  of 
another  Sir  John  Spenser,  of  Althorp,  who  died  14th  April,  1532,  only  two  months 
before  his  son,  by  Isabel,  daughter  and  coheir  of  Walter  Graunt,  of  Snitterfield,  in 
Warwickshire,  esq.;  he  was  son  of  William  Spenser,  esq.,  of  Redbourne,  in  Warwick- 
shire, who  lived  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VII.,  by  Elizabeth,  sister  of  Sir  Richard  Empson, 
knight. 

The  Countess  of  Derby's  five  sisters  were  all  honourably  married;  and  her  father 
was  a  man  of  a  great  estate. 

Of  her  three  daughters  and  coheirs  by  the  Earl  of  Derby,  Anne  married  Grey 
Brydges,  fifth  Lord  Chandos ;  Frances  married  John  Egerton,  first  Earl  of  Bridgewater ; 
and  Elizabeth  married  Henry  Hastings,  JIarl  of  Huntingdon. 

Todd  mentions  that  Marston  wrote  a  Mask,  intitled,  "  The  Lord  and  Lady  of  Hunting- 
don's Entertainment  of  their  right  noble  mother,  Alice,  Countess  Dowager  of  Derby, 
the  first  night  of  her  Honour's  arrival  at  the  house  of  Ashby,"  This  Todd  found  still 
remaining  in  manuscript  in  the  Bridgewater  Library ;  and  has  given  a  long  account  of 
it  not  necessary  to  be  repeated  here. 

Lord  Falkland  wrote  a  poetical  epitaph  on  this  Countess  of  Huntingdon. 

Sir  John  Spenser,  of  Althorp,  the  brother  of  Alice,  Countess  of  Derby,  died  9th 
January,  1599.  His  only  son.  Sir  Robert  Spenser,  was  created  Lord  Spenser  of 
Wormleighton,  by  King  James  I.,  on  21st  July,  1603,  and  died  25th  October,  1627. 

Camden,  in  his  "  Britannia,"  speaks  thus  of  Althorp : — "  Althorp,  the  seat  of  the  noble 
family  of  Spenser,  knights,  allied  to  very  many  houses  of  great  worth  and  honour,  out 
of  which  Sir  Robert  Spenser,  the  fifth  knight  in  a  continual  succession,  a  worthy 
encourager  of  virtue  and  learning,  was  by  his  most  serene  majesty,  King  James,  lately 
advanced  to  the  honour  of  Baron  Spenser  of  Wormleighton." 

William,  who  succeeded  his  father  Robert,  as  second  Lord  Spenser,  died  1636,  aged 
forty-five,  and  was  succeeded  by  his  son  Henry,  third  Barouj  who  was  created  Earl  of 
Sunderland,  8th  June,  1643,  and  slain  at  the  battle  of  Newbury,  on  20th  September 
following,  at  the  age  of  twenty-three :  he  married  Lady  Dorothy  Sidney,  daughter  of 
Robert,  Earl  of  Leicester  (AValler's  Saccharissa).  See  Lord  Clarendon's  character  of 
him. 


Part  of  an  Entertainment  presented  to  the  Countess  Dowager  of  Derby  at  Harefield> 
by  some  noble  persons  of  her  family ;  who  appear  on  the  scene  in  pastoral  habit, 
moving  toward  the  seat  of  state,  with  this  song : — 

I.    SONG. 

Look,  nymphs  and  shepherds,  look,* 
What  sudden  blaze  of  majesty 
Is  that  which  we  from  hence  descry, 
Too  divine  to  be  mistook  : 

»  See  Mr.  Gage's  splendid  •'  History  of  Hengrave." 

»  Look,  nymphs  and  shepherds,  look,  Ac. 
See  the  ninth  division  of  Spenser's  "Epithalamion;"  and  Fletcher'a  "Faithful  Shep- 
herdess,"  a.  i.  8.  1.— T.  Wakton. 


ARCADES.  693 


This,  this  is  she  * 
To  whom  our  vows  and  wishes  bend ; 
Here  our  solemn  search  hath  end. 
Fame,  that,  her  high  worth  to  raise, 
Seem'd  erst  so  lavish  and  profuse, 
We  may  justly  now  accuse 
Of  detraction  from  her  praise  : 

Less  than  half  we  find  express'd ; 

Envy  bid  conceal  the  rest. 
Mark,  what  radiant  state  she  spreads, 
In  circle  round  her  shining  throne, 
Shooting  her  beams  like  silver  threads ;  • 
This,  this  is  she  alone, 

Sitting  like  a  goddess  bright, 

In  the  centre  of  her  light. 
Might  she  the  wise  Latona  be, 
Or  the  tower'd  Cybele 
Mother  of  a  hundred  gods  ? 
Juno  dares  not  give  her  odds.* 

Who  had  thought  thiii  clime  had  held 

A  deity  so  unparallel'd  ? 

As  they  come  forward,  the  Genius  of  the  wood  appears,  and,  taming 
•toward  them,  speaks : — 

Gen.  Stay,  gentle  swains ;  for,  though  in  this  disguise, 
I  see  bright  honour  sparkle  through  your  eyes : 
Of  famous  Arcady  ye  are,  and  sprung 
Of  that  renowned  flood,  so  often  sung. 
Divine  Alpheus  *  who  by  secret  sluce 
Stole  under  seas  to  meet  his  Arethuse ; 
And  ye,  the  breathing  roses  of  the  wood, 
Fair  silver-buskin'd  nymphs,  as  great  and  good ; 
I  know,  this  quest  of  yours,  and  free  intent, 
Was  all  in  honour  and  devotion  meant 

b  This,  this  is  the. 
Our  curiosity  is  gratified  in  discovering,  even  from  slight  and  almost  imperceptible 
traits,  that  Milton  had  here  heen  looking  back  to  Jonson,  the  most  emiijent  mask- 
writer  that  had  yet  appeared,  and  that  he  had  fallen  upon  some  of  his  formularies  and 
modes  of  address.  For  thus  Jonson,  in  an  "  Entertaynment  at  Altrop,"  16C3,  Works, 
1616,  p.  874: 

This  is  shee, 
This  is  shee, 
In  whose  world  of  grace,  &c. — T.  Warton 

c  Shooting  her  beams  like  silver  threads. 
See  "Par.  Lost,"  b.  iv.  555.    But  here  Milton  seems  to  bear  in  mind  the  cloth  of  state 
under  which  queen  Elizabeth  is  seated,  and  which  is  represented,  "  Faer.  Qu."  v.  ix. 
28.— Todd. 

i  Give  her  odds. 
Too  lightly  expressed  for  the  occasion. — Hurd. 

e  Divine  Alpheus,  Ac. 
Virgil,"iED."iii.  694: 

Alpheum,  fama  est,  hue  Elidis  amnem 
Occnitas  egisse  vias  subter  mure,  qui  nunc 
Ore.  Arelhusa,  tuo,  &c. — Nkwton. 


694  AECADES. 


To  the  great  mistress  of  yon  princely  shrine, 
Whom  with  low  reverence  I  adore  as  mine; 
And,  with  all  helpful  service,  will  comply 
To  further  this  night's  glad  solemnity; 
And  lead  ye,  where  ye  may  more  near  behold 
What  shallow-searching  Fame  hath  left  untold ; 
Which  I  full  oft,  amidst  these  shades  alone, 
Have  sat  to  wonder  at,  and  gaze  upon  : 
For  know,  by  lot  from  Jove  I  am  the  power 
Of  this  fair  wood,  and  live  in  oaken  bower, 
To  nurse  the  saplings  tall,  and  curl  the  grove ' 
With  ringlets  quaint,  and  wanton  windings  wove  : 
And  all  my  plants  I  save  from  nightly  ill 
Of  noisome  winds,  and  blasting  vapours  chill : 
And  from  the  boughs  brush  off  the  evil  dew,« 
And  heal  the  harms  of  thwarting  thunder  blue, 
Or  what  the  cross  dire-looking  planet  smites,'' 
Or  hurtful  worm  with  canker'd  venom  bites. 
When  evening  gray  doth  rise,  I  fetch  my  round 
Over  the  mount,  and  all  this  hallow'd  ground ; 
And  early,  ere  the  odorous  breath  of  morn 
Awakes  the  slumbering  leaves,'  or  tassel' d  horn  J 
Shakes  the  high  thicket,  haste  I  all  about. 
Number  my  ranks,  and  visit  every  sprout  ^ 
With  puissant  words,  and  murmurs  made  to  bless : 
But  else,  in  deep  of  night,  when  drowsiness 

f  And  curl  the  grove. 
So  Drayton,  "  Polyolb."  s.  vii.  vol.  ii.  p.  786,  of  a  grove  on  a,  hill — 

Where  she  her  curled  head  unto  the  eye  may  show. — T.  Wakton. 
g  And  from  the  loughs  brush  off  the  evil  dew. 
The  expression  and  idea  are  Shakspearian,  but  in  a  different  sense  and  application. 
Caliban  says,  "  Tempest,"  a.  i.  s.  4 : — 

As  wicked  dew  as  e'er  my  mother  brush'd, 
With  raven's  feather,  from  unwholesome  fen,  &c. 

Compare  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  v.  429. 
The  phrase  hung  on  the  mind  of  Gray  : — 

Brushing  with  hasty  steps  the  dew  away. — T.  Warton.  ' 

l»  And  heal  the  harms  of  thwarting  thunder  blue, 
Or  what  the  cross  dire-looking  planet  smites. 
Compare   Shakspeare,  "Julius  Caesar,"  a.  i.  s.  3.    "King  Lear,"  a.  iv.  s.  7. — T. 
Warton. 

i  The  slumbering  leaves. 
Ovid,  "Met"  xi.  600.    "Non  moti  flamine  rami." — Todd. 

J  Tassel'd  horn. 
Spensor,  "  Faer.  Queene,"  i.  viii.  3 : — 

a  horn  of  bugle  small, 
Which  hung  adowne  his  side  in  twisted  gold 
And  tassels  gay. — Nbwton. 

k  Haste  I  all  about, 
Number  my  ranks,  and  visit  every  sprout. 
So  the  magician  Ismeno,  when  he  consigns  the  enchanted  forest  to  his  demons, 
"  Gier.  Lib."  c.  xiii.  st.  8.    Poets  are  magicians :  what  they  create  they  command.    The 
business  of  one  imaginary  being  is  easily  transferred  to  another;  from  a  bad  to  a  good 
demon. — T.  Wakton. 


ARCADES.  695 


Hath  lock'd  up  mortal  sense,  then  listen  I 
To  the  celestial  sirens'  harmony, 
That  sit  upon  the  nine  infolded  spheres ' 
And  sing  to  those  that  hold  the  vital  shears,  . 
And  turn  the  adamantine  spindle  "  round, 
On  which  the  fate  of  gods  and  men  is  wound. 
Such  sweet  compulsion "  doth  in  music  lie, 
To  lull  the  daughters  of  Necessity, 
And  keep  unsteady  Nature  to  her  law. 
And  the  low  world  in  measured  motion  draw 
After  the  heavenly  tune,  which  none  can  hear 
Of  human  mould,  with  gross  unpurged  ear ; » 
And  yet  such  musick  worthiest  were  to  blaze 
The  peerless  highth  of  her  immortal  praise, 
"Whose  lustre  leads  us,  and  for  her  most  fit, 
If  my  inferiour  hand  or  voice  could  hit 
Inimitable  sounds  :  yet,  as  we  go, 
Whate'er  the  skill  of  lesser  gods  can  show, 
I  will  assay,  her  worth  to  celebrate. 
And  so  attend  ye  toward  her  glittering  state  j ' 

1  Then  listen  I 

To  the  celestial  sirens'  harmony, 

That  tit  upon  the  nine  infolded  ^herea. 
This  is  Plato's  system.  Fate,  or  necessity,  holds  a  spindle  of  adamant ;  and,  with 
her  three  daughters.  Lachesis,  Clotho,  and  Atropos,  who  handle  the  vital  web  wound 
about  the  spindle,  slie  conducts  or  turns  the  heavenly  bodies :  nine  Muses,  or  sirens, 
sit  on  the  summit  of  the  spheres,  which,  in  their  revolutions,  produce  the  most  ravish- 
ing musical  harmony :  to  this  harmony,  the  three  daughters  of  Necessity  perpetually 
sing  in  correspondent  tones :  in  the  meantime,  the  adamantine  spindle,  which  is 
placed  in  the  lap  or  on  the  knees  of  Necessity,  and  on  which  "  the  fate  of  men  and 
gods  is  wound,''  is  also  revolved. — T.  Wabton. 

The  adamantine  spindle. 
In  a  fragment  of  Sophocles'  "  Phsedra,"  preserved  in  Stobseus,  the  Parcse  have  ada- 
mantine shuttles,  with  which  they  weave  tne  appointed  fates  of  mortals. — Dunsteb. 

"  Such  sweet  compulsion,  &c. 
See  "Par.  Lost,"  ix.  474.— Todd. 

o  After  the  heavenly  Mine,  which  none  can  hear 
Of  human  mould,  with  gross  unpurged  ear. 

I  do  not  recollect  this  reason  in  Plato,  the  "  Somnium  Scipionis,"  or  Macrobius : 
but  our  author,  in  an  academic  Prolusion  on  the  "  Musick  of  the  Spheres,"  having 
explained  Plato's  theory,  assigns  a  similar  reason: — "  Quod  autem  nos  hanc  minime 
audiamus  harmoniam,  sane  in  causa  videtur  esse  furacis  Promethei  audacia,  quae  tot 
mala  hominibus  invexit,  et  simul  hanc  felicitatem  nobis  abstulit,  qua  nee  unquam 
frui  licebit,  dum  sceleribus  cooperti  belluinis,  cupiditatibus  obrutesimus :  at  si  pura, 
si  nivea  gestaremus  pectora,  turn  quidem  suavissitna  ilia  stellarum  circumeuntium 
musica  personarent  aures  nostrie  et  opplcrentur." — T.  Wabton. 

Compare  Shakspeare,  "Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  a.  iii.  s.  1 : — 

And  I  will  purge  thy  mortal  grossness  so, 
That  thou  shalt  like  an  airy  spirit  go. 

And  see  "  Comus,"  v.  997. — T.  Wabton. 

See  also  his  "Prose  Works,"  edit.  1698,  vol.  i.  153. — "God  purged  also  our  deaf 
ears  and  prepared  them  to  attend  his  second  warning  trumpet,  &c. — Todd. 

p  And  so  attend  ye  toward  her  glittering  state. 
See  Note  on  "  II  Penseroso,"  v.  37.    A  "  state  "  signified,  not  so  much  a  throne  or 
chair  of  state,  as  a  canopy :  thus  Drayton,  "  Polyolb."  s.  xxvi.  vol.  iii.  p.  1168,  of  a 
royal  palace : — 


696  ARCADES. 


Where  ye  may  all  that  are  of  noble  stem, 
Approach,  and  kiss  her  sacred  vesture's  hem.* 

^  n.    SONG. 

O'er  the  smooth  enamel'd  green 
Where  no  print  of  step  hath  been, 

Follow  me  as  I  sing 

And  touch  the  warbled  string, 
Under  the  shady  roof 
Of  branching  elm  star-proof.' 

Follow  me ; 
I  will  bring  you  where  she  sits, 
Glad  in  splendour  as  befits 

Her  deity. 
Such  a  rural  queen 
All  Arcadia  hath  not  seen. 

III.   SONG. 

Nymphs  and  shepherds  dance  no  more 
By  sandy  Ladon's  lilied  banks; 
On  old  Lycaeus,  or  Cylene  hoar. 

Trip  no  more  in  twilight  ranks ; 
Though  Erymanth  your  loss  deplore, 

A  better  soil  shall  give  ye  thanks. 
From  the  stony  Maenalus 
Bring  your  flocks,  and  live  with  us ; 
Here  ye  shall  have  greater  grace,  '    ' 

To  serve  the  lady  of  this  place. 
Though  Syrinx  your  Pan's  mistress  were, 
Yet  Syrinx  well  might  wait  on  her. 

Such  a  rural  queen 
All  Arcadia  hath  not  seen. 

Who  led  from  room  to  room,  amazed  is  to  we 
The  furniture  and  stateg,  which  all  embroideries  be, 
The  rich  and  sumptuous  beds,  &c. — T.  Waeton. 

q  Approach,  and  kiss  her  sacred  vesture's  hem. 
Fairfax,  in  the  metrical  Dedication  of  his  Tasso  to  queen  Elizabeth,  commands  his 
Muse  not  to  approach  too  boldly,  nor  to  soil  "  her  vesture's  hem." — T.  Wabton. 

r  0/  branching  elm  star-proof. 
One  of  Peacham's  "Emblems"  is  the  picture  of  a  large  and  lofty  grove,  which  defies 
the  influence  of  the  moon  and  stars  appearing  over  it     This  grove,  in  the  verses 
affixed,  is  said  to  be  "  not  pierceable  ^o  power  of  tnj  gtarre." — T.  Waeton. 


L  Y  C  I  D  A  S  ; 

A  MONODY. 


PRELIMLVARY  NOTE  ON  LYCIDAS. 


MR.  EDWARD  KING. 


This  pcem  first  appeared  in  a  Cambridge  collection  of  verses  on  the  death  of  Mr. 
Edward  King,  fellow  of  Christ's  College,  printed  at  Cambridge  in  a  thin  quarto,  1638. 
It  consists  of  three  Greek,  nineteen  Latin,  and  thirteen  English  poems. 

Edward  King,  the  subject  of  this  Monody,  was  the  son  of  Sir  John  King,  knight 
secretary  for  Ireland,  under  queen  Elizabeth,  James  I.,  and  Charles  I.  He  was  sailing 
from  Chester  to  Ireland,  on  a  visit  to  his  friends  and  relations  in  that  country :  these 
were,  his  brother.  Sir  Robert  King,  knight ;  and  his  sisters,  Anne,  wife  of  Sir  George 
Caulfield  Lord  Clermont,  and'  Margaret,  above  mentioned,  wife  of  Sir  George  Loder, 
chief  justice  of  Ireland;  Edward  King,  bishop  of  Elphin,  by  whom  he  was  baptized; 
and  William  Chappel,  then  dean  of  Cashel,  and  provost  of  Dublin  College,  who  had 
been  his  tutor  at  Christ's  College,  Cambridge,  and  was  afterwards  bishop  of  Cork  and 
Ross,  and  in  this  Pastoral  is  probably  the  same  person  that  is  styled  "  old  Damoetas," 
T.  36,  when,  in  calm  weather,  not  far  from  the  English  coast,  the  ship,  a  very  crazy 
vessel,  "a  fatal  and  perfidious  bark,"  struck  on  a  rock,  and  suddenly  sunk  to  the  bottom 
with  all  that  were  on  board,  not  one  escaping,  August  10,  1637.  King  was  now  only 
twenty -five  years  old :  he  was  perhaps  a  native  of  Ireland. 

At  Cambridge  he  was  distinguished  for  his  piety,  and  proficiency  in  polite  literature : 
he  has  no  inelegant  copy  of  Latin  iambics  prefixed  to  a  Latin  comedy  called  "  Senile 
Odium,"  acted  at  Queen's  Col'sge,  Cambridge,  by  the  youth  of  that  society,  and  written 
by  P.  Hausted,  Cantab.  1633,  12mo.  I  will  not  say  how  far  these  performances  justify 
Milton's  panegyric  on  his  friend's  poetry,  v.  9. 

WTio  would  not  cing  for  Lycidas  1    He  knew 
Himself  to  sing,  and  build  the  lofty  rhyme. 

This  poem,  as  appears  by  the  Trinity  manuscript,  was  written  in  November,  1637; 
when  Milton  was  not  quite  twenty-nine  years  old. — T.  Warton. 

In  the  Latin  poetical  paraphrase  of  "  Lycidas"  by  William  Hog  (the  translator  also 
of  "  Paradise  Lost"),  dated  1694,  there  is  an  English  address  to  the  reader ;  giving  a 
brief  account  of  the  subject  of  the  poem.  It  is  there  said,  that  "  Some  escaped  in  the 
boat;  and  great  endeavours  were  used  in  that  great  consternation  to  get  Mr.  King  into 
the  boat,  which  did  not  prevail,  so  he  and  all  with  him  were  drowned,  except  those  only 
that  escaped  in  the  boat."  And  yet,  in  the  monumental  inscription  prefixed  to  the 
Collection  of  Verses  on  Mr.  King's  death,  it  is  related,  "  Navi  in  scopulum  allisa,  et 
rimis  ex  ictu  fatiscente,  dum  alii  vectores  vitse  mortalis  frustra  satagerent,  immortalem 
anhelans,  in  genua  provolutus  oransque,  una  cum  navigio  ab  aquis  absorptus,  animam 
Deo  reddidit." 

Dr.  Newton  has  observed  that  "  Lycidas"  is  with  great  judgment  made  of  the  pas- 
toral kind,  as  both  Mr.  King  and  Milton  had  been  designed  for  holy  orders  and  the 
pastoral  care,  which  gives  a  peculiar  propriety  to  several  passages  in  it — Todd. 
88  (697) 


698  LYCIDAS. 


INTRODUCTORY  KEMAKKS. 

Db.  Johnson's  censure  of  the  "  Lyeidas"  is  so  extraordinary,  and  so  tastelessly  malig- 
nant, that  it  is  impossible  to  pass  it  over  without  some  discussion.  Whatever  principle 
of  poetry  we  adopt,  it  is  absolutely  indefensible.  We  know  that  the  critic  had  little 
feeling  for  the  higher  orders  of  poetry;  but  his  captious  objections  to  this  composition 
could  only  proceed  from  blind  prejudice  and  hatred.  He  had  probably  talked  in  this 
way  from  an  early  stage  of  his  literary  career,  and  was  now  ashamed  to  retract. 

Whatever  stern  grandeur  Milton's  two  epics  and  his  drama,  written  in  his  latter  days, 
exhibit;  by  whatever  divine  invention  they  are  created;  "Lyeidas"  and  "  Comua" 
ha.ve  a  fluency,  a  sweetness,  a  melody,  a  youthful  freshness,  a  dewy  brightness  of 
description,  which  those  gigantic  poems  have  not.  It  is  true  that  "  Lyeidas"  has  no 
deep  grief;  its  clouds  of  sorrow  are  everywhere  pierced  by  the  golden  rays  of  a  splendid 
and  joyous  imagination  :  the  ingredients  are  all  poetical,  even  to  single  words ;  the 
epithets  are  all  picturesque  and  fresh ;  and  the  whole  are  combined  into  a  splendid 
tissue,  as  new  in  their  position  as  they  are  radiant  in  their  union.  The  unexpected 
transitions  from  one  to  the  other  at  once  surprise  and  delight:  they  are  like  the  heavens 
of  an  autumnal  evening,  when  they  are  lighted  up  by  electric  flames.  The  contrasts 
of  sorrow,  and  hope,  and  glory,  keep  us  in  a  state  of  mingled  excitement  to  the  end :  the 
imagery  never  flags :  though  it  blazes  with  the  most  beautiful  forms  of  inanimate 
nature,  and  all  sorts  of  pastoral  pictures ;  yet  the  whole  are  by  some  spell  or  other 
made  intellectual  and  spiritual :  they  do  not  play  merely  upon  the  mirror  of  the  fancy. 

When  Johnson  said  that  of  this  poem  "  the  diction  is  harsh,  the  rhymes  uncertain,  and 
the  numbers  unpleasing,"  where  was  his  apprehension  of  beautiful  language,  and 
where  his  ear  ? 

Take  any  line  as  a  specimen  : — 

Shatter  your  leaves  before  the  mellowing  year. 

Or  this  passage : — 

But  O,  the  heavy  change,  now  thou  art  gone, 

Now  thou  art  gone,  and  never  must  return  ! 

Thee,  shephcTd.  thee  the  woods  and  desert  caves, 

With  wild  thyme  and  the  gadding  vine  o'ergrown, 

And  all  their  echoes  mourn  : 

The  willows,  and  the  hazel  copses  green, 

Shall  now  no  more  be  seen 

Fanning  their  joyous  leaves  to  thy  soft  lays. 

Compare  any  of  Pope's  descriptions,  so  lauded  by  Johnson,  with  these  lines. 

Johnson  says  that  the  rhymes  of  "  Lyeidas"  are  ill-arranged,  and  too  distant  from 
each  other:  I  know  not  that  they  are  over  so;  but  if  this  is  the  case  in  ore  or  two 
instances,  they  are  in  general  most  musically  and  happily  placed. 

The  occasional  allusions  to  the  heathen  mythology,  by  way  of  illustration  or  allegory, 
were  never  before  prohibited  or  blamed  by  any  critic;  and  are  only  censured  here  from 
a  mere  resolve  to  find  fault. 

The  caviller  contends  that  here  is.  no  grief,  for  grief  does  not  deal  in  imagery  or 
remote  allusions ;  but,  as  Warton  obs*e»re8,  if  there  is  not  deep  grief,  there  is  rich  poetry. 
Milton's  genius  lay  in  strength  alid.  sublimity,  not  tenderness.  This  was  one  of  a  sot 
of  academical  verses,  written  to' glorify  the  deceased,  and  fix  his  memory  upon  the  list 
of  fame;  and  by  what  other  possible  means  could  Milton  have  effected  it  with  equal 
Buccess  ? 

In  what  way  would  the  critic  nave  expressed  his  sorrow?  Johnson  was  no  more 
remarkable  for  tenderness  than  Milton  :  his  gravity  was  gloom,  not  tenderness.  Milton 
saw  in  the  death  of  the  virtuous  and  accomplished  an  elevation  to  a  higher  and  happier 
sphere  of  existence;  Johnson  beheld  death  with  anxiety,  doubt,  and  fear:  Milton 
exulted ;  Johnson  sighed,  trembled,  and  was  despondent :  the  thought  paralyzed  John- 
son;  it  cheered  and  irradiated  Milton.  Thus  it  supplied  them  with  opposite  figures 
and  modes  of  expression.* 

•  Tickell's  "  Elegy  on  Addison"  is  probably  the  model  which  Johnson  would  have  chosen. 
Tickell  is  solemn,  and  soraotimes  tender ;  but  he  has  none  of  Milton's  richness  and  illumination. 


LTCIDAS.  699 

That  prime  charm  of  poetry,  the  rapidity  and  the  novelty,  yet  the  natural  association 
of  beautiful  ideas,  is  pre-eminently  exhibited  in  "  Lycidas,"  where  the  sudden  transi- 
tions to  contraoied  images  and  sentiments  keep  the  mind  in  a  state  of  delightful 

ferment ; 

And  o'er  the  cheek  of  sorrow  throw 
A  melancholy  grace. 

It  strikes  me,  that  there  is  no  poem  of  Milton,  in  which  the  pastoral  and  rural  ima- 
gery is  so  breathing,  so  brilliant,  and  so  new,  as  in  this :  the  tone  which  has  most 
similitude  to  it,  is  that  of  some  descriptive  passages  of  Shakspeare,  whose  simple 
brightness  and  modulation  of  words  seem  always  to  have  dwelt  on  Milton's  memory 
and  ear. 

But  though  strength  was  Milton's  characteristic,  there  are  many  passages,  many  turns 
of  thought  and  expression,  in  this  poem,  which  are  not  wanting  in  tenderness,  in 
pathetic  recollections,  and  tearful  sighs ;  in  that  sort  of  grief,  which,  let  Johnson  say 
what  he  will,  belongs  to  true  poetry :  in  grief  neither  factitious  nor  gloomy,  but  genuine, 
though  hopeful,  and  mingled  with  rays  of  light,  though  melancholy. 

Perhaps  I  should  be  inclined  to  say  more  on  this  exquisite  and  inimitable  Elegy; 
but  I  must  forbear,  lest  those  remarks  should  run  to  an  extent  disproportioned  to  its 
length. 


In  this  Monody  the  author  bewails  a  learned  friend,  unfortunately  drowned  in  his 
passage  from  Chester  on  the  Irish  seas,  1637 ;  and  by  occasion  foretells  the 
ruin  of  our  corrupted  clergy,  then  in  their  highth. 


Yet  once  more,  0  ye  laurels,  and  once  more 

Ye  myrtles  brown,  with  ivy  never  sere,* 

I  come  to  pluck  your  berries  ••  harsh  and  crude ; 

And,  with  forced  fingers  rude. 

Shatter  your  leaves  before  the  mellowing  year : " 

Bitter  constraint,  and  sad  occasion  dear, 

»  Ye  myrtles  brown,  with  ivy  never  sere. 

Newton  has  supposed,  that  Milton,  while  he  mentions  Apollo's  laurel,  to  characterize 
King  as  a  poet,  adds  the  myrtle,  the  tree  of  Venus,  to  show  that  King  was  also  of  a 
proper  age  for  love.  We  will  allow  that  King,  whatever  hidden  meaning  the  poet  might 
have  in  enumerating  the  myrtle,  was  of  a  proper  age  for  love,  being  now  twenty-five 
years  old  :  and  the  ivy  our  critic  thinks  to  be  expressive  of  King's  learning,  for  which 
it  was  a  reward.  In  the  mean  time,  I  would  not  exclude  another  probable  implication; 
by  plucking  the  berries  and  the  leaves  of  laurel,  myrtle,  and  ivy,  he  might  intend  to 
point  out  the  pastoral  or  rural  turn  of  this  poem. — T.  Warton. 

The  opening  of  this  poem  always  struck  me"  »g  singularly  beautiful.  There  is  a  sort 
of  felicity  in  this  combination  of  poetic  words,  whicji  cannot  be  defined. 

b  J  come  to  pluck  yotir  berrifs,  &c. 

This  beautiful  allusion  to  the  unripe  age  of  his  friend,  in  which  death  "shatter'd  his 
leaves  before  the  mellowing  year,"  is  not  antique,  I  think,  but  of  those  secret  graces  of 
Spenser.  See  "Shop.  Cal."  Jan.  ver.  37.  The  poet  there  says  of  himself,  under  the 
name  of  Colin  Clout,  "  All  so  my  lustful  leafe  is  drie  and  sere." — Kichardson. 

Milton  had  most  probably  in  his  mind  a  passage  in  Cicero,  "  De  Senectute,"  where 
the  death  of  young  persons  is  compared  to  unripe  fruit  plucked  with  violence  from  the 
tree,  and  that  of  old  persons  to  fully  ripe  mellow  fruit  that  falls  naturally:  "Et  quasi 
poma  ex  arboribus,  cruda  si  sint,  vi  avelluniur:  si  matura  et  cocta,  decidunt;  sic  vitam 
adolescentibus  vis  aufert,  senibus  maturitas." — Dunster. 

«  Mellowing  year. 
Here  is  an  inaccuracy  of  the  poet :  the  "  mellowing"  year  could  not  affect  the  leaves 
of  the  laurel,  the  myrtle,  and  the  ivy ;  which  last  is  chi^racterized  before  as  "  never 
sere." — T.  Wakton. 


VOO  LTCIDAS. 

Compels  me  to  disturb  your  season  due : 
For  Lycidas  is  dead,  dead  ere  his  prime, 
Young  Lycidas,  and  hath  not  left  his  peer. 
Who  would  not  sing  for  Lycidas  ?     He  knew 
Himself  to  sing,  and  build  the  lofty  rhyme.* 
He  must  not  float  upon  his  watery  bier 
Unwept,  and  welter  to  the  parching  wind, 
Without  the  meed  of  some  melodious  tear.* 

Begin  then,  Sisters  of  the  sacred  well, 
That  from  beneath  the  seat  of  Jove  doth  spring  j 
Begin,  and  somewhat  loudly  sweep  the  string. 
Hence  with  denial  vain,  and  coy '  excuse  : 
■  So  may  some  gentle  Muse 
With  lucky  words  favour  my  destined  urn ; 
And,  as  he  passes,  turn, 
And  bid  fair  peace  be  to  my  sable  shroud.^ 

For  we  were  nursed  upon  the  self-same  hill  j 
Fed  the  same  flock  by  fountain,  shade,  and  rill. 
Together  both,"  ere  the  high  lawns  appear'd 

<•  And  build  the  lofty  rhyme. 
A  beautiful  Latinism.    Hor.  "  Ep."  i.  iii.  24.     "  Seu  condis  amabile  carmen."    And 
"De  Arte  Poet."  v.  436.     "  Si  earmina  condes." — Newton. 

Todd  here  cites  a  passage  from  Spenser's  "  Ruines  of  Rome,"  st  25.    I  aeo  little 
similitude. 

e  Melodious  tear. 
Fcr  song,  or  plaintive  elegiac  strain,  the  cause  of  tears. — Htjrd. 

f  Coy. 
The  epithet  "coy"  is  at  present  restrained  to  person:  anciently  it  was  more  generally 
combined.     Our  author  has  the  same  use  and  sense  of  "coy"  in  the  "Apology  for 
Bmectymnuus :" — "  Thus  lie  at  the  mercy  of  a  coy  flurting  style,  to  be  girded  with 
frumps  and  curtail  gibes,"  &c. — T.  Warton. 

g  3fy  sable  shroud. 
Mr.  Dunster  has  little  doubt  that  Milton  here  means  the  "dark  grave  ;"  shroud  being 
the  Miltonic  word  for  recess,  harbour,  hiding-place ;  yet  he  has  overlooked  the  passages 
in  Sylvester,  which  occasioned,  in  my  opinion,  the  introduction  of  "sable  shroud"  into 
Milton's  Monody.  And,  fir.'it,  Sylvester  uses  the  precise  expression,  though  -nith  a  dif 
forent  meaning,  in  his  "  Bethulian's  Rescue,"  lib.  iv.  p.  991,  edit.  1621. 

Still  therefore,  cover'd  with  a  sable  shroud. 
Hath  she  kept  home,  as  to  all  sorrow  vow'a. 

But  in  Sylvester's  translation  of  "  Du  Bartas,"  ed.  supr.  p.  114,  we  find, 
O  happy  pair  !  upon  your  sable  toomb 
May  mel  and  manna  ever  showring  come. 

And  what  farther  confirms  me  in  the  application  of  tomb  or  grave  to  Milton'a  text  is 
a  passage  from  a  funeral  Elegy  of  Sylvester,  edit.  supr.  p.  1171. 
From  my  sad  cradle  to  my  sable  cliest, 
Poore  pilgrim  I  did  finde  few  months  of  rest. — Todd. 

I  cannot  think  that,  applied  to  Lycidas,  "shroud"  means  tomb,  as  Todd  supposes, 
because  Sylvester  so  used  it,  in  reference  to  a  different  case. 

t  Together  ioth,  Ac. 
From  the  regularity  of  his  pursuits,  the  purity  of  his  pleasures,  his  temperance,  and 
general  simplicity  of  life,  Milton  habitually  became  an  early  riser :  hence  he  gained  an 
acquaintance  with  the  beauties  of  the  morning,  which  he  so  frequently  contemplated 
with  delight,  and  has  therefore  so  repeatedly  described  in  all  their  various  appearances : 
and  this  is  a  subject  which  he  delineates  with  the  lively  pencil  of  a  lover.  In  the 
"Apology  for  Smectymnuus,"  he  declares,  "Those  morning  haunts  are  where  they 
should  be.  at  home  j  not  sleeping  or  concocting  the  surfeits  of  an  irregular  feast,  but 


LYCIDAS.  701 

Under  the  opening  eyelids  of  the  morn,' 

We  drove  afield  ;J  and  both  together  heard 

What  time  the  gray-fly  winds  her  sultry  horn,* 

Battening  our  flocks '  with  the  fresh  dews  of  night, 

Oft  till  the  Star,  that  rose  at  evening  bright, 

Toward  heaven's  descent  had  sloped  his  westering  wheel." 

Meanwhile  the  rural  ditties  were  not  mute, 

Temper'd  to  the  oaten  flute ; 

Rough  Satyrs  danced,  and  Fauns  with  cloven  heel 

From  the  glad  sound  would  not  be  absent  long; 

And  old  Damcetas  loved  to  hear  our  song. 

But,  0,  the  heavy  change,  now  thou  art  gone. 
Now  thou  art  gone,  and  never  must  return  ! 
Thee,  shepherd,  thee,  the  woods,  and  desert  caves," 

up  and  stirring,  in  winter  often  before  the  sound  of  any  bell  awakens  men  to  labour  or 
devotion ;  in  summer,  as  oft  as  the  bird  that  first  rouses,  or  not  much  tardyer,  to  read 
good  authors,"  &e.  "  Prose  Works,"  i.  109.  In  "  L' Allegro,"  one  of  the  first  delights 
of  his  cheerful  man  is  to  hear  the  "  lark  begin  his  flight."  His  lovely  landscape  of 
Eden  always  wears  its  most  attractive  charms  at  sun-rising,  and  seems  most  delicious 
to  our  first  parents  "at  that  season  prime  for  sweetest  scents  and  airs."  In  the  present 
instance,  he  more  particularly  alludes  to  the  stated  early  hours  of  a  collegiate  life, 
which  he  shared  "  on  the  self-same  hill,"  with  his  friend  Lycidas  at  Cambridge. — T. 
Warton. 

This  is  a  beautiful  note  of  T.  Warton,  characteristic  of  that  amiable  critic  and  poet, 
and  such  as  few  others,  if  any,  "could  have  written. 

'  Under  the  opening  eyelids  of  the  morn. 
Perhaps  from  Thomas  Middleton's  "  Game  at  Chesse,"  an  old  forgotten  play,  pub- 
lished about  the  end  of  the  reign  of  James  I.,  1625. 

Like  a  pearl 
Dropt  from  the  opening  eyelids  of  the  mom 
Upon  the  bashful  rose. — T.  Wauton. 

The  "eyelids  of  the  morning"  is  a  phrase  of  sublime  origin.  See  Job,  iii.  9. 
"Neither  let  it  see  the  dawning  of  the  day,"  or,  as  in  the  margin,  "the  eyelids  of  the 
morning."    See  also  chap.  xli.  18.    And  Sophocles,  "  Antigone,"  v.  103. — Todd. 

i  We  drove  afield. 

That  is,  "we  drove  our  flocks  afield."  I  mention  this,  that  Gruy's  echo  of  the  pas- 
gage  in  the  "  Church-yard  Elegy,"  yet  with  another  meaning,  may  not  mislead  many 
careless  readers.    "How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  team  afield!" — T.  Waeton. 

Gray  seems  to  have  had  every  expression  of  Milton  by  heart. 

k  Her  sultry  horn. 
"Wo  continued  together  till  noon,"  Ac.    The  gray-fly  is  called  by  the  naturalists, 
the  gray-fly,  or  trumpet-fly  ;  and  "sultry  horn"  is  the  sharp  hum  of  this  insect  at  noon, 
or  the  hottest  part  of  the  day.     But  by  some  this  has  been  thought  the  chaflFer,  which 
begins  its  flight  in  the  evening. — T.  Warton. 

1  Battening  our  flocks. 
To  "  batten"  is  both  neutral  and  active,  to  grow  or  to  make  fat.    The  neutral  is  most 
common.     Shakspeare's  "  Hamlet,"  a.  iii.  s.  4. 

Could  you  on  this  fair  mountain  leave  to  feed, 
And  batten  on  this  moor  ? — T.  Warton. 

m  Hia  westering  tcheel. 

Drawing  toward  the  west.     So  in  Chaucer's  "  Troil  and  Creseide,"  b.  iL  905. 

The  Sonne 
Gan  westring  fast  and  donnward  for  to  wxie. — ^Newton. 

n  Thee,  shepherd,  thee,  the  woods,  and  desert  caves,  Ac. 
The  passage  most  similar,  in  all  its  circumstances,  to  the  present,  is,  in  the  opinion  of 
Mr.  Dunster,  the  lamentation  for  Orpheus  in  Ovid.  "  Met."  xi.  43. 


702  LYCIDAS. 

With  wild  thyme  and  the  gadding  vine"  o'ergrown, 

And  all  their  echoes,  mourn  : 

The  willows,  and  the  hazel  copses  green, 

Shall  now  no  more  be  seen 

Fanning  their  joyous  leaves  to  thy  soft  lays.  * 

As  killing  as  the  canker  to  the  rose,p 

Or  taint-worm  to  the  weanling  herds  that  graze, 

Or  frost  to  flowers,  that  their  gay  wardrobe  wear, 

When  first  the  white-thorn  blows ; — 

Such,  Lycidas,  thy  loss  to  shepherd's  ear. 

Where  were  ye,  Nymphs,  when  the  remorseless  deep 
Closed  o'er  the  head  of  your  loved  Lycidas  ?  * 
For  neither  were  ye  playing  on  the  steep, 
Where  your  old  bards,  the  famous  druids,  lie ; 
Nor  on  the  shaggy  top  of  Mona  high  ; '' 
Nor  yet  where  Deva  spreads  her  wisard  stream.* 
Ay  me  !  I  fondly  dream  ! 

Te  moBBtaj  volucres,  Orpheu  ;  to  turba  fernrum, 

Te  rigidi  silices,  tua  carflrtina  secuts 

Fleverunt  sylvae  ;  positis  te  frondibuB  arbos. — Todd. 

°  The  gadding  vine. 
Dr.  Warburton  supposes,  that  the  vine  is  here  called  "  gadding,"  because,  being  mar- 
ried to  the  elm,  like  other  wives  she  is  fond  of  gadding  abroad,  and  seeking  a  new  asso- 
date.     Tully,  in  a  beautiful  description  of  the  growth  of  the  vine,  says,  that  it  spreads 
itself  abroad,  "  multiplici  lapsu  et  erratico."     "  De  Senectute." — T.  Wi.RTON. 

P  As  killing  a»  the  canker  to  the  rose. 
The  whole  context  of  words  in  this  and  the  four  following  lines  is  melodious  and 
enchanting. 

q  Where  were  ye. 
This  burst  is  as  magnificent  as  it  is  affecting. 

>■  Nor  on  the  shaggy  top  of  Mona  high. 
In  Drayton's  "  Polyolbion,"  Mona  is  introduced  reciting  her  own  history ;  where  she 
mentions  her  thick  and  dark  groves  as  the  favourite  residence  of  the  druids.     For  the 
druid-sepulchres,  in  the  preceding  line,  at  Kerig  y  Druidion,  in  the  mountains  of  Den- 
bighshire, he  consulted  Camden's  "  Britannia." — T.  Warton. 

«  Nor  yet  where  Deva  spreads  her  wisard  stream. 
In  Spenser,  the  river  Dee  is  the  haunt  of  magicians.  Merlin  used  to  visit  old  Timon, 
in  a  green  valley  under  the  foot  of  the  mountain  Rauranvaur  in  Merionethshire,  from 
which  this  river  springs.  "Faerie  Queene,"  i.  ix.  4.  The  Dee  has  been  made  the  scene 
of  a  variety  of  ancient  British  traditions.  The  city  of  Chester  was  called  by  the  Britons 
the  "  fortress  upon  Dee ;"  which  was  feigned  to  have  been  founded  by  the  giant  Leon, 
and  to  have  been  the  place  of  King  Arthur's  magnificent  coronation :  but  there  is  another 
and  perhaps  a  better  reason,  why  Deva's  is  a  "  wisard"  stream.  In  Drayton,  this  river 
is  styled  the  "hallowed,"  and  the  "holy,"  and  the  "ominous  flood."  In  our  author's 
"  Vacation  Exercise,"  Dee  is  characterized  "  ancient  hallow'd  Dee,"  v.  91.  Much  super- 
stition was  founded  on  the  circumstance  of  its  being  the  ancient  boundary  between 
England  and  Wales :  and  Drayton,  in  his  Tenth  Song,  having  recited  this  part  of  its 
history,  adds,  that,  by  changing  its  fords,  it  foretold  good  or  evil,  war  or  peace,  dearth 
or  plenty,  to  either  country.  He  then  introduces  the  Dee,  over  which  king  Edgar  had 
been  rowed  by  eight  kings,  relating  the  story  of  Brutus.  Milton  appears  to  have 
taken  a  particular  pleasure  in  mentioning  this  venerable  river.  In  the  beginning  of  his 
first  Elegy,  he  almost  goes  out  of  his  way  to  specify  his  friend's  residence  on  the  banks 
of  the  Deo ;  which  he  describes  with  the  picturesque  and  real  circumstance  of  its 
tumbling  headlong  over  rocks  and  precipices  into  the  Irish  Sea.  But  to  return  home 
to  the  text  immediately  lying  before  us.  In  the  midst  of  this  wild  imagery,  the  tombs 
of  the  Druids,  dispersed  over  the  solitary  mountains  of  Denbighshire,  the  shaggy  sum- 
mits of  Mona,  and  the  wizard  waters  of  Deva,  Milton  was  in  his  favourite  track  of 
poetry.     He  delighted  in  the  old  British  traditions  and  fabulous  histories  :  but  hisima- 


LYCIDAS.  103 

Had  ye  been  there — for  what  could  that  have  done  I 
What  could  the  Muse*  herself  that  Orpheus  bore, 
The  Muse  herself,  for  her  enchanting  son, 
Whom  universal  Nature  did  lament, 
When,  by  the  rout  that  made  the  hideous  roar. 
His  gory  visage  down  the  stream  was  sent, 
Down  the  swift  Hebrus  to  the  Lesbian  shore  ? 

Alas  !  what  boots  it  with  uncessant  care 
To  tend  the  homely,  slighted,  shepherd's  trade. 
And  strictly  meditate  the  thankless  Muse? 
Were  it  not  better  done,  as  others  use. 
To  sport  with  Amaryllis  in  the  shade. 
Or  with  the  tangles  of  Neaera's  hair  ? 
Fame  is  the  spur  that  the  clear  spirit  doth  raise,'^ 
(That  last  infirmity  of  noble  mind) 
To  scorn  delights,  and  live  laborious  days; 
But  the  fair  guerdon  when  we  hope  to  find, 
And  think  to  burst  out  into  sudden  blaze,*^ 
Comes  the  blind  Fury  with  the  abhorred  shears,'' 

gination  seems  to  have  been  in  some  measure  warmed,  and  perhaps  directed  to  these 
objects,  by  reading  Drayton;  who,  in  the  Ninth  and  Tenth  Songs  of  his  "  Polyolbion," 
has  very  copiously  enlarged,  and  almost  at  one  view,  on  this  scenery.  It  is,  however, 
with  great  force  and  felicity  of  /ancy,  that  Milton,  in  transferring  the  classical  seats  of 
the  Muses  to  Britain,  has  substituted  places  of  the  most  romantic  kind,  inhabited  by 
Dniids,  and  consecrated  by  the  visions  of  British  bards ;  and  it  has  been  justly  remarked, 
how  coldly  and  unpoetically  Pope,  in  his  very  correct  Pastorals,  has  on  the  same  occa- 
sion selected  only  the  "  fair  fields"  of  Isis,  and  the  "  winding  vales"  of  Cam :  but  at  the 
same  time  there  is  an  immediate  propriety  in  the  substitution  of  these  places,  which 
should  not  be  forgotten,  and  is  not  I  believe  obvious  to  every  reader.  The  mountains 
of  Denbighshire,  the  Isle  of  Man,  and  the  banks  of  the  Dee,  are  in  the  vicinity  of  tho 
Irish  seas  where  Lycidas  was  shipwrecked.  It  is  thus  Theocritus  asks  the  nyinplis, 
how  it  came  to  pass,  that,  when  Uaphnis  died,  they  were  not  in  the  delicious  vales  of 
Peneus,  or  on  the  banks  of  the  great  torrejit  Auapus,  the  sacred  water  of  Ads,  or  on 
the  summits  of  Mount  J*;tna :  because  all  these  were  the  haunts  or  the  habitation  of 
the  shepherd  Daphnis.  These  rivers  and  rocks  have  a  real  connexion  with  the  poet's 
subject. — T.  Warton. 

Hero  is  another  note  of  T.  Warton,  which  combines  a  thousand  charms  of  poetry, 
history,  and  taste. 

*  What  could  the  Muse,  &c. 

See  "Paradise  Lost,"  b.  vii.  37,  of  Orpheus  torn  in  pieces  by  the  Bacchanalians: — 
"  Nor  could  the  Muse  defend  her  son."  And  his  murderers  are  called  "  that  wOd 
rout,"  v.  34.  Calliope  was  the  mother  of  Orpheus.  Lycidas,  as  a  poet,  is  here  tacitly 
compared  with  Orpheus.     They  were  both  victims  of  the  water.— T.  Waeton. 

"  Fame  is  the  spur  that  the  clear  spirit  doth  raise,  &c. 

These  noble  sentiments,  Mr.  Warton  has  observed,  Milton  afterwards  dilated  or 
improved  in  "  Paradise  Kegained,"  b.  iii.  24,  &c. — Todd. 

No  lines  have  been  more  often  cited,  and  more  popular  than  these ;  nor  more  just- 
ly instructive  and  inspiriting. 

V  And  think  to  hurst  out  into  sudden  Maze. 
He  is  speaking  of  fame.     So  in  "Paradise  Kegained,"  b.  iii.  47  : — "For  what  is 
glory  but  the  blaze  of  fame,"  &c. — T.  Warton. 

""  Comes  the  blind  Fury  with  the  abhorred  shears. 
In  Shakspcare  are  "the  shears  of  Destiny"  with  more  propriety,  "King  John,"  a. 
iv.  8.  2.     Tne  king  says  to  Pembroke, — 

Think  you  I  bear  the  shears  of  destiny  7 
Milton,  however,  does  not  here  confound  the  Fates  and  tho  Furies.    He  only  calls 
Destiny  a  Fury. — T.  Wakton. 


'<04 


LYCIDAS. 


And  slits  the  thin-spun  life.     "But  not  the  praise,"* 

Phoebus  replied,  and  touch'd  my  trembling  ears : ' 

"Fame  is  no  plant  that  grows  on  mortal  soil, 

Nor  in  the  glistering  foil 

Set  off  to  the  world,*  nor  in  broad  rumour  lies ; 

But  lives  and  spreads  aloft  by  those  pure  eyes,° 

And  perfect  witness  of  all-judging  Jove  : 

As  he  pronounces  lastly  on  each  deed, 

Of  so  much  fame  in  heaven  expect  thy  meed." 

0,  fountain  Arethuse,'  and  thou  honour'd  flood, 
Smooth-sliding  Mincius,  crown'd  with  vocal  reeds ! 
That  strain  I  heard  was  of  a  higher  mood  : 
But  now  my  oat  proceeds, 
And  listens  to  the  herald  of  the  sea 
That  came  in  Neptune's  plea : 
He  ask'd  the  waves,  and  ask'd  the  felon  winds," 
What  hard  mishap  hath  doom'd  this  gentle  swain  ? 
And  question'd  every  gust  of  rugged  wings 
That  blows  from  off  each  beaked  promontory :  * 
They  knew  not  of  his  story ; 
And  sage  Hippotades  their  answer  brings," 

»  BtU  not  the  praise,  Ac. 
"But  the  praise  is  not  intercepted."  While  the  poet,  in  the  character  of  a  shepherd, 
is  moralizing  on  the  uncertainty  of  human  life,  Phoebus  interposes  with  a  sublime  strain, 
above  the  tone  of  pastoral  poetry :  he  then,  in  an  abrupt  and  elliptical  apostrophe,  at 
"0  fountain  Arethuse,"  hastily  recollects  himself,  and  apologizes  to  his  rural  Muse,  or 
in  other  words  to  Arethusa  and  Mincius,  the  celebrated  streams  of  bucolic  song,  for 
having  so  suddenly  departed  from  pastoral  allusions,  and  the  tenor  of  his  subject : 
"but  I  could  not,"  he  adds,  "resist  the  sudden  and  awful  impulse  of  the  god  of  verse, 
who  interrupted  me  with  a  strain  of  higher  mood,  and  forced  me  to  quit  for  a  moment 
my  pastoral  ideas :  but  I  now  resume  my  rural  oaten  pipe,  and  proceed  as  I  began."  In 
the  same  manner,  he  reverts  to  his  rural  strain,  after  St.  Peter's  "  dread  Toice,"  with 
"Return,  Alpheus." — T.  Warton. 

y  Phcebtu  replied,  and  touch'd  my  trembling  ears, 
Virgil,  "  Eol."  vi.  3  : 

Cynthius  aurem 
Vellit,  et  admonuit. — Peck. 

z  Nor  in  the  glistering  foil 
Set  off  to  the  world. 
Perhaps  with  a  remembrance  of  Shakspeare,  "  Henry  IV."  part  I.  a.  L  s.  2  :— 

And,  Ilka  bright  metal  on  a  sullen  ground, 

My  reformation,  glittering  o'er  my  fault, 

Shall  show  more  goodly,  and  attract  more  eyes, 

Than  that  which  hath  no  foil  to  set  it  off.— T.  Waeton. 

»  Those  pure  eyes. 
Perhaps  from  Scripture : — "  God  is  of  purer  eyes  than  to  behold  iniquity."  And  hence 
an  epithet,  sufficiently  hackneyed  in  modem  poetry,  "Comus,"  t.  213: — "Welcome, 
pure-eyed  Faith." — T.  Warton. 

•>  0,  fountain  Arethuse. 
In  giving  Arethusa  the  distinctive  appellation  of  "fountain,"  Milton  dosely  and 
learnedly  attends  to  the  ancient  Greek  writers. — T.  Warton. 

e  The  felon  winds, 
i.  e.  the  cruel  winds. — Tods. 

d  Each  beaked  promontory. 
That  is,  prominent  or  projecting  like  the  beak  of  a  bird. — T.  Wabtoh. 

"  And  sage  Hippotades  their  answer  brings, 
.Solas,  the  son  of  Hippotas. — T.  Wabtow. 


LYCIDAS.  705 

That  not  a  blast  was  from  his  dungeon  stray*d ; 

The  air  was  calm,  and  on  the  level  brine 

Sleek  Panope  with  all  her  sisters  play'd. 

It  was  that  fatal  and  perfidious  bark, 

Built  in  the  eclipse,  and  rigg'd  with  curses  dark,' 

That  sunk  so  low  that  sacred  head  of  thine. 

Next  Camus,  reverend  sire,  went  footing  slow,' 
His  mantle  hairy,  and  his  bonnet  sedge, 
Inwrought  with  figures  dim,""  and  on  the  edge 
Like  to  that  sanguine  flower,  inscribed  with  woe. 
Ah  !  who  hath  reft,  quoth  he,  my  dearest  pledge  ?' 
Last  came,  and  last  did  go. 
The  pilot  of  the  Galilean  lake  : 
Two  massy  keys  he  bore  of  metals  twain  j 
The  golden  opes,  the  iron  shuts  amain  : 

f  That  fatal  and  perfidious  hark, 
Built  in  the  eclipse,  and  rigg'd  with  curses  dark. 
Although  Dr.  Newton  mentions  the  "  Ille  et  nefasto,"  and  "  Mala  solnta  navis  exit 
alite,"  of  Ilorace,  as  two  passages  similar  to  this,  yet  he  has  not  observed  how  much 
more  poetical  and  striking  is  the  imagery  of  Milton:  that  the  ship  was  "built  in  the 
eclipse,  and  rigg'd  with  curses." — Jos.  Warton. 
Evidently  with  a  view  to  the  enchantments  of  "  Macbeth :" — 

'  Slips  of  yew, 

Sliver'd  in  the  moon's  ecIipBe. 

Again,  in  the  same  incantation: — "Boot  of  hemlock  digg'd  in  the  dark."  The  ship- 
wreck was  occasioned,  not  by  a  storm,  but  by  the  bad  conduct  of  the  ship,  unfit  for  so 
dangerous  a  navigation. — T.  Warton. 

K  Went/ootini/  slow, 
"Footing  slow,"  as  Mr.  Dunster  observes,  as  meant  to  mark  the  sluggish  course  ot 
the  river  Cam,  is  exactly  Claudian's  description  of  the  Mincius, — "tardusque  meatu 
Mincius." — Todd. 

•>  Figure*  dim. 

Alluding  to  the  fabulous  traditions  of  the  high  antiquity  of  Cambridge :  but  how  Cam 
was  distinguished  by  a  "  hairy  mantle"  from  other  rivers  which  have  herds  and  flocka 
on  their  banks,  I  know  not;  unless  "the  budge  doctors  of  the  Stoick  fur,"  as  Milton 
calls  them  in  "  Comus,"  had  lent  him  their  academic  robes. — Warburton. 

It  is  very  probable,  that  the  "  hairy  mantle,"  being  joined  with  the  "  sedge  bonnet," 
may  mean  his  rushy  or  reedy  banks.  It  would  be  diflScult  to  ascertain  the  meaning  of 
"figures  dim."  Perhaps  the  poet  himself  had  no  very  clear  or  determinate  idea;  but, 
in  obscure  and  mysterious  e'xpressions,  leaves  something  to  be  supplied  or  explained  by 
the  reader's  imagination. — T.  Warton. 

The  '"mantle  hairy,"  and  the  "bonnet  sedge,"  are  thus  ably  illustrated  in  a  note  by 
Mr.  Plumptre,  subjoined  to  his  elegant  Greek  translation  of  "Lycidas,"  1797: — 
"  Chlamydem  scilicet  e  conferva  rivulari,  quae  eopiose '  Camo  innatat ;  petasum  vero  ex 
ulva  notis  quodammodo  per  folia  incertis,  intus  signata,  et  ad  marginem  foliorum  ferrata, 
more  hyacinthini  al,  al."  The  "  figures  dim"  may  be  considered  as  referring  to  the 
"sedge  bonnet;"  in  which  opinion  Mr.  Plumptre  and  Mr.  Dunster  concur;  and  the 
latter  also  remarks,  that  on  sedge  leaves,  or  flags,  when  dried,  or  even  beginning  to 
wither,  there  are  not  only  certain  dim,  or  indistinct,  and  dusky  streaks,  but  also  n 
variety  of  dotted  marks  ("  scrawled  over")  as  Milton  had  at  first  written,  on  the  edge, 
which  withers  before  the  rest  of  the  flag. — Todd. 

The  last  part  of  Warton's  note  contains  a  sagacious  observation,  as  to  the  spells  of 
poetry,  and  as  just  as  sagacious. 

i  Ah,  who  hath  reft,  quoth  he,  my  dearest  pledge? 
My  dearest  child ;  as  children  were  simply  called  by  the  Latins,  pignora,  pledges. — 

RiCnARDSON. 


TOG  LYCIDAS. 

He  shook  his  mitred  locks,^  and  stern  bespake : — 

How  well  could  I  have  spared  for  thee,  young  swain, 

Enow  of  such,  as  for  their  bellies'  sake 

Creep,  and  intrude,  and  climb  into  the  fold  ! " 

Of  other  care  they  little  reckoning  make, 

Than  how  to  scramble  at  the  shearers'  feast, 

And  shove  away  the  worthy  bidden  guest ! 

Blind  mouths !  that  scarce  themselves  know  how  to  hold 

A  sheephook,  or  have  learn'd  aught  else  the  least 

That  to  the  faithful  herdman's  art  belongs  ! 

What  recks  it  them  ?  What  need  they  ?  They  are  sped; 

And,  when  they  list,  their  lean  and  flashy  songs 

Grate  on  their  scrannel  pipes  •  of  wretched  straw  : 

The  hungry  sheep  look  up,  and  are  not  fedj 

But  swoln  with  wind,  .and  the  rank  mist  they  draw, 

Rot  inwardly,  and  foul  contagion  spread  : 

Besides  what  the  grim  wolf  with  privy  paw 

Daily  devours  apace  and  nothing  sed  : " 

J  He  shook  his  mUred  lochs. 
It  is  much  that  this  inveterate  enemy  of  prelacy  would  allow  Peter  to  be  a  bishop ; 
but  the  whole  circumstance  is  taken  from  the  Italian  satirists.     Besides,  I  suppose  ne 
thought  it  sharpened  his  satire  to  have  the  prelacy  condemned  by  one  of  their  own 
order. — Warburton. 

^  Such,  as  for  their  bellies^  sahe 
Creep,  and  intrude,  and  climb  into  the  fold. 
He  here  animadverts  on  the  endowments  of  the  church,  at  the  same  time  insinu- 
ating that  they  were  shared  by  those  onlv  who  sought  the  emoluments  of  the  sacred 
office,  to  the  exclusion  of  a  learned  ana  conscientious  clergy.    Thus  in  "  Paradise 
Lost,"  b.  iv.  193  :— 

So  clomb  the  first  grand  thief  into  God's  fold  ; 
So  since  into  his  church  lewd  hirelings  climb. 

Even  after  the  dissolution  of  the  hierarchy,  he  held  this  opinion.  In  his  sixteenth 
Sonnet,  written  1652,  he  supplicates  Cromwell — 

To  save  free  conscience  from  the  paw 
Of  hireling  wolves,  whose  gospel  is  their  maw. 

During  the  usurpation,  he  publislied  a  pamphlet  entitled  "  The  likeliest  means  to 
remove  hirelings  out  of  the  church,"  agamst  the  revenues  transferred  from  the  old 
ecclesiastic  establishment  to  the  presbyterian  ministers.  See  also  his  book  "  Of  Ee- 
formation,"  &c.— T.  Wabton. 

'  Grate  on  their  scrannel  pipes. 
No  sound  of  words  can  be  more  expressive  of  the  sense  ;  and  how  finely  has  he 
imitated,  or  rather  improved,  a  passage  in  Virgil  I     "  Eel."  iii.  26  : — 

Non  tu  in  triviis,  indocte.  solebas 
Strident!  miserum  silpula  disperdere  carmen'? 

I  remember  not  to  have  seen  the  word  "  scrannel "  in  any  other  author ;  nor  can  I 
find  it  in  any  dictionary  or  glossary  that  I  have  consulted  ;  but  I  presume  it  answers 
to  the  "  Stridenti"  of  Virgil. — Newton. 

"Scrannel"  is  thin,  lean,  meagre.     A  scrannel  pipe  of  straw  is  contemptuously  for 
Virgil's  "tenuis  avena."— T.  Warton, 

°» Daily  devours  apace,  and  nothing  sed. 
Some  suppose,  that  our  author  in  this  expression  insinuates  the  connivance  of  the 
court  at  the  secret  growth  of  popery :  but  perhaps  Milton  might  have  intended  a 
general  reflection  pn  what  the  puritans  called  "  unpreaching  prelates,"  and  a  liturgi- 
cal clergy,  who  did  not  place  the  whole  of  religion  in  lectures  and  sermons  three 
hours  long  :  or,  with  a  particular  reference  to  present  circumstances,  he  might  mean 
the  clergy  of  the  church  of  England  were  silent,  and  made  no  remonstrances  against 
these  encroachments. — T,  Wabton, 


LYCIDAS.  101 

But  that  two-handed  engine  at  the  door 

Stands  ready  to  smite  once,  and  smite  no  more." 

Return,  Alpheus  ;  the  dread  voice  is  past, 
That  shrunk  thy  streams ; »  return,  Sicilian  Muse, 
And  call  the  vales,  and  bid  them  hither  cast 
Their  bells  and  flowerets  of  a  thousand  hues. 
Ye  valleys  low,  where  the  mild  whispers  use^ 
Of  shades  and  wanton  winds  and  gushing  brooks, 
On  whose  fresh  lap  the  swart-star*  sparely  looks; 
Throw  hither  all  your^quaint  enamel'd  eyes. 
That  on  the  green  turf  suck  the  honied  showers, 
And  purple  all  the  ground  with  vernal  flowers. 

■>  JBut  that  two-handed  engine  at  the  door 
Stands  ready  to  smite  once,  and  smite  no  more. 

In  these  lines  our  author  anticipates  the  execution  of  archbishop  Laud  by  a  "two- 
handed  engine,"  that  is,  the  axej  insinuating  that  his  death  would  remove  all  griev- 
inces  in  religion,  and  complete  the  reformation  of  the  church.  Dr.  Warburton  supposes, 
that  St.  Peter's  sword,  turned  into  the  two-handed  sword  of  romance,  is  here  intended  j 
but  this  supposition  only  embarrasses  the  passage.  Michael's  sword,  "  with  huge  two- 
handed  sway,"  is  evidently  the  old  Gothic  sword  of  chivalry,  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  vi. 
251 :  this  is  styled  an  "  engine,"  and  the  expression  is  a  periphrasis  for  an  axe,  which 
the  poet  did  not  choose  to  name  in  plain  terms.  The  sense,  therefore,  of  the  context 
seems  to  be  : — "  But  there  will  soon  be  an  end  of  these  evils ;  the  axe  is  at  hand,  to  take 
off  the  head  of  him  who  has  been  the  great  abettor  of  these  corruptions  of  the  gospel. 
This  will  be  done  by  one  stroke.''  In  the  mean  time,  it  coincides  just  as  well  with  the 
tenor  of  Milton's  doctrine,  to  suppose,  that  he  alludes  in  a  more  general  acceptation  to 
our  Saviour's  metaphorical  axe  in  the  gospel,  which  was  to  be  "  laid  to  the  root  of  the 
tree,"  and  whose  stroke  was  to  be  quick  and  decisive.  Matt.  iii.  10.  Luke  iii.  9.  "And 
now  the  axe  is  laid  to  the  root  of  the  tree ;  therefore  every  tree  which  bringeth  not 
forth  good  fruit  is  hewn  down,"  Ac.  That  is, — "  Things  are  now  brought  to  a  crisis  : 
there  is  no  room  for  a  moment's  delay ;  God  is  now  about  to  oflFer  the  last  dispensation 
of  his  mercy:  if  ye  reject  these  terms,  no  others  will  be  offered  afterwards;  but  ye  shall 
suffer  one  final  sentence  of  destruction,  as  a  tree,"  Ac.  All  false  religions  were  at  once 
to  be  done  away  by  the  appearance  of  Christianity,  as  when  an  axe  is  applied  to  a  bar- 
ren tree ;  so  now  an  axe  was  to  be  applied  to  the  corruptions  of  Christianity,  which  in 
a  similar  process  were  to  be  destroyed  by  a  single  and  speedy  blow.  The  time  was  ripa 
for  this  business  :  the  instrument  was  at  hand.  It  is  matter  of  surprise,  that  this  violent 
invective  against  the  church  of  England,  and  the  hierarchy,  couched  indeed  in  terms  a 
little  mysterious  yet  sufficiently  intelligible,  and  covered  only  by  a  transparent  veil  of 
allegory,  should  have  been  published  under  the  sanction  and  from  the  press  of  one  of 
our  universities ;  or  that  it  should  afterwards  have  escaped  the  severest  animadver- 
sions, at  a  period  when  the  proscriptions  of  the  Star-chamber,  and  the  power  of  Laud, 
were  at  their  height.  Milton,  under  pretence  of  exposing  the  faults  or  abuses  of  the 
episcopal  clergy,  attacks  their  establishment,  and  strikes  at  their  existence. — T. 
Wartok. 

0  That  shrunk  thy  streams. 

In  other  words,  "  that  silenced  my  pastoral  poetry."  The  Sicilian  Muse  is  now  to 
return  with  all  her  store  of  rural  imagery. — T.  Warton. 

The  imagery  is  here  from  the  noblest  source.  "  The  waters  stood  above  the  moun- 
tains ;  at  thy  rebuke  they  fled ;  at  the  voice  of  thy  thunder  they  hasted  away,"  Ps.  civ. 
7.  See  also  Ps".  xviii.  13,  15.  "That  shrunk  thy  streams,"  is  a  fine  condensation  of 
the  scriptural  language. — Dunstek. 

P  Whe}-e  the  mild  whispers  use,  &c. 
The  word  "  use,"  as  Dr.  Newton  has  observed.,  is  employed  by  Spenser  in  the  sense 
of  frequent,  inhabit. — Todd. 

q  On  ichose  fresh  lap  the  swart-star,  Ac. 
The  dog-star  is  called  the  "  swart-star,"  by  turning  the  eflfect  into  the  cause.    "Swart" 
is  swarthy,  brown,  Ac. — T.  Wabton. 


708  LTCIDAS. 

Bring  the  rathe  primrose  that  forsaken  dies,"' 

The  tufted  crow-toe  and  pale  jessamine, 

The  white  pink,  and  the  pansy  freak'd  with  jet, 

The  glowing  violet, 

The  musk-rose,  and  the  well-attired  woodbine, 

With  cowslips  wan  that  hang  the  pensive  head. 

And  every  flower  that  sad  embroidery  wears  : 

Bid  amaranthus  all  his  beauty  shed, 

And  daffadillies  fill  their  cups  with  tears. 

To  strew  the  laureate  herse  where  Lycid  lies. 

For,  so  to  interpose  a  little  ease. 

Let  our  frail  thoughts  dally  with  false  surmise. 

Ay  me  !•  Whilst  thee  the  shores  and  sounding  seas 

Wash  far  away,  where'er  thy  bones  are  hurl'd; 

Whether  beyond  the  stormy  Hebrides, 

Where  thou,  perhaps,  under  the  whelming  tide, 

Visit'st  the  bottom  of  the  monstrous  world;* 

Or  whether  thou,  to  our  moist  vows"  denied, 

Sleep'st  by  the  fable  of  Bellerus  old,^ 

Where  the  great  vision  of  the  guarded  mount  *■ 

f  Bring  the  rathe  primrose  that  forsaken  dies. 
It  is  obvious,  that  the  general  texture  and  sentiment  of  this  line  is  from  the  "Winter's 
Tale,"  a.  iv.  s.  6 : — 

Pa)e  primroses 
That  died  unmar    ed,  &c. 

Especially  as  he  had  first  written  "  unwedded"  for  "forsaken,"  which  appears  in 
tlie  edition  of  1638.  But  why  does  the  primrose  die  unmarried  ?  Not  because  it  blooms 
and  decays  before  the  appearance  of  other  flowers ;  as  in  a  state  of  solitude,  and  with- 
out society.  The  true  reason  is,  because  it  grows  in  the  shade,  uncherished  or  unseen 
by  the  sun,  which  was  supposed  to  be  in  love  with  some  sorts  of  flowers. — T.  Wabton. 

>  Ay  me  ! 

Here  Mr.  Dunster  observes,  the  burst  of  giief  is  infinitely  beautiful,  when  properly 
connected  with  what  precedes  it,  and  to  which  it  refers. — Todd. 

«  Monstrotu  world. 

The  sea,  the  world  of  monsters.  Horace,  "  Od."  r.  iii.  18  : — "  Qui  siccis  occulis 
monstra  natantia."  Virgil,  "  ^n."  vi.  729 : — "  Quae  marmoreo  fert  monstra  sub  aequore 
pontus." — T.  Wartox. 

"  3Ioist  VOIDS. 

Our  vows  accompanied  with  tears.  As  if  he  had  said  "vota  lacrymosa."  But  there 
may  be  a  quaint  allusion  to  the  water. — T.  Wartojj. 

V  Betierus  old. 

No  such  name  occurs  in  the  catalogue  of  the  Cornish  giants :  but  the  poet  coined  it 
from  Bellerium.  Bellerus  appears  in  the  edition  1638 :  but  at  first  he  had  written 
Corineue,  a  giant  who  came  into  Britain  with  Brute,  and  was  made  lord  of  Cornwall. 
Hence  Ptolemy,  I  suppose,  calls  a  promontory  near  the  Land's  End,  perhaps  St. 
Michael's  Mount,  "Ocrinium:"  from  whom  also  came  our  author's  "Corineida  Loxo," 
Mans.  V.  46.  Milton,  who  delighted  to  trace  the  old  fabulous  story  of  Brutus,  relates, 
tliat  tc  Corineus  Cornwall  fell  by  lot,  "the  rather  by  him  liked,  for  that  the  huges* 
giants  in  rocks  and  caves  were  said  to  lurk  there  still ;  wb'ch  kind  of  monsters  to  deal 
with  was  his  old  exercise." — "Hist.  Eng."  i.  6.  On  the  south-western  shores  of  Corn 
wall,  I  saw  a  most  stupendous  pile  of  rock-work,  stretching  with  immense  ragged  clifCs 
and  shapeless  precipices  far  into  the  sea:  one  of  the  topmost  of  these  cliflFs,  hanging 
over  the  rest,  the  people  informed  me  was  called  the  "Giant's  Chair."  Near  it  is  a 
cavern  called  \n  Cornish  the  "  Cave  with  the  voice." — T.  Warton. 

''■  Where  the  great  vision  of  the  guarded  mount,  Ac. 
Ihai  part  of  the  coast  of  Cornwall  called  the  "  Land's  End,"  with  its  neighbourhood, 
is  tere  intended  in  which  is  the  promontory  of  Bellerium,  so  named  from  Bellerus,  n 


LYCIDAS.  109 

Looks  toward  Namancos*  and  Bayona's  hold; 
Look  homeward,  angel,  now ;  and  melt  with  ruth : 
And,  0  ye  dolphins,  waft  the  hapless  youth. 

Coinish  giant:  and  we  are  told  by  Camden,  that  this  is  the  only  part  of  our  island  that 
looks  directly  towards  Spain.  But  what  is  the  meaning  of  "  The  great  vision  of  the 
guarded  mount  ?"  and  of  the  line  immediately  following,  "  Look  homeward,  angel,  now, 
fmd  melt  with  ruth  ?"  I  flatter  myself  I  have  discovered  Milton's  original  and  leading 
idea. 

Not  far  from  the  Land's  End  in  Cornwall,  is  a  most  romantic  projection  of  rock, 
called  St.  Michael's  Mount,  into  a  harbour  called  Mount's-bay :  it  gradually  rises  from 
a  broad  basis  into  a  very  steep  and  narrow,  but  craggy  elevation :  towards  the  sea,  the 
declivity  is  almost  perpendicular :  at  low  water  it  is  accessible  by  land ;  and  not  many 
years  ago,  it  was  entirely  joined  with  the  present  shore,  between  which  and  the  mount, 
there  is  a  rock  called  Chapel-rock.  Tradition,  or  rather  superstition,  reports,  that  it 
was  anciently  connected  by  a  large  tract  of  land,  full  of  churches,  with  the  isles  of 
Sicily.  On  the  summit  of  St.  Michael's  Mount  a  monastery  was  founded  before  the  time 
of  Edward  the  Confessor,  now  a  seat  of  Sir  John  St.  Aubyn.  The  church,  refectory, 
and  many  of  the  apartments,  still  remain:  with  this  monastery  was  incorporated  a 
strong  fortress,  regularly  garrisoned :  and  in  a  patent  of  Henry  IV.,  dated  1403,  the 
monastery  itself,  which  was  ordered  to  be  repaired,  is  styled  Fortalitum.  A  stone 
lantern,  in  one  of  the  angles  of  the  tower  of  the  church,  is  called  St.  Michael's  Chair. 
There  is  still  a  tradition,  that  a  vision  of  St.  Michael,  seated  on  this  crag,  or  St. 
Michael's  Chair,  appeared  to  some  hermits;  and  that  this  circumstance  occasioned  the 
foundation  of  the  monastery  dedicated  to  St.  Michael :  and  hence  this  place  was  long 
renowned  for  its  sanctity,  and  the  object  of  frequent  pilgrimages.  Nor  should  it  ba 
forgot,  that  this  monastery  was  a  cell  to  another  on  a  St.  Michael's  Mount  in  Normandy, 
where  also  was  a  vision  of  St.  Michael. 

But  to  apply  what  has  been  said  to  Milton :  this  great  vision  is  the  famous  apparition 
of  St.  Michael,  whom  he  with  much  sublimity  of  imagination  supposes  to  be  still  throned 
on  this  lofty  crag  of  St.  Michael's  Mount  in  Cornwall,  looking  towards  the  Spanish 
coast.  The  "  guarded  mount"  on  which  this  great  vision  appeared,  is  simply  the  forti- 
fied mount,  implying  the  fortress  above  mentioned.  With  the  sense  and  meaning  of  tho 
line  in  question,  is  immediately  connected  that  of  the  third  line  next  following,  which 
here  I  now  for  the  first  time  exhibit  properly  pointed  : — 

Look  homeward,  angel,  now,  and  melt  with  ruth. 

Here  is  an  apostrophe  to  the  angel  Michael,  whom  we  have  just  seen  seated  on  tho 
guarded  mount : — "  0  angel,  look  no  longer  seaward  to  Namancos  and  Bayona's  hold : 
rather  turn  your  eyes  to  another  object :  look  homeward  or  landward :  look  towards 
your  own  coast  now,  and  view  with  pity  the  corpse  of  the  shipwrecked  Lycidas  floating 
thither." 

Thyer  seems  to  suppose  that  the  meaning  of  this  last  line  is, — "  You,  0  Lycidas,  now 
an  angel,  look  down  from  heaven,"  Ac.  But  how  can  this  be  said  to  "look  homeward  ?" 
And  why  is  the  shipwrecked  person  to  "melt  with  ruth?"  That  meaning  is  certainly 
much  helped  by  placing  a  full-point  after  "surmise,"  v.  153:  but  a  semicolon  there,  as 
we  have  seen,  is  the  point  of  the  first  edition  :  and  to  show  how  greatly  such  a  punc- 
tuation ascertains  or  illustrates  our  present  interpretation,  I  will  take  the  paragraph  a 
few  lines  higher,  with  a  short  analysis  : — "  Let  every  flower  be  strewed  on  the  hearse 
where  Lycidas  lies,  so  to  flatter  ourselves  for  a  moment  with  the  notion  that  his  corpse 
is  present;  and  this  (ah  me  !)  while  the  seas  are  wafting  it  here  and  there,  whether 
beyond  the  Hebrides,  or  near  the  shores  of  Cornwall,"  Ac. — T.  Warton. 

I  Namancos, 
I  once  thought  that  this  name  was  designed  for  the  celebrated  Numantia,  and  that 
Milton  had  adopted  the  spelling  from  some  romance.  In  the  Monthly  Magazine  for 
June  1800,  it  is  observed  that  "  Namancos"  must  have  been  intended  for  the  ancient 
Numantia  near  Tarragona,  on  the  coast  of  Catalonia,  and  that  Milton  has  given  a 
Bpanish  termination  to  the  word.  The  observer  adds,  "  I  am  aware  that  this  place  waa 
on  the  opposite  side  to  Bayona;  but  let  it  be  remembered,  that  they  are  no  common 
eyes  which  look  upon  the  scene ;  that  they  are  no  less  than  those  of  an  archangel." 
Mr.  Dunster,  noticing  the  preceding  criticism,  observes,  that  "  Milton  scarcely  meant 
to  make  his  archangel  look  two  ways  at  once.  "Acceding,"  he  says,  "  to  Namancos 
being  the  ancient  Numantia,  I  shall  not  hesitate  to  consider  '  Bayona's  hold'  as  tho 
French  Bayonne  with  its  citadel,  a  very  strong  fortress.  To  this,  Mount's-bay,  or  the 
guarded  mount,  looks  I  believe  more  directly  than  to  the  Spanish  Bayona ;  and  the  line 


710  LTCIDAS. 

Weep  no  more/  woful  shepherds,  weep  no  more  j 
For  Lycidas  your  sorrow  is  not  dead, 
Sunk  though  he  be  beneath  the  watery  floor : 
So  sinks  the  day-star  in  the  ocean  bed, 
And  yet  anon  repairs  his  drooping  head. 
And  tricks  his  beams,  and  with  new-spangled  ore 
Flames  in  the  forehead  of  the  morning  sky : 
So  Lycidas  sunk  low,  but  mounted  high. 
Through  the  dear  might  =*  of  Him  that  walk'd  the  waves ; 
Where  other  groves,  and  other  streams  along. 
With  nectar  pure  his  oozy  locks  he  laves. 
And  hears  the  unexpressive  nuptial  song. 
In  the  blest  kingdoms  meek  of  joy  and  love.* 
There  entertain  him  all  the  saints  above, 
In  solemn  troops,  and  sweet  societies,' 
That  sing,  and  singing,  in  their  glory  move, 
And  wipe  the  tears  for  ever  from  his  eyes.* 
Now,  Lycidas,  the  shepherds  weep  no  more : 
Henceforth  thou  art  the  Genius  of  the  shore, 
In  thy  large  recompense,  and  shalt  be  good 
To  all  that  wander  in  that  perilous  flood. 

of  vision  directed  to  it  would  pass  at  no  great  distance  from  that  part  of  the  Spanish 
coast,  which  lies  nearest  to  the  site  of  the  ancient  Numantia." 

It  will  however  appear  that  the  ancient  Numantia,  and  the  French  Bayonne,  were 
not  the  present  objects  of  Milton's  consideration.  I  have  been  directed  by  a  literary 
friend  to  Mercator's  "Atlas,"  edit.  fol.  Amst.  1623,  and  again  in  1636 ;  and  in  the  map 
of  Galicia,  near  the  point  Cape  Finisterre,  the  desired  place  occurs  thus  written,  "  Nu- 
mancos  T."  In  this  map  the  castle  of  Bayona  makes  a  very  conspicuous  figure.  Milton 
most  probably  recollected  this  geographical  description  of  the  Spanish  province. — Todd. 

y  Weep  no  more,  Ac. 
Milton,  in  this  sudden  and  beautiful  transition  from  the  gloomy  and  mournful  strain 
into  that  of  hope  and  comfort,  imitates  Spenser  in  his  eleventh  Eclogue,  where,  bewailing 
the  death  of  some  maiden  of  great  blood  in  terms  of  the  utmost  grief  and  dejection,  he 
breaks  out  ail  at  once  in  the  same  manner. — Thyer. 

»  Through  the  dear  might,  Ac. 

Of  Him,  over  whom  the  waves  of  the  sea  had  no  power.  It  is  a  designation  of  our 
Saviour,  by  a  miracle  which  bears  an  immediate  reference  to  the  subject  of  the  poem. 
— T.  Warton. 

»  In  the  blest  kingdoms  meek  of  joy  and  love. 

Even  here,  after  Lycidas  is  received  into  heaven,  Milton  does  not  make  him  an  angel: 
ho  makes  him,  indeed,  a  being  of  a  higher  order,  the  Genius  of  the  shore,  as  at  v.  183. 
If  the  poet,  in  finally  disclosing  this  great  change  of  circumstances,  and  in  this  prolix 
and  solemn  description  of  his  friend's  new  situation  in  the  realms  of  bliss  after  so  dis- 
astrous a  death,  had  exalted  him  into  an  angel,  he  would  not  have  forestalled  that  idea, 
according  to  Thyer's  interpretation,  at  v.  163. — T.  Warton. 

•>  In  solemn  troops,  and  siceet  societies. 
Milton's  angelic  system,  containing  many  whimsical  notions  of  the  associations  and 
subordinations  of  these  sons  of  light,  is  to  be  seen  at  largo  in  Thomas  Aquinas  and 
Peter  Lombard  :  but  it  was  not  yet  worn  out  in  the  common  theology  of  his  own  times. 
The  same  system,  which  afforded  so  commodious  a  machinery  for  modern  Christian 
poetry,  is  frequent  in  the  Italian  poets. — T.  Warton. 

^  And  wipe  the  tears  for  ever  from  his  eyes. 
From  Scripture :  Isaiah,  xxv.  8.     Rev.  vii.  17. — Todd. 

<i  And  shalt  he  good,  Ac. 
The  Bame  compliment  that  Virgil  pays  to  his  Daphnis,  "Eel."  v.  64, 

Deus,  Deus  ille,  Menalca  ! 
Sis  bonus,  O,  folixque  tuis  '  &r. — Thybk. 


LTCIDAS.  Til 

Thus  sang  the  uncouth  swain  to  the  oaks  and  rills, 
"While  the  still  morn  went  out  with  sandals  gray  ;* 
He  touch'd  the  tender  stops  of  various  quills/ 
With  eager  thought  warbling  his  Dorick  lay  :* 
And  now  the  sun  had  stretch'd  out  all  the  hills, 
And  now  was  dropt  into  the  western  bay : 
At  last  he  rose,  and  twitch'd  his  mantle  blue : 
To-morrow  to  fresh  woods  and  pastures  new.'' 

e  The  still  mom  went  out  with  sandals  grai/,  &o. 
"  The  gfray  dawn,"—"  Par.  Lost,"  b.  vii.  373.     "  Still,"  because  all  is  silent  at  day- 
break.   But  thou^li  he  began  to  sin^  at  daybreak,  he  was  so  eager,  so  intent  on  his 
song,  that  ho  continue''  till  the  evening. — T.  Wabton. 

^  He  touch'' d  the  tender  stops  of  various  quills. 
Some  readers  are  here  puzzled  with  the  idea  of  such  stops  as  belong  to  the  organ. 
By  "  stops  "  he  here  literally  means  what  we  now  call  the  holes  of  the  flute  or  any 
species  of  pipe.    He  mentions  the  stops  of  an  organ,  but  in  another  manner,  in  "  Par. 
Lost,"  b.  xi.  561.    See  also  b.  vii.  596.— T.  Wartok. 

6  With  eager  thought  warhling  his  Dorich  lay. 

This  is  a  Doric  lay,  because  Theocritus  and  Moschus  had  respectively  written  a 
bucolic  on  the  deaths  of  Daphnis  and  Bion  ;  and  the  name  of  "  Lycidas'"  now  first 
imported  into  English  pastoral,  was  adopted,  not  from  Virgil,  but  from  Theocritus, 
"Idyll."  vii.  27. 

Mr.  Warton  is  mistaken  in  asserting  that  the  name  of  "  Lycidas"  was  first  iipport- 
ed  into  English  pastoral  by  Milton  :  for  Lisle,  in  his  "  Pastorall  Dedication  to  the 
King"  of  his  translation  of  "  Du  Bartas,"  1625,  4to,  says. 

My  former  shepheard's  song  deuised  was 

To  please  great  Scolus  and  his  Lycidas.— Todd. 

••  To-morrow  to  fresh  woods  and  pastures  new. 
So  Ph.  Fletcher,  "  Purp.  Isl."  c.  vi.  st.  77,  edit.  1633.     "  To-morrow  shall  ye  feast 
in  pastures  new." — T.  Wabton. 

I  will  conclude  my  remarks  on  this  poem  with  the  just  observation  of  Mr.  Thyer : 
— "  The  particular  beauties  of  this  charming  pastoral  are  too  striking  to  need  much 
descanting  upon ;  but  wliat  gives  the  greatest  grace  to  the  whole,  is  tliat  natural  and 
agreeable  wildness  and  irregularity  which  run  quite  through  it,  than  which  nothing 
could  be  better  suited  to  express  the  warm  affection  which  Milton  had  for  his  friend, 
and  the  extreme  grief  he  was  in  for  the  loss  of  him.  Grief  is  eloquent,  but  not  for- 
mal."— Newton. 

I  see  no  extraordinary  wildness  and  irregularity,  according  to  Dr.  Newton  [Mr. 
Thyer],  in  the  conduct  of  this  little  poem.  It  is  true,  there  is  a  very  original  air  in 
it,  although  it  be  full  of  classical  imitations  :  but  this,  I  think,  is  owing^  not  to  any 
disorder  in  the  plan,  nor  entirely  to  the  vigour  and  lustre  of  the  expression  :  but,  in 
a  good  degree,  to  the  looseness  and  variety  of  the  metre.  Milton's  ear  was  a  good 
second  to  his  imagination. — Hubd. 

Addison  says,  that  he  who  desires  to  know  whether  he  has  a  true  taste  for  history 
or  not,  should  consider  whether  he  is  pleased  with  Livy's  manner  of  telling  a  story ; 
so,  perhaps  it  mav  be  said,  that  he  who  wishes  to' know  whether  he  has  a  true  taste 
for  poetry  or  not,"should  consider  whether  he  is  highly  delighted  or  not  with  the  pe- 
rusal of  Milton's  "  Lycidas."  If  I  might  venture  to  place  Milton's  works,  according 
to  their  degrees  of  poetic  excellence,  it  should  be  perhaps  in  the  following  order : 
Paradise  Lost,  Comus,  Samson  Agonistes,  Lycidas,  L' Allegro,  II  Penseroso.  The  last 
three  are  in  such  an  exquisite  strain,  says  Fenton,  that  though  he  had  left  no  other 
monuments  of  his  genius  behind  him,  his  name  had  been  immortal.— Jos.  Warton. 

Of  "  Lycidas,"  the  diction  is  harsh,  the  rhymes  uncertain,  and  the  numbers  un- 
pleasing :  what  beauty  there  is,  we  must  therefore  seek  in  the  sentiments  and  images. 
It  is  not  to  be  considered  as  the  effusion  of  real  passion  ;  for  passion  runs  not  after 
remote  allusions  and  obscure  opinions  :  passion  plucks  no  berries  from  the  myrtle 
and  ivy,  nor  calls  upon  Arethuse  and  Mincius,  nor  tells  of  rough  "  Satyrs  "  and 
"  Fauns  with  cloven  heel."    Where  there  is  leisure  for  fiction  there  is  little  grief. 

In  this  poem  there  is  no  nature,  for  there  is  nothing  new :  its  form  is  that  of  a  pastoral, 


712  LYCIDAS. 

easy,  vuigar,  and  therefore  disgusting;  whatever  images  it  can  supply  are  long  ago 
exhausted ;  and  its  inherent  improbability  always  forces  dissatisfaction  on  the  mind. 
When  Cowley  tells  of  Harvey,  that  they  studied  together,  it  is  easy  to  suppose  hoyr 
much  he  must  miss  the  companion  of  his  labours,  and  the  partnc:  of  his  discoveries ; 
but  what  image  of  tenderness  can  be  excited  by  these  lines  ? 

We  drove  afield,  and  both  topothor  heard 
What  time  the  gray-fly  winds  her  sultry  horn, 
Battening  our  nocks  with  the  fresh  dews  of  night. 

We  know  that  they  never  drove  afield,  and  that  they  had  no  flocks  to  batten;  and 
though  it  be  allowed  that  the  representation  may  be  allegorical,  the  true  meaning  is 
80  uncertain  and  remote,  that  it  is  never  sought  because  it  cannot  be  known  when  it 
is  found. 

Among  the  flocks,  and  copses,  and  flowers,  appear  the  heathen  deities ;  Jove  and 
Phoebus,  Neptune  and  ^olus,  with  a  long  train  of  mythological  imagery,  such  as  a 
college  easily  supplies.  Nothing  can  less  display  knowledge,  or  less  exercise  invention, 
than  to  tell  how  a  shepherd  has  lost  his  companion,  and  must  now  feed  his  flocks  alone, 
without  any  judge  of  his  skill  in  piping  !  and  how  one  god  asks  another  what  is  become 
of  Lycidas,  and  how  neither  god  can  tell.  He,  who  thus  grieves,  will  excite  no  sympa- 
thy;  he  who  thus  praises,  will  confer  no  honour. 

This  poem  has  yet  a  grosser  fault  With  these  trifling  actions  are  mingled  the  most 
awful  and  sacred  truths,  such  as  ought  never  to  be  polluted  with  such  irreverend  combi- 
pations.  The  shepherd  likewise  is  now  a  feeder  of  sheep,  and  afterwards  an  ecclesiastical 
pastor,  a  superintendent  of  a  Christian  flock.  Such  equivocations  are  always  unskilful; 
but  here  they  are  indecent,  and  at  least  approach  to  impiety;  of  which,  however,  I 
believe  the  writer  not  to  have  been  conscious.  Such  is  the  power  of  reputation  justly 
acquired,  that  Its  blaze  drives  away  the  eye  from  nice  examination.  Surely  no  man 
could  have  fancied  that  he  read  "  Lycidas"  with  pleasure  had  he  not  known  its  author. 
— Johnson. 

Dr.  Johnson  observes,  that  "  Lycidas"  is  filled  with  the  heathen  deities ;  and  a  long 
train  of  mythological  imagery,  such  as  a  college  easily  supplies ;  but  it  is  such  also, 
as  even  the  court  itself  could  now  have  easily  supplied.  The  public  diversions,  and 
books  of  all  sorts,  and  from  all  sorts  of  writers,  more  especially  compositions  in  poetry, 
were  at  this  time  overrun  with  classical  pedantries  :  but  what  writer,  of  the  same  period, 
has  made  these  obsolete  fictions  the  vehicle  of  so  much  fancy  and  poetical  description  7 
How  beautifully  has  he  applied  this  sort  of  allusion  to  the  druidieal  rocks  of  Denbigh, 
shire,  to  Mona,  and  the  fabulous  banks  of  Deva !  It  is  objected,  that  its  pastoral  form 
is  disgusting ;  but  this  was  the  age  of  pastoral :  and  yet  "  Lycidas"  has  but  little  of  the 
bucolic  cant,  now  so  fashionable.  The  satyrs  and  fauns  are  but  just  mentioned.  If  any 
trite  rural  topics  occur,  how  are  they  heightened ! 

Together  both,  ere  the  high  lawns  appear'd 
Under  the  opening  eyelids  of  the  morn, 
We  drove  afield,  and  both  together  heard 
What  time  the  gray-Hy  winds  her  sultry  horn, 
Battening  our  flocks  with  the  fresh  dews  of  night. 

Jlere  the  daybreak  is  descried  by  the  faint  appearance  of  the  upland  lawns  under  the 
first  gleamsof  light ;  the  sunset  by  the  buzzing  of  the  chaffer :  and  the  night  sheds 
her  fresh  dews  on  their  flocks.  We  cannot  blame  pastoral  imagery j  and  pastoral  al- 
legory, which  carry  with  them  so  much  natural  painting.  In  this  piece  there  is  per- 
haps more  poetry  than  sorrow  :  but  let  us  read  it  for  its  poetry.  It  is  true,  that  passion 
plucks  no  berries  from  the  myrtle  and  ivy,  nor  calls  upon  Arethuse  and  Mincius,  nor 
tells  of  "  rough  Satyrs  witH  cloven  heel :''  but  poetry  does  this  ;  and  in  the  hands  of 
Milton  does  it  with  a  peculiar  and  irresistible  charm.  Subordinate  poets  exercise  no 
invention,  wh'en  they  tell  how  a  shepherd  has  lost  his  companion,  and  must  feed  his 
flocks  alone,  without  any  judge  of  his  .skill  in  piping :  but  Milton  dignifies  and  adorns 
these  common  artificial  incidents  with  unexpected  touches  of  picturesque  beauty, 
with  the  graces  of  sentiment,  and  with  the  novelties  of  original  genius.  It  is  objected 
"  here  is  no  art,  for  there  is  nothing  new."  To  say  nothing  that  there  maj?  be  art 
without  novelty,  as  well  as  novelty  without  art,  I  must  reply  that  this  objection  will 
vanish,  if  we  consider  the  imagery  which  Milton  has  raised  from  local  circumstances. 
Not  to  repeat  the  use  he  has  made  of  the  mountains  of  Wales,  the  Isle  of  Man,  and 
the  river  JDee,  near  which  Lycidas  was  shipwrecked;  let  us  recollect  the  introduction 
of  the  romantic  superstition  of  St.  Michael's  Mount  in  Cornwall,  which  overlooks  the 
Iri.sh  seas,  the  fatal  scene  of  his  friend's  disaster. 

But  the  poetry  is  not  always  unconnected  with  passion.  The  poet  lavishly  describes 
an  ancient  sepulchral  rite,  but  it  is  made  preparatory  to  a  stoke  of  tenderness  ;  he 
calls  for  a  variety  of  flowers  to  decorate  his  friend's  hearse,  supposing  that  his  body 


LTCIDAS.  T13 

A'as  present  and,  forgetting  for  a  while  that  it  was  floating  far  oflf  in  the  ocean.  If  he 
was  drown  3d,  it  was  some  consolation  that  he  was  to  receive  the  decencies  of  buriaL 
This  is  a  pleasing  deception :  it  is  natural  and  pathetic.  But  the  real  catastrophe 
rocurs ;  and  this  circumstance  again  opens  a  new  vein  of  imagination. 

Dr.  .Johnson  censures  Milton  for  his  allegorical  mode  of  telling  that  he  and  Lycidas 
studied  together,  under  the  fictitious  images  of  rural  employments,  in  which  he  says, 
there  can  be  no  tenderness;  and  prefers  Cowley's  lamentation  of  the  loss  of  Harvey, 
the  companion  of  his  labours,  and  the  partner  of  his  discoveries.  I  know  not,  if  in 
this  similarity  of  subject  Cowley  has  more  tenderness;  I  am  sure  he  has  less  poetry: 
I  will  allow  that  he  has  more  wit,  and  more  smart  similes.  The  sense  of  our  author's 
allegory  on  this  occasion  is  obvious,  and  is  just  as  intelligible  as  if  he  had  used  plain 
terms.  It  is  a  fiction,  that,  when  Lycidas  died,  the  woods  and  caves  were  deserted  and 
overgrown  with  wild  thyme  and  luxuriant  vines,  and  that  all  their  echoes  mourned ; 
and  that  the  green  copses  no  longer  waved  their  joyous  leaves  to  his  soft  strains:  but 
we  cannot  here  be  at  a  loss  for  a  meaning;  a  meaning,  which  is  as  clearly  perceived 
as  it  is  elegantly  represented.  This  is  the  sympathy  of  a  true  poet.  We  know  that 
Milton  and  King  were  not  "nursed  07i  the  same  hill;"  that  they  did  not  "feed  the 
same  flock  by  fountain,  shade,  or  rill;"  and  that  "rough  Satyrs"  and  "Fauns  with 
cloven  heel"  never  danced  to  their  "  rural  ditties :"  but  who  hesitates  a  moment  for  the 
application !  Nor  are  such  ideas  more  untrue,  certainly  not  less  far-fetched  and  unna- 
tural, than  when  Cowley  says  that  he  and  Harvey  studied  together  every  night  with 
Buch  unremitted  diligence,  that  the  twin  stars  of  Leda,  so  famed  for  love,  looked  down 
upon  the  twin  students  with  wonder  from  above.  And  where  is  the  tenderness,  when 
he  wishes,  that,  on  the  melancholy  event,  the  branches  of  the  trees  at  Cambridge, 
under  which  they  walked,  would  combine  themselves  into  a  darker  umbrage,  dark  as 
the  grave  in  which  his  departed  friend  was  newly  laid  ?  Our  author  has  also  been  cen- 
sured for  mixing  religious  disputes  with  pagan  and  pastoral  ideas :  but  he  had  the 
authority  of  the  Mantuan  and  Spenser,  now  considered  as  models  in  this  way  of  writing. 
Let  me  add,  that  our  poetry  was  not  yet  purged  from  its  Gothic  combinations ;  nor  had 
legitimate  notions  of  discrimination  and  propriety  so  far  prevailed,  as  sufficiently  to 
influence  the  growing  improvements  of  English  composition.  These  irregularities 
and  incongruities  must  not  be  tried  by  modern  criticism. — T.  AVaeton. 

The  rhymes  and  numbers,  which  Dr.  Johnson  condemns,  appear  to  me  as  eminent 
proofs  of  the  poet's  judgment;  exhibiting  in  their  varied  and  arbitrary  disposition, 
an  ease  and  gracefulness,  which  infinitely  exceed  the  formal  couplets  or  alternate 
rhymes  of  modern  Elegy.  Lamenting  also  the  prejudice  which  has  pronounced 
"Lycidas"  to  be  vulgar  and  disgusting,  I  shall  never  cease  to  consider  this  monody 
as  the  sweet  effusion  of  a  most  poetic  and  tender  mind ;  entitled,  as  well  by  its  beau- 
tiful melody,  as  by  the  frequent  grandeur  of  its  sentiments  and  language,  to  the  ut- 
most enthusiasm  of  admiration. — Todd. 
90 


L'ALLEGKO  AND  IL  PENSEKOSO. 


PRELIMINARY  NOTES 

ON 

L'ALLEGRO   AND   IL   PENSEROSO. 


XT  will  be  no  detraction  from  the  powers  of  Milton's  original  genius  and  invention  to 
remark,  that  he  seems  to  have  borrowed  the  subject  of  "  L' Allegro"  and  "  H  Penseroso," 
together  with  some  particular  thoughts,  expressions,  and  rhymes,  more  especially  the 
idea  of  a  contrast  between  these  two  dispositions,  from  a  forgotten  poem  prefixed  to  the 
first  edition  of  Burton's  "  Anatomic  of  Melancholy,"  entitled  "The  Author's  Abstract  of 
Melancholy ;  or,  a  dialogue  between  Pleasure  and  Pain."  Here  Pain  is  Melancholy 
It  was  written,  as  I  conjecture,  about  the  year  1600.  I  will  make  no  apology  for 
abstracting  and  citing  as  much  of  this  poem,  as  will  be  suflScient  to  prove  to  a  discern- 
ing reader  how  far  it  had  taken  possession  of  Milton's  mind.  The  measure  will  appear 
to  be  the  same ;  and,  that  our  author  was  at  least  an  attentive  reader  of  Burton's  book, 
will  be  perhaps  concluded  from  the  traces  of  resemblance  which  may  be  noticed  in 
passing  through  the  "  L'Allegro"  and  "  II  Penseroso." 

When  I  goe  musing  all  alone, 
Thinking  of  diverse  things  foreknown; 
When  I  build  castles  in  the  ayre, 
Voide  of  sorrow,  voide  of  feare  ; 
Pleasing  myself  with  phantasmes  sweet; 
Methinkes  the  time  runnes  very  fleet. 

All  my  joyes  to  this  are  folly; 

Nought  so  sweet  as  Melancholy  ! 
When  to  myself  I  act  and  smile  ; 
With  pleasing  thoughts  tlie  time  beguile, 
By  a  brooke  side,  or  wood  so  greone, 
Vnheard,  vnsought  for,  and  vnseene; 
A  thousand  pleasures  do  me  blesse,  &c. 
Methinkes  I  hear,  methinkes  I  see, 
Sweet  musicke,  wondrous  melodle  ; 
Townes,  palaces,  and  cities  fine, 
Rare  beauties,  gallant  ladies  shine ; 
Whate'er  is  louely  or  diuine : 

All  other  joyes  to  this  are  folly  : 

Nought  so  sweet  as  Melancholy  ! 
Methmkes  I  heare,  methinkes  I  see, 
Ghostes,  goblins,  fiendes :  my  phantasie 

Presents  a  thousand  vgly  shapes  ; 

Doleful  outories,  fearfuU  sightes, 
My  sad  and  dismall  soul  affrightes : 

All  my  griefes  to  this  are  folly  : 

Nought  so  damnde  as  Meiancholy ! 

In  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  "  Nice  Valour,  or  Passionate  Madman,"  there  is  a  beau- 
tiful song  on  Melancholy,  some  of  the  sentiments  of  which,  as  Sympson  long  since 
observed,  appear  to  have  been  dilated  and  heightened  in  the  "  II  Penseroso."  Milton 
has  more  frequently  and  openly  copied  the  plays  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  than  of 
Shakspeare :  one  is  therefore  surprised,  that  in  his  panegyric  on  the  stage,  he  did  not 
mention  the  twin-bards,  when  he  celebrates  the  "learned  sack"  of  Jonson,  and  the 
"  wood-notes  wild"  of  Shakspeare :  but  he  concealed  his  love. — T.  Warton. 

I  will  add  the  song  from  "  Nice  Valour,"  together  with  the  remarks  of  an  ingenious 
critic  on  its  application  to  "  H  Penseroso :" — 

(714) 


L'ALLEGRO  AND  IL  PENSEROSO.  115 

1. 

Hence,  all  yoa  vain  delights, 
As  short  as  are  the  nights 

Wherein  you  spend  your  folly; 
There's  nought  in  this  life  sweet, 
If  wise  men  were  to  see't, 

But  only  Melancholy, 

O,  sweetest  Melancholy ! 
2. 
Welcome,  folded  arms,  and  fixed  eyes; 
A  sigh,  that,  piercing,  raortiiies; 
A  look,  that's  fasten'd  to  the  ground  : 
A  tongue  chain'd  up  without  a  sound. 

3. 
Fountam-heads,  and  pathless  groves; 
Places  which  pale  passion  loves; 
Moonlight  walks,  when  all  the  fowls 
Are  warmly  housed,  save  bats  and  owls ; 

A  midnight  bell,  a  parting  groan ; — 

These  are  the  sounds  we  feed  upon : 
Then  stretch  our  bones  in  a  still  gloomy  valley : 
Nothing's  so  dainty-sweet  as  lovely  Melancholy. 

♦'It  would  be,  doubtless,  in  the  opinion  of  all  readers,  going  too  far  to  say,  that  this 
song  deserves  as  much  notice  as  the  'Penseroso'  itself:  but  it  so  happens,  that  very 
little  of  the  former  can  remain  unnoticed,  whenever  the  latter  is  praised.  Of  this  song, 
the  construction  is,  in  the  first  place,  to  be  admired :  it  divides  into  three  parts :  the 
first  part  displays  the  moral  of  melancholy;  the  second,  the  person  or  figure;  the  third, 
the  circumstance,  that  is,  such  things  as  increase  or  flatter  the  disposition :  nor  is  it 
surprising  that  Milton  should  be  struck  with  the  images  and  sentiments  it  aflfords,  most 
of  which  are  somewhere  inserted  in  the  *  H  Penseroso.'  It  will  not,  however,  be  found 
to  have  contributed  much  to  the  construction  of  Milton's  poem :  the  subjects  they 
severally  exhibit  are  very  different:  they  are  alike  only,  as  shown  under  the  same 
disposition  of  melancholy.  Beaumont's  is  the  melancholy  of  the  swain ;  of  the  mind, 
that  contemplates  nature  and  man  but  in  the  grove  and  the  cottage :  Milton's  is  that 
of  a  scholar  and  philosopher;  of  the  intellect,  that  has  ranged  the  mazes  of  science, 
and  that  decides  upon  vanity  and  happiness,  from  large  intercourse  with  man,  and 
upon  extensive  knowledge  and  experience.  To  say,  therefore,  that  Milton  was  indebted 
to  Beaumont's  song  for  his  'Penseroso,'  would  be  absurd:  that  it  supplied  some  images 
to  his  poem  will  be  readily  allowed ;  and  that  it  would  be  diflScult  to  find,  throughout 
the  '  Penseroso,'  amidst  all  its  variety,  any  more  striking  than  what  Beaumont's  second 
stanza  affords,  may  also  be  granted.  Milton's  poem  is  among  those  happy  works  of 
genius,  which  leave  a  reader  no  choice  how  his  mind  shall  be  affected." — '*  Cursory 
Remarks  on  some  of  the  ancient  English  Poets,  particularly  Milton." — Lend,  printed, 
but  not  published,  1789,  p.  114. 

The  date  of  these  poems  has  not  been  ascertained;  but  Mr.  Hayley  has  observed, — 
"It  seems  probable,  that  these  two  enchanting  pictures  of  rural  life,  and  of  the  diversi- 
fied delights  arising  from  a  contemplative  mind,  were  composed  at  Horton ;"  to  which 
place  Milton  went  to  reside  with  his  father  in  1632,  and  where  he  continued  at  least 
five  vears. — Todd. 

INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS.  / 

When  Milton's  juvenile  poems  were  revived  into  notice  about  the  middle  of  the  last 
century,  these  two  short  lyrics  became,  I  think,  the  most  popular :  they  are  very  beau- 
tiful :  but  in  my  opinion  far  from  the  best  of  the  poet's  youthful  productions :  they  have 
far  less  invention  than  "  Comus"  or  "Lycidas;"  and  surely  invention  is  the  primary  essen- 
tial :  they  have  more  of  fancy  than  invention,  as  those  two  words  are  in  moaem  use 
distinguished  from  each  other.  Besides,  it  is  clear  that  they  were  suggested  by  the 
poem  prefixed  to  "  Burton's  Anatomie  of  Melancholy,"  and  a  song  in  the  "  Nice  Valour" 
of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 


Y16  L' ALLEGRO  AND  IL  PENSEROSO. 

There  is  here  no  fable,  which  is  absolutely  necessary  for  prime  poetry :  the  rural 
descriptions  are  fresh,  forcible,  picturesque,  and  most  happily  selected  ;  but  still  many 
of  them  seem  to  me  much  less  original  than  those  of  "Lycidas"  and  "  Comus:"  and 
though  there  is  a  certain  degree  of  contemplative  sentiment  in  them  all,  it  is  not  of  so 
passionate  or  sublime  a  kind  as  in  those  other  exquisite  pieces,  in  which  there  is  more 
of  moral  instruction  and  mingled  intellect;  and,  in  short,  vastly  more  of  spirituality. 

The  scenery  ol  nature,  animate  and  inanimate,  derives  its  most  intense  interest  from 
its  connexion  with  our  moral  feelings  and  duties,  and  our  ideal  visions.     If  I  am  not 
mistaken,  Gray  thought  this,  when  he  spoke  of  merely  descriptive  poems.     Gray's  own 
stanza, in  his  "Fragment  on  Vicissitude,"  beginning 
Yesternight  the  sullen  year 
Saw  tha  snowy  whirlwind  fly  .  .  . 

perhaps  the  finest  stanza  in  his  poems,  is  a  most  striking  example  of  this  sublime  com- 
bination. 

I  say,  that  these  two  admired  lyrics  of  Milton  have  less  of  this  combination  than  I 
could  wish  :  they  were  written  in  the  buoyancy  and  joyousness  of  youth,  though  the 
joyousness  of  the  latter  is  pensive  :  all  was  yet  hope  with  the  poet;  none  of  the  evils 
of  life  had  yet  come  upon  him  :  it  was  the  joy  of  mental  display  and  visionary  glory; 
of  a  mind  proudly  displaying  its  own  richness,  and  throwing  from  its  treasures  beams 
of  light  on  all  external  objects  :  but  it  was  the  rapidity  of  a  ferment  too  much  in  motion 
to  allow  it  to  wait  long  enough  on  particular  topics ;  therefore  there  was  in  these  two 
productions  less  intensity  than  in  most  of  the  author's  other  poetry  :  he  is  here  gene- 
rally content  to  describe  the  surface  of  what  he  notices.  His  learned  allusions  abound, 
though  not  so  much  perhaps  as  in  most  of  his  other  writings  :  these,  however,  are  not 
the  proofs  of  his  genius,  but  only  of  his  memory  and  industry. 

I  admit,  that  the  choice  of  the  imagery  of  these  pieces  could  only  have  been  made 
by  a  true  poet,  of  nice  discernment  and  brilliant  fancy ;  of  a  mind  constantly  occupied 
by  contemplation,  and  skilful  in  making  use  of  all  those  superstitions  in  which  the 
visionary  delight;  and  that  the  whole  are  woven  into  one  web  of  congenial  associa- 
tions, which  make  a  beautiful  and  splendid  constellation :  still  a  large  portion  of  the 
ingredients,  taken  separately,  have  been  anticipated  by  other  poets. 

These  remarks  will  probably  draw  forth  the  question,  "  Whence  then  has  arisen  tha 
superior  popularity  of  these  two  compositions  ?"  I  may  now  be  forgiven  for  asserting, 
that  popularity  is  a  doubtful  test  of  merit.  One  reason  may  be,  that  they  are  more 
easily  understood ;  that  they  are  less  laboured,  and  less  deep :  that  they  do  not  try 
and  fatigue,  either  the  heart  or  the  intellect.  The  mass  of  the  people  like  slight 
amusement,  and  subjects  of  easy  apprehension  :  the  greater  part  of  Milton's  poetry  is 
too  solemn  and  thought-working  for  their  taste  or  their  power. 

In  the  sublime  bard's  latter  poems, — in  his  epics  and  his  drama, — and  even  in  his 
early  monody  of  "  Lycidas," — his  rural  images,  though  not  more  picturesque,  nor  per- 
haps, except  in  "  Lycidas,"  quite  so  fresh,  yet  derive  a  double  force  from  their  position; 
— from  the  circumstances  of  the  persons  on  whom  they  are  represented  as  acting  ; — as 
for  instance,  on  Adam,  Eve,  Satan,  our  Saviour,  Samson,  and  on  the  mourners  for  the 
death  of  Lycidas. 

When  thj  description  of  scenery  forms  part  of  a  fable,  and  is  connected  with  the 
development  of  a  story,  the  mind  of  the  reader  is  already  worked  up  into  a  state  of 
sensitiveness  and  sympathy,  which  confers  upon  surrounding  objects  hues  of  augmented 
impression. 

"When  Milton  recalls  to  his  mind  those  images  with  which  he  had  been  familiar  in 
the  society  of  his  friend  Lycidas,  they  awaken,  from  the  accident  of  his  death,  affec- 
tions and  regrets  which  they  never  had  done  hefore.  When  Eve  is  about  to  be  expelled 
from  Paradise,  how  she  grieves  over  her  lost  flowers  and  garden-delights  !  How  the 
"air  of  heaven,  fresh-blowing,"  invigorates  and  charms  Samson,  when  brought  out 
from  a  close  prison !  How  affecting  is  the  scene  in  the  wilderness,  when,  after  a  night  of 
tremendous  tempest,  our  Saviour  is  cheered  by  a  balmy  morning  of  extreme  brilliance  ! 

These  are  what  make  fable  necessary  to  constitute  the  highest  poetry.  I  do  not 
recollect  that  this  has  been  sufficiently  insisted  upon  by  former  critics  :  the  want  of  it 
is  assuredly  experienced  in  Thompson's  beautifully  descriptive  poem  of  the  '  Seasons.' 


L' ALLEGRO.  fl7 


L'ALLEGRO.* 

Hence,  loathed  Melancholy, 

Of  Cerberus  and  blackest  Midnight  born,» 

In  Stygian  cave  forlorn, 

'Mongst  horrid  shapes,  and  shrieks,  and  sights  unholy  I 
Find  out  some  uncouth  cell. 

Where  brooding  darkness  spreads  his  jealous  wings,'' 

And  the  night-raven  sings  : 
There,  under  ebon  shades,  and  low-brow' d  rocks, 
As  ragged  as  thy  locks. 

In  dark  Cimmerian  desert  ever  dwell.* 

But  come,  thou  goddess  fair  and  free, 
In  Heaven  yclep'd  Euphrosyne, 
And  by  men,  heart-easing  Mirth ; 
Whom  lovely  Venus,  at  a  birth, 
With  two  sister  Graces  *  more. 
To  ivy-crowned  Bacchus  bore  : 
Or  whether,  as  some  sager  sing,* 
The  frolick  wind,  that  breathes  the  spring, 
Zephyr,  with  Aurora  playing. 
As  he  met  her  once  a-Maying ; ' 

*  These  are  airs,  "  that  take  the  prison'd  soul,  and  lap  it  in  Elysium."  — Hubd. 
»  Hence,  loathed  Melancholy, 
Of  Cerberus  and  blackest  Midnight  horn, 
Erebus,  not  Cerberus,  was  the  legitimate  husband  of  Night.     "Tanebrae,  miseria, 
querela,  somnia,  quos  omnes  Erebo  et  Nocte  nates  ferunt." — Cicero,  "de  Nat.  Deor."b. 
Hi.  17.     Milton  was  too  universal  a  scholar  to  be  unacquainted  with  this  mythology: 
but  as  Melancholy  is  here  the  creature  of  Milton's  imagination,  he  had  a  right  to  give 
her  what  parentage  he  pleased,  and  to  marry  Night,  the  natural  mother  of  Melancholy, 
to  any  ideal  husband  that  would  best  serve  to  heighten  the  allegory. — T.  Wabton. 

•>  Jealous  wings. 
Alluding  to  the  watch  which  fowl  keep  when  they  are  sitting. — ^Wabburton. 

*  In  dark  Cimmerian  desert  ever  dwell. 
It  should  be  remembered,  that  "  Cimmeriae  tenebrae"  were  anciently  proverbial.    The 
execration  in  the  text  is  a  translation  of  a  passage  in  one  of  his  own  academic  Prolu- 
sions:— "Dignus  qui  Cimmeriis  occlusus  tenebris  longam  et  perosam  vitam  transigat." 
"Pr.  W."  vol.  ii.  587.— T.  Wabton. 

d  Two  stater  Onuces. 
Meat  and  Drink,  the  two  sisters  of  Mirth. — Wabbubton. 

e  Some  sager  sing. 
Because  those  who  give  to  Mirth  such  gross  companions  as  Eating  and  Drinking, 
are  the  less  sage  mythologists. — Warbubton. 

^Zephyr,  with  Aurora  playing , 
As  he  met  her  once  a-Maying. 
The  rhymes  and  imagery  are  from  Jonson,  in  the  Mask  at  Sir  William  Comwallis's 
house  at  Highgate,  1604. 

See.  who  here  is  come  a-Maying: 
Why  left  we  off  our  playing  1 

This  song  is  sung  by  Zephyrus  and  Aurora,  Milton's  two  paramours,  and  Flora. — T. 
Wabton. 


There  on  beds  of  violets  blue, 
And  fresh-blown  roses  wash'd  in  dew,s 
Fiird  her  with  thee  a  daughter  fair, 
So  buxom,  blithe,  and  debonair. 

Haste  thee,  nymph,  and  bring  with  thee 
Jest,  and  youthful  jollity, 
Quips,  and  cranks,''  and  wanton  wiles. 
Nods,  and  becks,  and  wreathed  smiles,* 
Such  as  hang  on  Hebe's  cheek, 
And  love  to  live  in  dimple  sleek ; 
Sport  that  wrinkled  Care  derides. 
And  Laughter  holding  both  his  sides. 
Come,  and  trip  it  as  you  go,J 
On  the  light  fantastick  toe  j 
And  in  thy  right  hand  lead  with  thee 
The  mountain-nymph,  sweet  Liberty ; " 
And,  if  I  give  thee  honour  due. 
Mirth,  admit  me  of  thy  crew, 
To  live  with  her,  and  live  with  thee, 
In  unreproved  pleasures  free.; ' 
To  hear  the  lark  begin  his  flight," 

e  And  fresh-blown  roses  wasVd  in  dew. 
So  Shakspeare,  as  Mr.  Bowie  observes,  "Tam.  Shr."  a.  ii.  s.  1: 

She  looks  as  clear, 
As  morning  roses  newly  wash'd  with  dew.— T.  Warton. 

•»  Quips  and  cranks. 
A  "quip"  is  a  satirical  joke,  a  smart  repartee.  By  "cranks,"  a  word  yet  unex- 
plained, I  think  we  are  here  to  understand  cross-purposes,  or  some  other  similar  con- 
ceit of  conversation,  surprising  the  company  by  its  intricacy,  or  embarrassing  by  its 
difficulty.  Our  author  has  "  cranks,"  which  his  context  explains,  "  Pr.  W."  i.  165  : 
"  To  show  us  the  ways  of  the  Lord,  straight  and  faithful  as  they  are,  not  full  of  cranks 
and  contradictions." — T.  Wakton. 

i  Wreathed  smiles. 
In  a  smile  the  features  are  "  wreathed,"  or  curled,  twisted,  &c. — T.  Waeton. 

J  Come,  and  trip  it  as  you  go,  &c. 
,  An  imitation  of  Shakspeare,  "  Tempest,"  a.  iv.  s.  2.    Ariel  to  the  spirits : — 

Come  and  go. 
Each  one  tripping  on  his  toe.— Newton. 

^  The  mountain  nymph,  sweet  Liberty. 
Dr.  Newton  supposes,  that  Liberty  is  here  called  the  mountain-nymph,  "because 
the  people  in  mountainous  countries'  have  generally  preserved  their  liberties  longest, 
as  the  Britons  formerlj^  in  Wales,  and  the  mhabitants  in  the  mountains  of  Switzer- 
land at  this  day."  Milton's  head  was  not  so  political  on  this  occasion  :  warmed  with 
the  poetry  of  the  Greeks,  I  rather  believe  that  he  thought  of  the  Oreads  of  the 
Greeeian  mvthologj^,  whose  wild  haunts  among  the  romantic  mountains  of  Pisa  are 
so  beautifully  described  in  Homer's  "  Hymn  to  Pan."  The  allusion  is  general,  to  in- 
accessible and  uncultivated  scenes  of  nature,  such  as  mountainous  situations  aff"ord, 
and  which  were  best  adapted  to  the  free  and  uninterrupted  range  of  the  nymph  Li- 
berty. He  compares  Eve  to  an  Oread,  certainly  without  any  reference  to  Wales  or 
the  Swiss  cantons,  in  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  ix.  387.  See  also  "£1."  v.  127:— 
Atque  aliquam  cupidus  prsedatur  Oreada  Faunas.— T.  Warton. 

'  In  unreproved  pleasures  free. 
That  is,  blameless,  innocent,  not  subiect  to  reproof.     See  "Paradise  Lost,"  b.  iv. 
492.— T.  Warton. 

•"  To  hear  the  lark  begin  his  flight,  &c. 
There  is  a  peculiar  propriety  in  "  startle :"  the  lark's  is  a  sudden  shrill  burst  of  song. 


L' ALLEGRO.  tl9 


And  singing,  startle  the  dull  night," 

From  his  watch-tower  in  the  skies, 

Till  the  dappled  dawn  doth  rise ; 

Then  to  come,  in  spite  of  sorrow, 

And  at  my  window  bid  good  morrow, 

Through  the  sweet-briar,  or  the  vine, 

Or  the  twisted  eglantine  :  ° 

While  the  cock  with  lively  din. 

Scatters  the  rear  of  Darkness  thin  j  > 

And  to  the  stack,  or  the  barn-door. 

Stoutly  struts  his  dames  before  :  \ 

Oft  listening  how  the  hounds  and  horu 

Cheerly  rouse  the  slumbering  morn,* 

From  the  side  of  some  hoar  hill. 

Through  the  high  wood  echoing  shrill  j 

Both  in  "L' Allegro"  and  "II  Penseroso"  there  seem  to  be  two  parts;  the  one  a  day 
piece,  and  the  other  a  night  piece.  Here,  or  with  three  or  four  of  the  preceding  lines, 
our  author  begins  to  spend  the  day  with  mirth. — T.  Warton. 

n  Startle  the  dull  night. 
So  in  "  King  Henry  V."  a.  iv.  Chorus : — 

Piercing  the  night's  dull  ear. — Stkbvxrs. 

0  Through  the  sweet-briar,  or  the  vinep 
Or  the  ticisted  eglantine. 
Sweet-briar  and  eglantine  ale  the  same  plant :  by  the  "  twisted  eglantine"  he  there- 
fore means  the  honeysuckle.     All  three  are  plants  often  growing  against  the  side  or 
walls  of  a  house. — T.  Warton. 

P  The  rear  of  darkness  thin. 
Darkness  is  a  person  above,  v.  6 :  and  in  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  iii.  712 :  and  in  Spen- 
ler,  "Fa.  Qu."i.  vii.  23:— 

VlThore  Darknesse  he  in  deepest  dungeon  drove. 
And  in  Manilius,  i.  126 : — 

mundumque  enixa  nitentera, 
Fugit  in  infernas  Caligo  pulsa  tenebras. 

But,  if  we  take  in  the  context,  he  seems  to  have  here  personified  Darkness  from 
"  Komeo  and  Juliet,"  a.  ii.  s.  3 : — 

The  grey-eyed  Morn  smiles  on  the  frowning  night, 
Checkering  the  eastern  clouds  with  streaks  of  light; 
And  flecked  Darkness,  like  a  drunkard,  reels 
From  forth  day's  pathway. 

For  here  too  we  have  by  implication  Milton's  "dappled  dawn,"  v.  44:  but  more 
expressly  in  "Much  Ado  about  Nothing,"  a.  v.  s.  3 : — 

And  look,  the  gentle  day, 
Dapples  the  drowsy  east  with  spots  of  gray 

So  also  Dmmmond,  "  Sonnets,"  edit.  1616  : 

Sith,  winter  gone,  the  sunne  in  dapled  skie 
Now  smiles  on  raeadowes,  &c T.  Waeton. 

q  Rouse  the  slumbering  morn. 
The  same  expression,  as  Mr.  Bowie  observes,  occurs  with  the  same  rhymes,  in  an  ele- 
gant triplet  of  an  obscure  poet,  John  Habington,  "  Castara,"  edit  1640,  p.  8 : — 

The  nymphes  with  quivers  shall  adorne 
Thoir  active  sides,  and  rouse  the  mome 
With  the  shrill  musicke  of  the  home. — T.  Waeton. 

I  do  not  know  why  Warton  calls  William  Habington,  whom  he  misnames  John,  "an 
obscure  poet:"  he  was  a  very  elegant  one,  and  has  latterly  been  again  brought  into 
notice  and  praise. 

Milton  was  here  indebted  to  Quarini,  "  Pastor  Fido,"  where  the  "slumbering  mom 
is  roused,"  a.  i.  s.  1. — Todd. 


120  L'ALLEGRO. 


Some  time  walking,  not  unseen,' 
By  hedge-row  elms,  on  hillocks  green, 
Right  against  the  easteijn  gate, 
Where  the  great  sun  begins  his  state,* 
Robed  in  flames,  and  amber  light. 
The  clouds  in  thousand  liveries  dight  j  ♦ 
While  the  plowman  near  at  hand, 
Whistles  o'er  the  furrow'd  land, 
And  the  milkmaid  singeth  blithe, 
And  the  mower  whets  his  sithe. 
And  every  shepherd  tells  his  tale 
Under  the  hawthorn  in  the  dale." 

r  Not  unseen. 
In  the  "  Penseroso,"  he  walks  "  unseen,"  v.  65,    Happy  men  love  witnesses  of  their 
joy :  the  splenetic  love  solitude. — Hurd. 

•  Right  against  the  eastern  gate, 
Where  the  great  sun  begins  his  state,  &o. 
Gray  has  adopted  the  first  of  these  lines  in  his  "  Descent  of  Odin."  See  also  "  Para- 
dise Lost,"  b.  iv.  542.  Here  is  an  allusion  to  a  splendid  or  royal  procession.  We  have 
the  eastern  gate  again,  in  the  Latin  poem  "  In  Quintum  Novembris,"  v.  133.  Shak- 
gpeare  has  also  the  eastern  gate,  which  is  most  poetically  opened,  "Midsummer  Night's 
Dream,"  a.  iii.  s.  9 : — 

Ev'n  till  the  eastern  gate,  all  fiery  red, 

Opening  on  Neptune  with  fair  blessed  beams, 

Turns  into  yellow  gold  his  salt  green  streams. — T.  Warton. 

t  The  clouds  in  thousand  liveries  dight. 
Literally  from  a  very  puerile  poetical  description  of  the  morning  in  one  of  his  acade- 
mic Prolusions: — "Ipsa  quoque  tellus,  in  adventum  solis,  cultiori  se  induit  vestitu; 
nubesque  juxta,  variis  chlaraydatfe  coloribus,  pompa  solenni,  longoque  ordine,  videntur 
ancillari  surgenti  Deo."  "  Pr.  Works,"  vol.  ii.  586.  And  just  before  we  have  "The 
oock  with  lively  din,"  Ac. — "At  primus  omnium  adventantem  solem  triumphat  insomnis 
gallas."  An  ingenious  critic  observes,  that  this  morning  landscape  of  "  L'Allegro"  has 
served  as  a  repository  of  imagery  for  all  succeeding  poets  on  the  same  subject:  but 
much  the  same  circumstances,  among  others,  are  assembled  by  a  poet  who  wrote  above 
thirty  years  before,  the  author  of  "Britannia's  Pastorals,"  b.  iv.  p.  75.  I  give  the 
passage  at  large  : — 

By  this  had  chanticlere,  the  village  clocke, 

Bidden  the  good  wife  for  her  miiides  to  knocke : 

And  the  swart  plowman  for  his  breakfast  staid, 

That  he  might  till  those  lands  were  fallow  laid  : 

The  hills  and  valleys  here  and  there  resound 

With  the  re-echoes  of  the  deep-mouth'd  hound  : 

Each  sheapherd's  daughter  with  her  cleanly  peale, 

Was  come  afield  to  milke  the  mornings  meale: 

And  ere  the  sunne  had  clymb'd  the  easterne  hils, 

To  guild  the  muttring  bournes  and  petty  rills; 

Before  the  laboring  bee  had  left  the  hiue, 

And  nimble  fishes,  which  in  riuers  diue, 

Began  to  leape,  and  catch  the  drowned  flie, 

I  rose  from  rest. — T.  Wartok. 

«  And  every  shepherd  tells  his  tale 
Under  the  hawthorn  t?i  the  dale. 
It  was  suggested  to  me  by  the  late  ingenious  Mr.  Headly,  that  the  word  "tale"  does 
not  here  imply  stories  told  by  shepberd.s,  but  that  it  is  a  technical  term  for  numbering 
sheep,  which  is  still  used  in  Yorkshire  and  the  distant  counties  :  This  interpretation  I 
am  inclined  to  adopt,  which  I  will  therefore  endeavour  to  illustrate  and  enforce.  "  Tale" 
and  "tell,"  in  this  sense,  were  not  unfamiliar  in  our  poetry,  in  and  about  Milton's  time: 
for  instance,  Dryden's  Virgil,  "  Bucol."  iii.  33  : — 

And  once  she  takes  the  tale  of  all  my  lambs. 
And  in  W.  Browne's  "Shepheard's  Pipe,"  Egl.  v.  edit.  1614, 12mo.    He  is  describing 
the  dawn  of  day  : — 

When  the  shepheards  from  the  fold 
All  their  bleating  charges  told ; 


L'ALLEGRO.  721 


Straight  mine  eye  hath  caught  new  pleasures/ 
Whilst  the  landskip  round  it  measures  j 
Russet  lawns,  and  fallows  gray, 
Where  the  nibbling  flocks  do  stray ; 
Mountains  on  whose  barren  breast 
The  labouring  clouds  do  often  rest ; 
Meadows  trim  with  daisies  pide, 
Shallow  brooks,  and  rivers  wide : 
Towers  and  battlements  it  sees 
Bosom' d  high  in  tufted  trees,'' 
Where  perhaps  some  beauty  lies, 
The  Cynosure  of  neighbouring  eyes.^ 

And.  full  careful,  search'd  if  one 

Of  all  the  flock  was  hurt,  or  gone,  &c. 

But  let  us  analyze  the  context.  The  poet  is  describing  a  very  early  period  of  the 
morning;  and  this  he  describes  by  selecting  and  assembling  such  picturesque  objects 
as  accompany  that  period,  and  such  as  were  familiar  to  an  early  riser.  He  is  waked  by 
the  lark,  and  goes  into  the  fields :  the  sun  is  just  emerging,  and  the  clouds  are  still 
hovering  over  the  mountains:  the  cocks  are  crowing,  and  with  their  lively  notes  scatter 
the  lingering  remains  of  darkness :  human  labours  and  employments  are  renewed 
with  the  dawn  of  the  day :  the  hunter  (formerly  much  earlier  at  his  sport  than  at  pre- 
sent) is  beating  the  covert,  and  the  slumbering  morn  is  roused  with  the  cheerful  echo 
of  hounds  and  horns :  the  mower  is  whetting  his  scythe  to  begin  his  work :  the  milk- 
maid, whose  business  is  of  course  at  daybreak,  comes  abroad  singing :  the  shepherd 
opens  his  fold,  and  takes  the  "  tale"  of  his  sheep,  to  see  if  any  were  lost  in  the  night,  as 
in  the  passage  just  quoted  from  Browne.  Now  for  shepherds  to  tell  tales,  or  to  sing,  is 
a  circumstance  trite,  common*  and  general,  and  belonging  only  to  ideal  shepherds ;  nor 
do  I  know,  that  such  shepherds  tell  tales,  or  sing,  more  in  the  morning  than  at  any 
other  part  of  the  day  :  a  shepherd  taking  the  "  tale"  of  his  sheep  which  are  just  unfolded, 
is  1  new  image,  correspondent  and  appropriated,  beautifully  descriptive  of  a  period  of 
time,  is  founded  in  fact,  and  is  more  pleasing  as  more  natural. — T.  Warton. 
T  Straight  mine  eye  hath  caught  new  pleasures. 

There  is,  in  my  opinion,  great  beauty  in  this  abrupt  and  rapturous  start  of  the  poet'f 
imagination,  as  it  is  extremely  well  adapted  to  the  subject,  and  carries  a  very  pretty 
allusion  to  those  sudden  gleams  of  vernal  delight,  which  break  in  upon  the  mind  at  the 
sight  of  a  fine  prospect — Thyer. 

w  Towers  and  battlements  it  sees 
Bosom'd  high  in  tufted  trees. 

This  was  the  great  mansion-house  in  Milton's  early  days,  before  th.e  old-fashioned 
architecture  had  given  way  to  modern  arts  and  improvements.  Turrets  and  battle- 
ments were  conspicuous  marks  of  the  numerous  new  buildings  of  the  reign  of  king 
Henry  VIII.,  and  of  some  rather  more  ancient,  many  of  which  yet  remained  in  their 
original  state,  unchanged  and  undecayed :  nor  was  that  style,  in  part  at  least,  quite 
omitted  in  Inigo  Jones's  first  manner.  Browne,  in  "Britannia's  Pastorals,"  has  a 
similar  image,  b.  i.  s.  v.  p.  96  : — 

Yond  pallace,  whose  brave  turret  tops 
Ouer  the  statelie  wood  suruay  the  copse. 
Browne  is  a  poet  now  forgotten,  but  must  have  been  well  known  to  Milton.    Where  only 
a  little  is  seen,  more  is  left  to  the  imagination.    These  symptoms  of  an  old  palace,  espe- 
cially when  thus  disposed,  have  a  greater  effect  than  a  discovery  of  larger  parts,  and 
even  a  full  display  of  the  whole  edifice.     The  embosomed  battlements,  and  the  spread- 
ing top  of  the  tall  grove,  on  which  they  reflect  a  reciprocal  charm,  still  farther  interest 
the  fancy  from  the  novelty  of  combination  :  while  just  enough  of  the  towering  structure 
is  shown,  to  make  an  accompaniment  to  the  tufted  expanse  of  venerable  verdure,  and 
to  compose  a  picturesque  association.     With  respect  to  their  rural  residence,  there  was 
a  coyness  in  our  Gothic  ancestors:  modern  seats  are  seldom  so  deeply  ambushed:  tbey 
disclose  all  their  glories  at  once :  and  never  excite  expectation  by  concealment,  by 
gradual  approaches,  and  by  interrupted  appearances. — T.  Warton. 
*  Where  perhaps  some  beauty  lies. 
The  Cynosure  of  neighbouring  eyes. 

Most  probably  from  Burton's  "  Melancholy,"  as  Peck  observes :  but  in  Shakspeare  we 
have  "  your  eyes  are  lodestarres,"  "  Mids.  Night's  Dream,"  a.  i.  s.  1.    And  this  was  no 
91 


722 


L'ALLEGRO. 


Hard  by,  a  cottage  chimney  smoaks 
From  betwixt  two  aged  oaks, 
Where  Corydon  and  Thyrsis,  met, 
Are  at  their  savoury  dinner  set 
Of  herbs  and  other  country  messes, 
Which  the  neat-handed  Phillis  dresses; 
And  then  in  haste  her  bower  she  leaves, 
With  Thestylis  to  bind  the  sheaves ; 
Or,  if  the  earlier  season  lead, 
To  the  tann'd  haycock  in  the  mead. 
Sometimes  with  secure  delight 
The  upland  hamlets^  will  invite, 
When  the  merry  bells  ring  round," 
And  the  jocund  rebecks  sound* 
To  many  a  youth  and  many  a  maid, 
Dancing  in  the  chequer'd  shade  j ' 
And  young  and  old  come  forth  to  play 
On  a  sunshine  holiday, 
Till  the  livelong  daylight  fail : ' 
Then  to  the  spicy  nut-brown  ale,* 

uncommon  compliment  in  Chaucer,  Skelton,  Sidney,  Spenser,  and  other  old  English 
poots,  as  Mr.  Steevens  has  abundantly  proved.     Milton  enlivens  his  prospect  by  this 
unexpected  circumstance,  which  gives  it  a  moral  charm. — T.  Warton. 
y  The  upland  hamlett. 
In  opposition  to  the  hay-making  scene  in  the  lower  lands. — Thter. 

z  ]Vhen  the  merry  bells  ring  round. 
S«>e  Shakspeare,  "  Henry  IV."  P.  ii.  a.  iv.  s.  4 : — 

And  bid  the  merry  bells  ring  to  thine  ear. — T.  Warton. 
a  And  the  jocund  rebecks  sound. 
The  rebeck  was  a  species  of  fiddle ;  and  is,  I  believe,  the  same  that  is  called  in 
Chaucer,  Lydgate,  and  the  old  French  writers,  the  rebible.  It  appears  from  Sylvester's 
"  Du  Bartas,"  that  the  cymbal  was  furnished  with  wires,  and  the  rebeck  with  strings  of 
catgut,  ed.  1621,  p.  221.  "But  wyerie  cymbals,  rebecks  sinewes  twined."  Du  Cange 
quotes  a  middle-aged  barbarous  Latin  poet,  who  mentions  many  musical  instruments  by 
names  now  hardly  intelligible  : — "  Gloss.  Lat.  v.  Baudosa."  One  of  them  is  the  rebeck. 
"  Quidam  rebeccam  arcuabant :"  where  by  arcuahant,  we  are  to  understand  that  it  was 
played  upon  by  a  bow,  arctis.  The  word  occurs  in  Drayton's  "  Eclogues,"  vol.  iv.  p. 
1391.  "He  tuned  his  rebeck  to  a  mournful  note."  And  see  our  author's  "Liberty  of 
Unlicensed  Printing :" — "  The  villages  also  must  have  their  visitors  to  inquire,  what 
lectures  the  bagpipe  and  the  rebeck  reads  even  to  the  gammuth  of  every  municipal 
[to'^vn]  fidler,"  <fcc.  If,  as  I  have  supposed,  it  is  Chaucer's  "ribible,"  the  diminutive 
of  "rebibe,"  used  also  by  Chaucer,  I  must  agree  with  Sir  John  Hawkins,  that  it  origi- 
nally comes  from  "  rebeb,"  the  name  of  a  Moorish  musical  instrument  with  two  strings 
played  on  by  a  bow.  Sir  John  adds,  that  the  Moors  brought  it  into  Spain,  whence  it 
passed  into  Italy,  and  obtained  the  appellation  of  riheca.  Hist.  Mus.  ii.  86.  Perhaps 
we  have  it  from  the  French  rebec  and  rebecquin.  In  the  Percy  household  book,  1512, 
are  recited  "  mynstralls  in  household  iij,  viz.  a  tabarett,  a  luyte,  and  a  rebecc."  It 
appears  below  Queen  Elizabeth's  reign  in  the  music  establishment  of  the  royal  house- 
hold.—T.  Warton. 

•>  Gheqtier'd  shade. 
So,  in  "  Titus  Andronic."  a.  ii.  s.  3  :— 

The  green  leaves  quiver  with  the  cooling  wind 

And  make  a  chequer'd  shadow  on  the  ground. — Richardson. 

<=  Till  the  livelong  daylight  fail.  , 

Here  the  poet  beeins  to  pass  the  night  with  mirth  ;  and  he  begins  with  the  night 
or  evening  of  the  "  sunshine  holyday,"  whose  merriments  he  has  just  celebrated. — 
T.  Warton. 

•d  Then  to  the  spicy  nut-brown  ale. 
This  wa^  Shak8peare"'8  "gossip's  bowl," — "  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  a.  i.  s.  1. 


L'ALLEGRO.  723 


With  stories  told  of  many  a  feat, 
How  faery  Mab  the  junkets  eat : 
She  was  pinch'd  and  pull'd  she  sed  j  • 
And  he,  by  friar's  lantern  led/ 
Tells  how  the  drudging  goblin  swet, 
To  earn  his  cream-bowl  duly  set,s 
When  in  one  night,  ere  glimpse  of  morn, 
His  shadowy  flail  hath  thresh'd  the  com, 
That  ten  day-labourers  could  not  end  : 
Then  lies  him  down  the  lubbar  fiend, 
And,  fitretch'd  out  all  the  chimney's  length, 
Basks  at  the  fire  his  hairy  strength ; 
And  crop-full  out  of  doors  he  flings. 
Ere  the  first  cock  his  matin  rings. 
Thus  done  the  tales,  to  bed  they  creep. 
By  whispering  winds  soon  lull'd  asleep. 
Tower' d  cities  please  us  then,"* 
And  the  busy  hum  of  men. 
Where  throngs  of  knights  and  barons  bold. 
In  weeds  of  peace,  high  triumphs  hold,* 
With  store  of  ladies,  whose  bright  eyes 
Rain  influence,  and  judge  the  prize 

Tho  somposition  was  ale,  nutmeg,  sugar,  toast,  and  roasted  crabs  or  apples :  it  was  called 
lamb's-wool.  Our  old  dramas  have  frequent  allusions  to  this  delectable  beverage.  In 
Fletcher's  "Faithful  Shepherdess"  it  is  styled  "the  spiced  wassel-boul." — T.  Warton. 

e  She  wa»  pinch'd  and  pull'd,  she  sed,  Ac. 
"  He"  and  "  she"  are  persons  of  the  company  assembled  to  spend  the  evening,  after 
a  country  wake,  at  a  rural  junket :  all  this  is  a  part  of  the  pastoral  imagery  which  now 
prevailed  in  our  poetry. — T.  Warton. 

f  And  he,  by  friar's  lantern  led,  <fcc. 
"Friar's  lantern,"  is  the  Jack-and-.lantern,  which  led  people  in  the  night  intc  marshes 
and  waters.     Milton  gives  the  philosophy  of  this  superstition,  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  ix. 
634 — 642.     In  the  midst  of  a  solemn  and  learned  enarration,  his  strong  imagination 
could  not  resist  a  romantic  tradition  consecrated  by  popular  credulity. — T.  Warton. 

B  Tells  hoto  the  drudging  goblin  swet, 
To  earn  his  cream-bowl  duly  set,  Ac. 
This  goblin  is  Robin  Goodfellow.  His  cream-bowl  was  earned,  and  he  paid  the  punc- 
tuality of  those  by  whom  it  was  duly  placed  for  his  refection,  by  the  service  of  threshing 
with  his  invisible  fairy  flail,  in  one  night,  and  before  the  dawn  of  day,  a  quantity  of 
corn  in  the  barn,  which  could  not  have  been  threshed  in  so  short  a  time  by  ten  labourers. 
He  then  returns  into  the  house,  fatigued  with  his  task;  and,  overcharged  with  his 
reward  of  the  cream-bowl,  throws  himself  before  the  fire,  and,  stretched  along  the  whole 
breadth  of  the  fire-place,  basks  till  the  morning. — T.  Warton. 

h  Totcer'd  cities  please  us  then, 

"  Then,"  that  is  at  night.  The  poet  returns  from  his  digression,  perhaps  dispropoi- 
tionately  prolix,  concerning  the  feats  of  fairies  and  goblins,  which  protract  the  conver- 
sation over  the  spicy  bowl  of  a  village  supper,  to  enumerate  other  pleasures  or  amuse- 
ments of  the  night  or  evening.  "  Then"  is  in  this  line  a  repetition  of  the  first  "  Then," 
rer.  100.  Afterwards,  we  have  another  "  Then,"  with  the  same  sense  and  reference, 
ver.  131.  Here  too  is  a  transition  from  mirth  in  the  country  to  mirth  in  the  city. — T 
Wakton. 

'  In  weeds  of  peace  high  triumphs  hold. 

By  "triumphs"  we  are  to  understand,  shows,  such  as  masks,  revels,  Ac,  and  here,  thai 
is  in  these  exhibitions,  there  was  a  rich  display  of  the  most  splendid  dresses,  of  the 
"weeds  of  peace."    See  "Samson  Agonistes,"  v.  1312. — T.  Warton. 


124:  L'ALLEGRO. 


Of  wit  or  arms,  while  both  contend 
To  win  her  grace,  whom  all  commend. 
There  let  Hymen  oft  appear 
In  saffron  robe,  with  taper  clear,  J 
And  pomp,  and  feast,  and  revelry, 
With  masque,  and  antique  pageantry ; " 
Such  sights  as  youthful  poets  dream 
On  summer  eves  by  haunted  stream. 
Then  to  the  well-trod  stage  anon, 
If  Jonson's  learned  sock  be  on;^ 
Or  sweetest  Shakspeare,  Fancy's  child, 
Warble  his  native  wood-notes  wild  ° 

And  ever,  against  eating  cares. 
Lap  me  in  soft  Lydian  airs. 
Married  to  immortal  verse ; 
Such  as  the  meeting  soul  may  pierce, 

J  There  let  Hymen  oft  appear, 
In  saffron  robe,  tcith  taper  clear,  &c. 

For,  according  to  Shakspeare,  "  Love's  Labour's  Lost,"  a.  iv.  e.  3 : — 

Revels,  dnnceg,  masks,  and  merry  hours. 
Forerun  fair  Love,  strewing  her  way  with  flowers. 

Among  these  triumphs,  were  the  masks,  pageantries,  spectacles,  and  revelries,  exhibit- 
ed with  great  splendour,  and  a  waste  of  allegoric  invention,  at  the  nuptials  of  noble 
personages.  Here,  of  course,  the  classical  Hymen  was  introduced  as  an  actor,  properly 
habited,  and  distinguished  by  his  characteristic  symbols. — T.  Warton. 

k  And  pomp,  and  feast,  and  revelry, 
With  mask,  and  antique  pageantry. 

The  revels,  according  to  Minsheu,  were  "sports  of  dauncing,  masking,  comedies,  trage- 
dies, and  such  like,  used  in  the  king's  house,  the  houses  of  court,  or  of  other  great 
personages."  The  "antique  pageants"  were,  at  first,  merely  processions  and  emblem- 
atic spectacles  at  the  public  reception  of  distinguished  personages.  See  Warton's 
"  Hist,  of  Eng.  Poetry,"  vol.  ii.  204.  They  were  afterwards  distinguished  by  speaking 
characters.  From  these  the  poet  proceeds  to  the  "well-trod  stage;"  on  which  expres- 
sion Mr.  Warton  remarks  that  Milton  had  not  yet  gone  such  extravagant  lengths  in 
Puritanism,  as  to  join  with  his  reforming  brethren  in  condemning  the  stage. — Todd. 

I  If  Jonson't  learned  sock  he  on. 
This  expression  occurs  in  Jonson's  recommendatory  verses,  prefixed  to  the  first  folic 
edition  of  Shakspeare's  plays  in  1623  : — 

Or  when  thy  socks  were  on. — T.  Warton. 

m  Or  sweetest  Shakspeare,  Fancy's  child, 
Warble  his  native  ioood-notes  wild. 

There  is  good  reason  to  suppose,  that  Milton  threw  many  additions  and  correctiona 
into  the  "  Theatrum  Poetarum,"  a  book  published  by  his  nephew  Edward  Phillips,  in 
1675  :  it  contains  criticisms  far  above  the  taste  of  that  period :  among  these  is  the  fol- 
lowing judgment  on  Shakspeare,  which  was  not  then,  I  believe,  the  general  opinion, 
and  which  perfectly  coincides  both  with  the  sentiment  and  words  of  the  text: — "In 
tragedy,  never  any  expressed  a  more  lofty  and  tragic  highth,  never  any  represented 
nature  more  purely  to  the  life;  and  where  the  polishments  of  art  are  most  wanting,  as 
probably  his  learning  was  not  extraordinary,  he  pleases  with  a  certain  wild  and  native 
elegance,"  <kc.    "  Mod.  Poets,"  p.  194. — T.  Warton. 

Milton  shows  his  judgment  here  in  celebrating  Shakspeare's  comedies,  rather  than 
his  tragedies :  but  for  models  of  the  latter,  he  refers  us  rightly,  in  his  "  Penseroso,"  to 
the  Grecian  scene,  verse  97. — Hurd. 

The  present  editor  reprinted  Phillips's  "  Theatrum,"  as  far  as  concerned  the  English 
poet«,  in  1800,  and  again  at  Geneva,  in  1824. 


L' ALLEGRO.  725 


In  notes,  with  many  a  winding  bout " 

Of  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out, 

With  wanton  heed  and  giddy  cunning  j " 

The  melting  voice  through  mazes  running, 

Untwisting  all  the  chains  that  tie 

The  hidden  soul  of  harmony ;  p 

That  Orpheus'  self  may  heave  his  head 

From  golden  slumber  on  a  bed 

Of  heap'd  Elysian  flowers,*  and  hear 

Such  strains,  as  would  have  won  the  ear 

Of  Pluto,  to  have  quite  set  free 

His  half-regain'd  Eurydice. 

These  delights  if  thou  canst  give, 
Mirth,  with  thee  I  mean  to  live. 

n  Bout, 

"Bout"  is  a  fold  or  twist,  and  often  naed  in  this  sense  by  Spenser.  See  "Faer. Qu." 
I.  xi.  3.— Todd. 

o  With  leanton  heed  and  giddy  cunning, 

"Cunning"  is  used  in  the  same  sense,  in  our  translation  of  the  Psalms : — "If  1  forget 
thee,  0  Jerusalem,  let  my  right  hand  forget  her  cunning,"  Ps.  cxxxvii.  5.  Which 
Bandys  rightly  paraphrases, — "Let  my  fingers  their  melodious  skill  forget,"  Ps.  ed. 
1648,  p.  210.    Todd. 

p  The  melting  voice  through  mazes  running, 
Untioisting  all  the  chains  that  tie 
The  hidden  soul  of  harmony. 

Mr.  Malone  thinks  that  Milton  has  here  copied  Marston's  comedy,  "What  you  Will," 
1607.     Suppl.  Shaks.  vol.  i.  588  :— 

Cannot  your  trembling  wires  throw  a  chain 
Of  powerful  rapture  'bout  our  mazed  sense  ? 

But  the  poet  is  not  displaying  the  effect  of  music  on  the  senses,  but  of  a  skilful  musi- 
cian on  music.  Milton's  meaning  is  not,  that  the  senses  are  enchained  or  amazed  by 
music ;  but  that,  as  the  voice  of  the  singer  runs  through  the  manifold  mazes  cr  intrica- 
cies  of  sound,  all  the  chains  are  untwisted  which  imprison  and  entangle  the  hidden 
soul,  the  essence  or  perfection,  of  harmony.  In  common  sense,  let  music  be  made  to 
show  all,  even  her  most  hidden  powers. — T.  Waeton. 

q  Of  heap'd  Elysian  flowers. 

See  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  iii.  359.  Mr.  Warton  adds,  that  Milton's  florid  style  has  thij 
distinstisn  from  that  of  most  other  poets;  that  it  is  marked  with  a  degree  of  dignity, 
Pope  hftB  borrowed  Milton's  "  Elysian  flowers,"  in  his  "  Ode  on  St  Cecilia's  Day."— 
Todd. 


IL  PENSEROSO. 

Hence,  vain  deluding  Joys,*  , 

The  brood  of  Folly  without  father  bred  ! 

How  little  you  bested, 
Or  fill  the  fixed  mind  with  all  your  toys ! 
Dwell  in  some  idle  brain, 

And  fancies  fond  with  gaudy  shapes  possess, 

As  thick  *  and  numberless 

As  the  gay-motes  that  people  the  sun-beams  ; 

Or  likest  hovering  dreams. 
The  fickle  pensioners  "^  of  Morpheus'  train. 
But  hail,  thou  goddess,  sage  and  holy. 
Hail,  divinest  Melancholy ! 
Whose  saintly  visage  is  too  bright 
To  hit  the  sense  of  human  sight, 
And  therefore  to  our  weaker  view 
O'erlaid  with  black,  staid  Wisdom's  hue  j 
Black,  but  such  as  in  esteem 
Prince  Memnon's  sister*  might  beseem, 

*  Hence,  vain  deluding  Joys,  &c. 
The  opening  of  this  poem  is  formed  from  a  distich  in  Sylvester,  the  translator  of 
"DuBartas,"  p.  1084:— 

Hence,  hence,  false  pleasures,  momentary  joyes! 
Mocke  us  no  more  with  your  illuding  toyes.— Bowle. 

'i  As  thick,  &c. 
This  imaj^ery  is  immediately  from  Sylvester's  Cave  of  Sleep  in  "Du  Bartas,"  p. 
316,  edit.  fol.  1621.    He  there  mentions  Morpheus,  and  speaks  of  his  "fantasticke 
swarms  of  dreames  that  hovered,"  and  swarms  of  dreams 

Green,  red,  and  yellow,  tawney,  black  and  blew : 
and  these  resemble 

The  unnumbered  moats  which  in  the  sun  do  play. 

And  these  dreams,  from  their  various  colours,  are  afterwards  called  the  "  gawdy 
swarme  of  dreames."  Hence  Milton's  "  fancies  fond,"  "  gaudy  shapes,"  "  numberless 
gay  motes  in  the  sun-beams,"  and  the  "  hovering  dreams  of  Morpheus." — T.  Warton. 

<=  The  fickle  pensioners,  &e. 
"  Fickle  "  is  transitory,  perpetually  shifting,  &c.    "  Pensioners  "  became  a  common 
appellation  in  our  poetry,  for  train,  attendants,  retinue,  &c.    As  in  "  Mids.  Night's 
Dream,"  a.  ii.  s.  1,  of  the  faery  queen  : — 

The  cowslips  tall  her  pensioners  be. 

This  was  in  consequence  of  queen  Elizabeth's  fashionable  establishment  of  a  band  of 
military  courtiers  by  that  name.  They  were  some  of  the  handsomest  and  tallest 
young  men,  of  the  best  families  and  fortune,  that  could  be  found :  they  gave  the  mode 
m  dress  and  diversions  :  they  accompanied  the  queen  in  her  progress  to  Cambridge, 
where  they  held  torches  at  a  play  on  a  Sunday  in  King's  College  chapel.— T.  Warton. 

*  Prince  Mermwn's  sister. 

That  is,  an  Ethiopian  princess,  or  sable  beauty.  Memnon,  king  of  Ethiopia,  being 
an  au.xiliary  of  the  Trqians,  was  slain  by  Achilles.  See  Virg.  "  ^n."  i.  493.  "  Nigri 
Memuonis  arma."    It  does  not  however  appear  that  Memnon  had  any  sister.     Titho- 

(726) 


IL  PENSEROSO.  121 


Or  that  starred  Ethiop  queen  ■  that  strove 

To  set  her  beauty's  praise  above 

The  sea-nymphs,  and  their  powers  offended : 

Yet  thou  art  higher  far  descended  : 

Thee  bright-hair'd  Vesta,  long  of  yore, 

To  solitary  Saturn  bore ; 

His  daughter  she ; '  in  Saturn's  reign, 

Such  mixture  was  not  held  a  stain  : 

Oft  in  glimmering  bowers  and  glades 

He  met  her,  and  in  secret  shades 

Of  woody  Ida's  inmost  grove. 

Whilst  yet  there  was  no  fear  of  Jove 

Come,  pensive  Nun,  devout  and  pure, 
Sober,  stedfast,  and  demure. 
All  in  a  robe  of  darkest  grain, 
Flowing  with  majestick  train, 
And  sable  stole  of  cypress  lawn,e 
Over  thy  decent  shoulders  "^  drawn. 
Come,  but  keep  thy  wonted  state. 
With  even  step,  and  musing  gait ; 
And  looks  commercing  with  the  skies, 
Thy  rapt  soul  sitting  in  thine  eyes : 
There,  held  in  holy  passion  still. 
Forget  thyself  to  marble,'  till 

nu8,  according  to  Hesiod,  had  by  Aurora  only  two  sons,  Memnon  and  Emathion, 
"  Theog."  984.     This  lady  is  a  creation  of  the  poet. — Dunsteb. 

e  Or  that  atarr'd  Ethiop  queen. 

Cassiope,  as  we  learn  from  ApoUodorus,  was  the  wife  of  Cepheus,  king  of  Ethiopia : 
she  boasted  herself  to  be  more  beautiful  than  the  Nereids,  and  challenged  them  to  a 
trial :  who,  in  revenge,  persuaded  Neptune  to  send  a  prodigious  whale  into  Ethiopia. 
To  appease  them,  she  was  directed  to  expose  her  daughter  Andromeda  to  the  monster: 
but  Perseus  delivered  Andromeda,  of  whom  he  was  enamoured,  and  transported  Cassiope 
Into  heaven,  where  she  became  a  constellation.  Hence  she  is  called  "that  starred 
Ethiop  queen."  See  Aratus,  "Phsenom."  v.  189,  seq.  But  Milton  seems  to  have  been 
struck  with  an  old  Gothic  print  of  the  constellations,  which  I  have  seen  in  early  editions 
of  the  astronomers,  where  this  queen  is  represented  with  a  black  body  marked  with 
white  stars. — T.  Warton. 

'  Sia  daughter  she. 

The  meaning  of  Milton's  allegory  is,  that  Melancholy  is  the  daughter  of  Genius, 
which  is  typified  by  the  "bright-hair'd"  goddess  of  the  eternal  fire.  Saturn,  the 
father,  is  the  god  of  saturnine  dispositions,  of  pensive  and  gloomy  minds. — T.  Warton. 

g  And  sable  stole  of  cypress  lawn. 

Here  is  a  character  and  propriety  in  the  use  of  the  stole,  which  in  the  poetical  phrase- 
ology of  the  present  day,  is  not  only  perpetually  misapplied,  but  misrepresented.  It 
was  a  veil  which  covered  the  head  and  shoulders ;  and,  as  Mr.  Bowie  observes,  was 
worn  only  by  such  of  the  Roman  matrons  as  were  distinguished  for  the  strictness  of 
their  modesty. 

Cypress  is  a  thin  transparent  texture. — T.  Warton. 

•>  Decent  shoulders. 

Not  exposed,  therefore  decent;  more  especially,  as  so  covered. — T.  Warton. 

'  Forget  thyself  to  marble. 

It  is  the  same  sort  of  petrifaction  in  our  author's  epitaph  on  Shakspeare  : — 

There  thou,  our  fancy  of  itself  beroavmg-, 
Dost  make  us  marble  hy  too  much  conceiving. 

In  both  instances  excess  of  thought  is  the  cause. — T.  Wabton. 


728  IL  PENSEROSO. 


With  a  sad  leaden  downward  castJ 

Thou  fix  them  on  the  earth  as  fast : 

And  join  with  thee  calm  Peace,  and  Quiet, 

Spare  Fast,  that  oft  with  gods  doth  diet, 

And  hears  the  Muses  in  a  ring 

Aye  round  about  Jove's  altar  sing. 

And  add  to  these  retired  Leisure, 

That  in  trim  gardens ''  takes  his  pleasure : 

But  first  and  chiefest  with  thee  bring, 

Him  that  yon  soars  on  golden  wing, 

Guiding  the  fiery-wheeled  throne, 

The  cherub  Contemplation ; ' 

And  the  mute  Silence  hist  along," 

'Less  Philomel  will  deign  a  song. 

In  her  sweetest,  saddest  plight. 

Smoothing  the  rugged  brow  of  night, 

While  Cynthia  checks  her  dragon  yoke, 

Gently  o'er  the  accustom'd  oak : 

Sweet  bird,  that  shunn'st  the  noise  of  folly. 

Most  musical,  most  melancholy  ! " 

Thee,  chauntress,  oft,  the  woods  among, 

I  woo,  to  hear  thy  even-song ; 

i  With  a  sad  leaden  downward  cast. 
Ilence,  says  Mr.  Warton,  Gray's  expressive  phraseology,  of  the  same  personage,  in 
his  "  Hymn  to  Adversity :" — 

With  leaden  eye  that  loves  the  grouni.— Tods. 
k  Trim  gardens. 
Mr.  Warton  here  observes,  that  affectation  and  false  elegance  were  now  carried  to 
the  most  elaborate  and  absurd  excess  in  gardening ;  and  he  notices,  among  similar 
monuments  of  extravagance  in  other  countries,  "  the  garden  at  Hampton-court,  where 
In  privet  are  figured  various  animals,  the  royal  arms  of  England,  and  many  other 
things."  The  architecture  du  jardinage,  he  thinks,  may  be  also  discovered  in  the 
"spruce-spring,"  the  "cedarn  alleys,"  the  "crisped  shades  and  bowers,"  in  "Comus:" 
and  the  "  trim  garden"  in  "  Arcades,"  v.  46. — Todd. 

1  Sim  that  yon  soars  on  golden  wing, 

Guiding  the  fiery-wheeled  throne, 

TTie  cherub  Contemplation. 
By  contemplation,  is  here  meant  that  stretch  of  thought,  by  which  the  mind  ascends 
to  the  first  good,  first  perfect,  and  first  fair ;  and  is  therefore  very  properly  said  to  "  soar 
on  golden  wing,  guiding  the  fiery-wheeled  throne :"  that  is,  to  take  a  high  and  glorious 
flight,  carrying  bright  ideas  of  Deity  along  with  it.  But  the  whole  imagery  alludes  to 
the  cherubic  forms  that  conveyed  the  fiery-wheeled  car  in  Ezekiel,  x.  2,  seq.  See  also 
Milton  himself,  "  Par.  Lost,"  b.  vi.  750 :  so  that  nothing  can  be  greater  or  juster  than 
this  idea  of  "divine  Contemplation."  Contemplation,  of  a  more  sedate  turn,  and 
Intent  only  on  human  things,  is  more  fitly  described,  as  by  Spenser,  under  the  figure 
of  an  old  man ;  time  and  experience  qualifying  men  best  for  this  oflBce.  Spenser  might 
then  bo  right  in  his  imagery ;  and  yet  Milton  might  be  right  in  his,  without  being  sup- 
posed to  ramble  after  some  fanciful  Italian. — Hubd. 

">  And  the  mute  Silence  hist  along. 
I  always  admired  this  and  the  seventeen  following  lines  with  excessive  delight 
There  is  a  spell  in  it,  which  goes  far  beyond  mere  description :  it  is  the  very  perfection 
of  ideal,  and  picturesque,  and  contemplative  poetry. 

n  3fost  musical,  most  melancholy. 
"  L'AUegro"  began  with  the  morning  of  the  day,  and  the  lively  salutation  of  the 
lark:  "II  Penseroso,"  with  equal  propriety,  after  a  general  exordium,  opens  with  the 
night :  with  moonshine,  and  the  melancholy  music  of  the  nightingale. — T.  Wabton. 


IL  PENSEROSO.  729 


And,  missing  thee,  I  walk  unseen 

On  the  dry  smooth-shaven  green, 

To  behold  the  wandering  moon 

Hiding  near  her  highest  noon. 

Like  one  that  had  been  led  astray 

Through  the  heaven's  wide  pathless  way ; 

And  oft,"  as  if  her  head  she  bow'd, 

Stooping  through  a  fleecy  cloud. 

Oft,  on  a  plat  of  rising  ground, 

I  hear  the  far-off  curfeu  sound, 

Over  some  wide-water'd  shore. 

Swinging  slow  with  sullen  roar :  p 

Or,  if  the  air  will  not  permit, 

Some  still  removed  place  will  fit,i 

Where  glowing  embers  through  the  room 

Teach  light  to  counterfeit  a  gloom ; 

Far  from  all  resort  of  mirth. 

Save  the  cricket  on  the  hearth, 

Or  the  bellman's  drowsy  charm. 

To  bless  the  doors  from  nightly  harm.' 

Or  let  my  lamp  at  midnight  hour, 

Be  seen  in  some  high  lonely  tower,* 

Where  I  may  oft  outwatch  the  Bear, 

With  thrice-greal  Hermes,  or  unsphere 

The  spirit  of  Plato,*  to  unfold 

What  worlds  or  what  vast  regions  hold 

o  And  oft,  Ac. 
Here  follows  a  description  at  once  poetically  picturesque,  and  strictly  natural ;  the 
moon  having  that  appearance  of  positive  descent,  as  the  kind  of  clouds  here  described 
braak  and  disperse  around  her. — Dunster, 

p  With  sicllen  roar. 

This  finely  descriptive  epithet  is  adopted  from  the  "sullen  bell"  iti  Shakspeare's 
"  King  Henry  PV."  P.  ii.  or  "  the  surly  sullen  bell"  in  his  seventy-first  Sonnet. — Todd 

Observe  that  the  toll  of  bells  always  comes  across  a  spreading  water  with  extraordi- 
nary melancholy.  Thus  I  have  been  long  accustomed  to  listen  to  it  across  the  lake  of 
Geneva  with  deep  emotion.  This  mention  of  the  curfeu  is  much  finer  even  than  tl)e 
Qobla  line  which  opens  Gray's  "  Elegy,"  though  that  has  always  been  so  justly  admired. 

1  Some  still  removea  place  will  fit. 
That  is,  "some  quiet,- remote,  or  unfrequented  place  will  suit  my  purpose."    "Be- 
moved"  is  the  ancient  English  participle  passive  for  the  Latin  remote. — T.  Warton. 

f  Or  the  bellman's  droiosy  charm, 
To  bless  the  doors  from  nightly  harm. 
Anciently  the  watchman,  who  cried  the  hours,  used  sundry  benedictions. — T.  Waktok. 

»  Be  seen  in  some  high  lonely  tower. 
The  extraneous  circumstance  "  be  seen,"  gives  poetry  to  a  passage,  the  simple  sense 
of  which  is  only,  "  Let  me  study  at  midnight  by  a  lamp  in  a  lofty  tower."     Ilence  a 
picture  is  created  which  strikes  the  imagination. — T.  Warton. 

This  is  one  of  those  happy  observations  so  characteristic  of  Thomas  Warton.  When 
the  midnight  wanderer  sees  through  the  dark  a  distant  light  in  a  high  tower,  it  much 
engages  his  eye,  and  moves  his  imagination,  if  he  has  any  mind  and  sensitiveness  :  and 
this  application  of  mind  to  the  description  of  scenery  is  what  alone  gives  it  the  foroa 
of  a  high  order  of  poetry. 

t  The  spirit  of  Plato. 
This  shows  what  sort  of  contemplation  he  was  most  fond  of.    Milton's  imagination 
made  him  as  much  a  mystic  as  his  good  sense  would  give  leave. — Hurd. 
92 


•730  IL  PENSEROSO. 


The  immortal  mind,  that  hath  forsook 
Her  mansion  in  this  fleshly  nook  : 
And  of  those  demons  "  that  are  found 
In  fire,  air,  flood,  or  under  ground, 
Whose  power  hath  a  true  consent 
With  planet  or  with  element. 
Sometimes  let  gorgeous  Tragedy   • 
In  sceptred  pall  come  sweeping  by,'' 
Presenting  Thebes,  or  Pelops'  line, 
Or  the  tale  of  Troy  divine ; 
Or  what,  though  rare,^  of  later  age 
Ennobled  hath  the  buskin' d  stage. 

But,  0,  sad  Virgin,  that  thy  power 
Might  raise  Musaeus  from  his  bower ! 
Or  bid  the  soul  of  Orpheus  sing^ 
Such  notes,  as,  warbled  to  the  string, 
Drew  iron  tears  down  Pluto's  cheek. 
And  made  Hell  grant  what  love  did  seek ! 
Or  call  up  him  that  left  half-told 
The  story  of  Cambuscan  bold,' 
Of  Camball  and  of  Algarsife, 
And  who  had  Canace  to  wife. 
That  own'd  the  virtuous  ring  and  glass  j 
And  of  the  wonderous  horse  of  brass, 
On  which  the  Tartar  king  did  ride : 
And  if  aught  else  great  bards  beside* 

"  And  of  those  demons,  Ac. 
CTndoubtedly  these  notions  are  from  Plato's  "  Timaeus"  and  "Phaedon,"  and  the  reve- 
ries of  his  old  commentators;  yet  with  some  reference  to  the  Gothic  system  of  demons, 
which   is   a  mixture   of  Platonism,  school-divinity,    and   Christian   superstition. — T. 
Wakton. 

"  Sometimes  let  gorgeous  Tragedy 
In  sceptred  pall  come  sweeping  hy. 
By  "sceptred  pall,"  Dr.  Newton  understands  the  palla  honesta  of  Horace,  "Art. 
Poet."  T.  278.  But  Horace,  I  humbly  apprehend,  only  means  that  ^schylus  introduced 
masks  and  better  dresses.  Palla  honesta  is  simply  a  "  decent  robe."  Milton  means 
something  more:  by  clothing  Tragedy  in  her  "sceptred  pall,"  he  intended  specifically 
to  point  out  regal  stories  as  the  proper  arguments  of  the  higher  drama :  and  this  more 
expressly  appears,  from  the  subjects  immediately  mentioned  in  the  subsequent  couplet. 
— T.  Warton. 

w  Though  rare. 
Juat  glancing  at  Shakspeare. — Hcbd. 

*  ilight  raise  Musaus  from  his  bower! 
Or  bid  the  soul  of  Orpheus  sing,  Ac. 
Musaeus  and  Orpheus  are  mentioned  together  in  Plato's  "  Republic,"  as  two  of  the 
genuine  Greek  poets.     To  Orpheus  or  his  harp  our  author  has  frequent  allusions.— T. 
Warton. 

f  Or  call  him  tip  that  left  half-told 
The  story  of  Cambuscan  bold,  Ac. 
Hence  it  appears,  that  Milton,  among  Chaucer's  pieces,  was  most  struck  with  his 
"  Squire's  Tale :"  it  best  suited  our  author's  predilection  for  romantic  poetry.     Chaucer 
IS  here  ranked  with  the  sublime  poets :  his  comic  vein  is  forgotten  and  overlooked. — T. 
Warton. 

=!  And  if  aught  else  great  bards  beside,  Ac. 
From  Chance?,  the  father  of  English  poetry,  and  who  is  here  distinguished  by  a 
story  remarkable  for  the  wildness  of  its  invention,  our  author  seeems  to  make  a  very 


IL  PENSEROSO.  T31 


In  sage  and  solemn  tunes  have  sung, 
Of  turneys,  and  of  trophies  hung ; 
Of  forests  and  enchantments  drear, 
Where  more  is  meant  than  meets  the  ear." 

Thus,  Night,  oft  see  me  in  thy  pale  career,* 
Till  civil-suited  Morn  appear," 
Not  trick' d  and  frounced"*  as  she  was  wont 
With  the  Attick  boy  to  hunt, 
But  kercheft*  in  a  comely  cloud, 
While  rocking  winds  are  piping  loud, 
Or  usher'd'  with  a  shower  still,5 
When  the  gust  hath  blown  his  fill, 

pertinent  and  natural  transition  to  Spenser;  whose  "  Faery  Queene,"  although  it  exter- 
nally professes  to  treat  of  tournaments  and  the  trophies  of  knightly  valour,  of  fictitious 
forests  and  terrific  enchantments,  is  yet  allegorical,  and  contains  a  remote  meaning  con- 
cealed under  the  veil  of  a  fabulous  action,  and  of  a  typical  narrative,  which  is  not 
immediately  perceived.  Spenser  sings  in  "  sage  and  solemn  tunes,"  with  respect  to  his 
morality,  and  the  dignity  of  his  stanza.  In  the  mean  time,  it  is  to  be  remembered, 
that  there  were  other  "  great  bards,"  and  of  the  romantic  class,  who  sung. in  such  tunes, 
and  who  "mean  more  than  meets  the  ear."  Both  Tasso  and  Ariosto  pretend  to  an  alle- 
gorical and  mysterious  meaning :  and  Tasso's  enchanted  forest,  the  most  conspicuous 
fiction  of  the  kind,  might  have  been  here  intended.  One  is  surprised  that  Milton  should 
have  delighted  in  romances :  the  images  of  feudal  and  royal  life  which  those  books 
afi"ord,  agreed  not  at  all  with  his  system. — T.  Wakton. 

»  Wl^re  more  is  meant  than  meets  the  ear. 
Seneca,  Epist.  114.     "  In  quibus  plus  intelligendum  est  quam  audiendum." — Bowlk. 

i>  Thus,  Night,  oft  see  me  in  thy  pale  career. 
Hitherto  we  have  seen  the  night  of  the  melancholy  man  :  here  his  day  commences: 
accordingly,  this  second  part  or  division  of  the  poem  is  ushered  in  with  a  long  verse. — 
T.  Warton.  , 

<=  Till  civil-suited  Morn  appear. 
Plainly  from  Shakspeare,  as  Dr.  Newton  and  Mr.  Bowie  have  separately  observed. 
"  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  a.  iii.  s.  4  : — 

Come,  civil  Night, 
Thou  sober-suited  matron,  all  in  black. 

Where  "civil"  is  grave,  decent,  solemn. — T.  Warton. 

d  Not  trick' d  and  frounced. 
The  meaning  of  "frounCed"  seems  most  commonly  to  signify  an  excessive  or  affected 
dressing  of  the  hair:  it  is  from  the  French  froncer,  to  curl. — T.  Warton. 
"  Trick'd"  also  should  he  explained,  which  means  dressed  out. — Todd. 

e  Kercheft. 
Wrapped  up  as  with  a  handkerchief. — Dunster. 

f  Or  usher'd,  Ac. 

Dr.  Johnson,  from  this  to  the  154th  verse  inclusively,  thus  abridges  our  author's 
ideas: — "When  the  morning  comes,  a  morning  gloomy  with  rain  and  wind,  he  walks 
into  the  dark  trackless  woods,  falls  asleep  by  some  murmuring  water,  and,  with  melan- 
choly enthusiasm,  expects  some  dream  of  prognostication,  or  some  music  played  by 
aerial  performers."  Never  were  fine  imagery  and  fine  imagination  so  marred,  muti- 
lated,  and  impoverished  by  a  cold,  unfeeling,  and  imperfect  representation  !  To  say 
nothing,  that  he  confounds  two  descriptions. — T.  Warton. 

If  he  had  gone  out  in  a  morning  of  rain  and  wind,  and  laid  himself  down  by  some 
murmuring  stream,  he  would  have  subjected  himself  to  that  modern  plague  the  cholera: 
but  the  poet  s.ays  that  it  was  not  till  "the  sun  began  to  fling  his  flaring  beams,"  that 
he  went  forth  to  groves  and  sylvan  scenery.  Thus  it  is  that  Johnson  is  commonly 
vague,  ind  full  of  pompous  and  empty  sounds,  when  he  attempts  to  describe ;  yet  on 
such  loose  descriptions  have  his  fond  eulogists  given  him  credit  for  poetical  imagina- 
tion.   Warcon  saw  this  with  disgust,  and  here  speaks  out.    How  often  must  the  nice 


732  IL  PENSEROSO. 


Ending  on  the  rustling  leaves, 
With  minute  drops  from  off  the  eaves.'' 
And,  when  the  sun  begins  to  fling 
His  flaring  beams,  me,  goddess,  bring 
To  arched  walks  of  twilight  groves, 
And  shadows  brown,  that  Sylvan  loves, 
Of  pine,  or  monumental  oak. 
Where  the  rude  axe,  with  heaved  stroke, 
Was  never  heard  the  nymphs  to  daunt, 
Or  fright  them  from  their  hallow'd  haunt. 
There  in  close  covert  by  some  brook, 
Where  no  profaner  eye  may  look, 
Hide  me  from  day's  garish  eye,' 
While  the  beeJ  with  honied  thigh, 
That  at  her  flowery  work  doth  sing, 
And  the  waters  murmuring. 
With  such  consort  as  they  keep, 
Entice  the  dewy-feather'd  Sleep; 
And  let  some  strange  mysterious  Dream* 
Wave  at  his  wings  in  aery  stream 

and  exqnisito  classical  scholarship  of  this  accomplished  and  genuine  oritio  have  beeo 
revoltad  by  the  rude  pedant's  coarse  and  unfeeling  pomposity ! 

K  SHU. 
i.  e.  gentle,  as  this  word  was  once  commonly  understood. — Todd. 

h  With  minute  drops/rom  off  the  eaves, 

A  natural  little  circumstance,  calculated  to  impress  a  pleasing  melancholy;  and  which 
reminds  one  of  a  similar  image  in  a  poet  who  abounds  in  natural  little  circumstances. 
Speaking  of  a  p«ntle  spring-shower,  "'Tis  scarce  to  patter  heard,"  says  Thomson, 
"  Spring,"  ver.  176. — Jos.  Warton. 

He  means,  by  "  minute  drops  from  off  the  eaves,"  not  small  drops,  but  minute  drops, 
such  as  drop  at  intervals,  by  minutes,  for  the  shower  was  now  over :  as  we  say,  minute 
guns,  and  minute  bells.  In  "  L'AUegro,"  the  lark  bade  good  morrow  at  the  poet's  win- 
dow, through  sweet-briars,  honeysuckles,  and  vines,  spreading,  as  we  have  seen,  over 
the  walls  of  the  house :  now,  their  leaves  are  dropping-wet  with  a  morning-shower.— 
T.  Warton. 

'  Day's  garish  eye. 

The  "  garish  eye"  is  the  glaring  eye,  of  Day.  So,  in  "  Kom.  and  Jul."  a.  iii.  s.  4,  as 
Dr.  Newton  has  observed,  "  the  garish  sun."  It  is  a  favourite  word  with  Drayton,  who 
applies  it,  in  the  sense  of  fine,  gaudy,  to  "  fields,"  in  his  "  Owle,"  1604 ;  and  to  "  flowers," 
in  his  "Nymph."  v.  1630;  whence  perhaps  "the  garish  columbine"  of  Milton. — ToDD. 

J  While  the  bee,  &e. 
So  Virgil,  "  Eel."  i.  56  :— 

Hyblaeis  apibus  florem  depasta  salicti 
Saepe  levi  somnum  suadebit  inire  suiurro. 

On  the  hill  Hymettus,  the  haunt  of  learning,  the  bee  is  made  to  invite  to  meditation, 
with  great  elegance  and  propriety,  "  Paradise  Regained,"  iv.  247,  Ac.  Compare  also 
Drayton's  "  Owle,"  1604.— T.  Warton. 

k  And  let  some  strange  mysterious  Dream,  Ac. 
I  do  not  exactly  understand  the  whole  of  the  context.     Is  the  Dream  to  wave  at 
Bleep's  wings  ?     Dr.  Newton  will  have  "  wave"  to  be  a  verb  neuter ;  and  very  justly,  as 
the  passage  now  stands.     But  let  us  strike  out  " at,"  and  make  "wave"  active : — 

Let  some  strange  myiterioas  Dream 
Wave  his  wings,  in  aery  stream,  &o. 

•'Let  some  fantastic  Dream  put  the  wings  of  Sleep  in  motion,  which  shall  be  displayed, 
or  expanded,  in  an  airy  or  soft  stream  of  visionary  imagery,  gently  ff  Jling  or  settling 


IL  PENSEROSO.  "733 


Of  lively  portraiture  display'd, 

Softly  on  my  eyelids  laid  : 

And,  as  I  wake,  sweet  musick  breathe 

Above,  about,  or  underneath,' 

Sent  by  some  Spirit  to  Mortals  good, 

Or  the  unseen  Genius  of  the  wood. 

But  let  my  due  feet  never  fail 
To  walk  the  studious  cloysters  pale,"' 
And  love  the  high-embowed "  roof. 
With  antick  pillars  massy  proof. 
And  storied "  windows  richly  dight, 
Casting  a  dim  religious  light : 
There  let  the  pealing  organ  blow, 
To  the  full-voiced  quire  below, 

on  my  eyelids."    Or,  "  his"  may  refer  to  Dream,  and  not  to  Sleep,  with  much  the  same 
sense. — T.  Warton. 

There  seems  to  me  no  diflBculty  in  the  passage.  "  Wave"  is  here,  as  Newton  says,  a 
verb  neuter.  The  dream  is  to  wave  at  the  wings  of  Sleep,  in  a  "  display  of  lively  por- 
traiture." 

1  And,  as  I  wake,  sweet  musick  breathe 
Above,  about,  or  underneath. 

This  wonderful  music,  particularly  the  subterraneous,  proceeding  from  an  invisible 
eause,  and  whispered  to  the  pious  ear  alone  by  some  guardian  spirit,  or  the  genius  of 
the  wood,  was  probably  suggested  to  Milton's  imagination  by  some  of  the  machineries 
of  the  Masks  under  the  conJ;rivance  of  Inigo  Jones. — T.  Wartok. 

m  Cloysters  pale. 

Perhaps,  "the  studious  cloyster's  pale."  Pale,  enclosure.  Milton  is  fond  of  the  sin- 
gular number.  In  the  next  line  follows,  as  in  apposition,  "the  high-embowed  roof." — 
T.  Warton. 

I  believe  this  passage  is  seldom  printed  so  as  to  convey  the  meaning  of  the  poet,  viz 
the  pale  or  enclosure  of  the  cloisfer. — Dunster. 

Dr.  Symmons,  in  his  account  of  Milton's  Life,  violently  objects  to  this  interpretation, 
which  he  considers  to  be  very  tame  and  unpoetical. — Todd. 

I  believe  "pale"  to  be  an  adjective,  and  to  mean  sombre. 

The  reader  is  apt  to  suppose  that  Milton's  allusion  is  to  the  cloisters  of  St.  Paul's 
cathedral,  which  his  feet  might  duly  and  daily  pace,  when  a  scholar  of  the  celebrated 
school  adjacent.  The  said  cloisters  were  the  boast  of  the  country,  as  we  learn  from 
Stowe's  "Survey  of  London,"  4to.  1598,  p.  264: — "About  this  cloyster  was  artificially 
and  richly  painted  the  Dance  of  Machabray,  or  Dance  of  Death,  commonly  called  the 
Dance  of  St.  Paul's ;  the  like  whereof  was  painted  about  St.  Innocent's  cloystf  at  Paris. 
The  metres  or  poesie  of  this  daunce  were  translated  out  of  French  into  English  by  John 
Lidgate,  monk  of  Bury,  and  with  the  picture  of  Death  leading  all  estates,  painted  round 
the  cloister." 

But  we  are  obliged  to  dispel  so  pleasing  a  delusion  : — "In  the  year  1549,  on  the  10th 
of  April,  the  chapel  of  Becket,  by  commandment  of  the  Duke  of  Somerset,  was  begun 
to  be  pulled  down,  with  the  whole  cloister,  the  Daunce  of  Death,  the  tombs  and  mcnu- 
mants;  so  that  nothing  thereof  was  left  but  the  bare  plot  of  ground,  which  is  since  con- 
verted (says  Stowe)  into  a  garden  for  the  petty  canons."  So  that  the  "  cloister's  pale," 
i.  e.  boundary,  only  was  still  to  be  traversed  in  Milton's  time. 

We  learn  from  Hume,  that  this  desecration  was  to  supply  stones  for  the  erection  of 
the  protector's  palace  in  the  Strand,  called  Somerset-house.  (Hist,  anno  1549.)  It 
was  fearfully  expiated  in  1552. — J.  B. 

n  High-embowed. 
Highly-vaulted,  arcvatus,  arched. — Todd. 

0  Storied. 
Storied,  or  painted  with  stories,  that  is,  histories.    In  barbarous  latinity,  atoria  is 
sometimes  used  for  historia.     One  of  the  arguments  used  by  the  puritans  for  breaking 
the  painted  glass  in  church  windows,  was  because,  by  darkening  the  church,  it  obscured 
the  new  light  of  the  gospel. — T.  Warton. 


734  IL  PENSEROSO. 


In  service  high,  and  anthems  clear, 

As  may  with  sweetness,  through  mine  ear, 

Dissolve  me  into  ecstasies, 

And  bring  all  heaven  before  mine  eyes. 

And  may  last  my  weary  age 
Find  out  the  peaceful  hermitage,' 
The  hairy  gown  and  mossy  cell. 
Where  I  may  sit  and  rightly  spell 
Of  every  star  that  heaven  doth  shew, 
And  every  herb  that  sips  the  dew;*! 
Till  old  experience  do  attain 
To  something  like  prophetick  strain. 

These  pleasures.  Melancholy,  give, 
And  I  with  thee  will  choose  to  love. 

P  And  may  at  last  my  weary  age 
Find  out  the  peacefvl  hermitage. 
It  should  be  remarked,  that  Milton  wishes  to  die  in  the  character  of  the  melancholy 
man.— T.  Warton. 

q  And  every  herb  that  sips  the  deto. 
It  seems  probable  that  Milton  was  a  student  in  botany ;  for  he  speaks  with  great  plea- 
sure of  the  hopes  he  had  formed  of  being  assisted  in  this  study  by  his  friend  Charles 
Deodate,  who  was  a  physician.     See  "  Epitaph.  Damon."  v.  150. — T.  Waeton. 

Of  "L' Allegro"  and  "11  Penseroso,"  I  believe,  opinion  is  uniform;  every  man  that 
reads  them,  reads  them  with  pleasure.  The  author's  design  is  not,  what  Theobald  has 
rvmarked,  merely  to  show  how  objects  derive  their  colours  from  the  mind,  by  repre- 
senting the  operation  of  the  same  things  upon  the  gay  and  the  melancholy  temper,  or 
upon  the  same  man  as  he  is  differently  disposed;  but  rather  how,  among  the  successive 
variety  of  appearances,  every  disposition  of  mind  takes  hold  on  those  by  which  it  may 
be  gratified. 

The  cheerful  man  hears  the  lark  in  the  morning;  the  pensive  man  hears  the  nightin- 
gale in  the  evening :  the  cheerful  man  sees  the  cock  strut,  and  hears  the  horn  and 
hounds  echo  in  the  wood;  then  walks,  "not  unseen,"  to  observe  the  glory  of  the  rising 
sun,  or  listen  to  the  singing  milk-maid,  and  view  the  labours  of  the  ploughman  and  the 
mower;  then  casts  his  eyes  about  him  over  scenes  of  smiling  plenty,  and  looks  up  to 
the  distant  tower,  the  residence  of  some  fair  inhabitant :  thus  he  pursues  rural  gayety 
through  a  day  of  labour  or  of  play,  and  delights  himself  at  night  with  the  fanciful  nar- 
ratives of  superstitious  ignorance.  The  pensive  man,  at  one  time,  walks  "unseen"  to 
muse  at  midnight ;  and  at  another,  hears  the  solemn  curfew  :  if  the  weather  drives  him 
home,  he  sits  in  a  room  lighted  only  by  "  glowing  embers ;"  or  by  a  lonely  lamp  out- 
watches  the  north  star,  to  discover  the  habitation  of  separate  souls;  and  varies  the 
shades  of  meditation,  by  contemplating  the  magnificent  or  pathetic  scenes  of  tragic  and 
epic  poetry.  When  the  morning  comes,  a  morning  gloomy  with  rain  and  wind,  he  falls 
asleep  by  some  murmuring  water,  and  with  melancholy  enthusiasm  expects  some  dream 
of  prognostication,  or  some  music  played  by  aerial  performers. 

I5oth  Mirth  and  Melancholy  are  solitary,  silent  inhabitants  of  the  breast,  that  neither 
receive  nor  transmit  communication  ;  no  mention  is  therefore  made  of  a  philosophical 
friend,  or  of  a  pleasant  companion.  The  seriousness  does  not  arise  from  any  partici- 
pation of  calamity,  nor  the  gayety  from  the  pleasures  of  the  bottle.  The  man  of  cheer- 
fulness, having  exhausted  the  country,  tries  what  "tower'd  cities"  will  afford,  and 
mingles  with  scenes  of  splendour,  gay  assemblies,  and  nuptial  festivities;  but  he 
mingles  a  mere  spectator,  as,  when  the  learned  comedies  of  Jonson  or  the  wild  dramas 
of  Shakspeare  are  exhibited,  he  attends  the  theatre;  the  pensive  man  never  loses  him- 
Eelf  in  crowds,  but  walks  the  cloister,  or  frequents  the  cathedral.  Milton  probably  had 
not  yet  forsaken  the  church.  « 

Both  his  characters  delight  in  music ;  but  he  seems  to  think  that  cheerful  notes  would 
have  obtained  from  Pluto  a  complete  dismission  of  Eurydice ;  of  whom  solemn  sounds 
prosured  only  a  conditional  release.  For  the  old  age  of  Cheerfulness  he  makes  no  pro- 
vision ;  but  Melancholy  he  conducts  with  great  dignity  to  the  close  of  life  :  his  cheer- 
fulness is  without  levity,  and  his  pensiveness  without  asperity.  Through  these  two 
poems  the  images  are  properly  selected,  and  nicely  distinguished ;  but  the  colours  of 


IL  PENSEROSO.  135 


the  liction  seem  not  sufficiently  discriminated :  I  know  not  whether  the  characters  are 
kept  sufficiently  apart :  no  mirth  can,  indeed,  he  found  in  his  melancholy;  but  I  am 
afraid  that  I  always  meet  some  melancholy  in  his  mirth.  They  are  two  noble  eflforts  of 
imagination. — Johnson.  f 

Of  these  two  exquisite  little  poems,  I  think  it  clear  that  the  last  is  the  most  taking ; 
which  is  owing  to  the  subject  The  mind  delights  most  in  these  solemn  images,  and 
a  genius  delights  most  to  paint  them. — Hurd. 

"  L' Allegro"  and  "  II  Penseroso"  may  bo  called  the  two  first  descriptive  poems  in  the 
English  language:  it  is  perhaps  true,  that  the  characters  are  not  sufficiently  kept  apart; 
but  this  circumstance  has  been  productive  of  greater  excellences.  It  has  been  remarked, 
"No  mirth  indeed  can  be  found  in  his  melancholy, but  I  am  afraid  I  always  meet  some 
melancholy  in  his  mirth."  Milton's  is  the  dignity  of  mirth  :  his  cheerfulness  is  the 
cheerfulness  of  gravity :  the  objects  he  selects  in  his  "  L'Allegro"  are  so  far  gay,  aa 
they  do  not  naturally  excite  sadness  :  laughter  and  jollity  are  named  only  as  personifi- 
cations, and  never  exemplified :  "  Quips,  and  cranks,  and  wanton  wiles,"  are  enumerated 
only  in  general  terms.  There  is  specifically  no  mirth  in  contemplating  a  fine  landscape ; 
and  even  his  landscape,  although  it  has  flowery  meads  and  flocks,  wears  a  shade  of  pen- 
siveness ;  and  contains,  "  russet  lawns,"  "  fallows  gray,"  and  "  barren  mountains,"  over- 
hung with  "  labouring  clouds ;"  its  old  turreted  mansion,  peeping  from  the  trees,  awakens 
only  a  train  of  solemn  and  romantic,  perhaps  melancholy  reflection.  Many  a  pensive 
man  listens  with  delight  to  the  "milkmaid  singing  blithe,"  to  the  "  mower  whetting  his 
scythe,"  and  to  a  distant  peal  of  village-bells.  He  chose  such  illustrations  as  minister 
matter  for  new  poetry  and  genuine  description :  even  his  most  brilliant  imagery  is  mel- 
lowed with  the  sober  hues  of  philosophic  meditation.  It  was  impossible  for  the  author 
of  "  II  Penseroso"  to  be  more  cheerful,  or  to  paint  mirth  with  levity :  that  is,  otherwise 
than  in  the  colours  of  the  higher  poetry.  Both  poems  are  the  result  of  the  same  feel- 
ings, and  the  same  habits  of  thought. 

Dr.  Johnson  has  remarked,  that,  in  "L'Allegro,"  "no  part  of  the  gayety  is  made  to 
arise  from  the  pleasures  of  the  bottle."  The  truth  is,  that  Milton  means  to  describe  the 
cheerfulness  of  the  philosopher  or  the  student,  the  amusements  of  a  contemplative 
mind ;  and  on  this  principle  he  seems  unwilling  to  allow  that  Mirth  is  the  ofi"spring  of 
Bacchus  and  Venus,  deities  who  preside  over  sensual  gratifications ;  but  rather  adopts 
the  fiction  of  those  more  serious  and  sapient  fablers,  who  suppose  that  her  proper 
parents  are  Zephyr  and  Aurora;  intimating,  that  his  cheerful  enjoyments  are  those  of 
the  temperate  and  innocent  kind,  of  early  hours  and  rural  pleasures.  That  critic  does 
not  appear  to  have  entered  into  the  spirit,  or  to  have  comprehended  the  meaning,  of 
our  author's  "  Allegro." 

No  man  was  ever  so  disqualified  to  turn  puritan  as  Milton :  in  both  these  poems,  he 
professes  himself  to  be  highly  pleased  with  the  choral  church-music,  with  Gothic  clois- 
ters, the  painted  windows  and  vaulted  aisles  of  a  venerable  cathedral,  with  tilts  and 
tournaments,  and  with  masques  and  pageantries.  What  very  repugnant  and  unpoetical 
principles  did  he  afterwards  adopt !  He  helped  to  subvert  monarchy,  to  destroy  subor- 
dination, and  to  level  all  distinctions  of  rank :  but  this  scheme  was  totally  inconsistent 
with  the  splendours  of  society,  with  "throngs  of  kni^ts  and  barons  bold,"  with  "store 
of  ladies,"  and  "  high  triumphs,"  which  belonged  to  a  court.  "  Pomp,  and  feast,  and 
revelry,"  the  show  of  Hymen,  "with  masque  and  antique  pageantry,"  were  among  the 
state  and  trappings  of  nobility,  which,  as  an  advocate  for  republicanism,  he  detested : 
his  system  of  worship,  which  renounced  all  outward  solemnity,  all  that  had  ever  any 
connexion  with  popery,  tended  to  overthrow  the  "  studious  cloisters  pale,"  and  the 
"  high-embowed  roof';"  to  remove  the  "  storied  windows  richly  dight,"  and  to  silence 
the  "pealing  organ"  and  the  "full-voiced  quire."  The  delights  arising  from  these 
objects  were  to  be  sacrificed  to  the  cold  ancrphilosophical  spirit  of  Galvanism,  which 
furnished  no  pleasure  to  the  imagination. — T.  Waeton. 


SONNETS. 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 

The  form  of  the  sonnet  was  invented  by  the  Italians.  I  hare  given  ^n  opinion  of 
this  sort  of  composition,  and  of  the  nature  and  degree  of  Milton's  merit  in  this  departs 
ment,  in  my  Life  of  the  Poet.  Some  of  these  twenty-three  short  compositions  may  not 
perhaps  be  above  mediocrity :  some  of  them  are  vigorous,  and  concordant  with  the 
stern  portion  of  the  poet's  genius :  the  major  part  appear  to  have  been  written  when  he 
was  not  in  a  poetical  mood,  but  occupied  with  harsher  studies. 

The  seventh  Sonnet,  "  On  being  arrived  to  the  age  of  twenty-three"  (1634),  is  very 
fine :  it  is  pre-eminently  interesting,  as  an  early  development  of  his  own  innate  cha- 
racter, vowed  to  great  undertakings,  and  grieved  that  his  virtuous  and  sublime  ambition 
had  yet  advanced  no  step  in  its  own  accomplishment.  Here  the  language  is  simple, 
chaste,  and  smooth,  and  the  numbers  are  not  unmelodious. 

The  next,  "  When  the  Assault  was  intended  to  the  City"  (1642),  shows  that  the  poet 
had  now  conceived  that  firm  opinion  of  his  own  genius  and  worth  which  never  after- 
wards deserted  him  :  he  puts  himself  upon  a  par  with  Pindar  and  Euripides.  Warton 
and  Todd  consider  it  one  of  Milton's  best  Sonnets :  I  do  not  exactly  accede  to  that 
opinion. 

There  is  more  of  poetical  expression  in  the  next,  "To  a  virtuous  young  Lady." 

The  tenth,  "  To  the  Lady  Margaret  Ley,"  daughter  of  James  Ley,  Earl  of  Marlbo- 
rough, Lord  President  of  the  Council,  has  only  that  sort  of  merit  which  is  derived  from 
the  just  consciousness  of  the  bard  that  his  very  mention  of  another  with  praise  would 
confer  immortality  on  that  person. 

The  next  Sonnet,  on  his  own  book,  called  "  Tetrachordon,"  written  in  a  vein  of 
ridicule,  is  not  worthy  of  much  notice :  but  the  twelfth,  on  the  same  subject,  has  some 
fine  lines  on  the  distinction  between  liberty  and  licentiousness. 

The  praise  of  Henry  Lawes,  in  the  thirteenth  Sonnet,  draws  its  principal  value  from 
the  fame  of  the  panegyrist,  and  the  interest  we  take  in  knowing  the  opinion  of  great 
men  regarding  those  of  their  contemporaries,  whose  celebrity  has  passed  down  to  our 
own  times. 

Several  of  the  lines  "  On  the  Memory  of  Mrs.  Catharine  Thomson,"  are  poetical, 
beautiful,,  and  affecting. 

The  fifteenth,  "  To  the  Lord  General  Fairfax,"  is  generally  and  properly  admired,  as 
powerful,  majestic,  and  historically  valuable :  it  has  a  loftiness  of  sentiment  and  tone 
becoming  the  bold  and  enlightened  bard. 

The  sixteenth  Sonnet,  "  To  Cromwell,"  is  the  most  nervous  of  all.  Many  will 
doubt  whether  Cromwell  deserved  these  praises  ;  but  Milton's  praise  seems  to  have 
been  sincere.  The  images  and  expressions  are  for  the  most  part  dignified,  grand, 
and  poetical :  but  Warton  truly  observes,  that  the  close  is  an  anticlimax. 

The  Sonnet  which  follows,  "  To  Sir  Henry  Vane,  the  younger,"  is  somewhat  pro- 
saic, involved,  and  harsh,  though  it  has  a  rude  strength.     The  character  of  Vane 
remains  to  this  day  somewhat  doubtful :  Warton's  character  of  him  is  discriminative  ■ 
and  sagacious. 

The  eighteenth  Sonnet,  "  On  the  late  Massacre  in  Piemont "  (1655),  is  full  of  pa- 
thos, noble  sentiment,  and  grand  imagery ;  but  the  subject  is  almost  too  extensive 
for  a  sonnet. 

The  Sonnet  "  On  his  Blindness  "  is  to  my  taste  next  in  interest  to  that  "  On  arriv- 
ing at  his  twenty-third  Year:"  the  sentiments  and  expressions  are  in  all  respects 
Miltonic. 

Of  the  next,  "  To  Mr.  Lawrence,"  it  has  been  truly  observed,  that  it  is  perfectly 
Horatian.    Lawrence  was  ancestor  to  the  late  Judge  Lawrence,  of  the  King's  Bench. 

The  twenty-first,  "  To  Cyriack  Skinner,"  is  of  the  same  character. 

(736) 


SONNETS.  737 


The  next,  "  To  the  Same,"  is  of  a  higher  tone :  he  here  speaks  of  his  blindness,  and 
hii  fortitudt  under  it 

The  twenty-third,  and  last,  is,  "  On  his  deceased  Wife,"  his  second  wife,  the  daughter 
of  Captain  Woodcock,  about  1656 :  it  is  in  the  form  of  a  vision,  and  is  very  poetical  and 
plaintive. 

As  to  the  Italian  Sonnets,  which  follow  the  first,  they  have  received  the  praises  of 
the  critics  of  that  poetical  country.  Another  English  poet  has  latterly  distinguished 
himself  still  more  in  the  same  way,  Mr.  Mathias,  who  resided  the  last  twenty  years  at 
Naples,  and  died  there  in  August,  or  the  end  of  July,  1835.* 

I  must  confess  that  more  poetry  might  have  been  introduced  into  these  Sonnets  than 
our  immortal  bard  has  effected :  I  think  that  they  are  not  equal  in  sublimity  to  Dante, 
and  certainly  have  little  similitude  to  the  tenderness,  harmony,  and  soft  and  plaintive 
imagery  of  Petrarch.  Indeed,  our  language  will  scarcely  admit  the  softness  of  the 
Italian  tones  :  but  Wordsworth  has  shown  what  rich  and  harmonious  poetry  the  legiti- 
mate sonnet  will  admit  even  in  our  language;  and  the  late  lamented  Mrs.  Hemans  has 
done  the  same,  though  in  a  different  style.  Charlotte  Smith's  Sonnets  excel  in  a  soft 
melancholy ;  and  T.  Warton's  are  rich  in  description,  and  classical  in  expression.f 

But  Dyer's  collection  will  prove  that  there  are  many  good  sonnets  by  several  modern 
authors,  as  Edwsirds,  Bamfylde,  Bowles,  Kirke  White,  Leyden :  but  one  I  must  espe- 
cially quote ;  because  it  is  by  the  last  editor  of  Milton's  poems,  the  Rev.  John  Mit- 
ford,  of  Benhall,  in  Suffolk ;  a  man  of  great  genius,  great  learning,  and  great  taste,  and 
an  excellent  prose  writer  as  well  as  poet.  It  comes  from  a  note  to  his  "  Life  of  Milton," 
p.  zix. 

GENOA,  1822. 
Rise,  Genoa,  rise  in  beauty  from  tlie  gea ; 
Old  Dona's  blood  is  flowing  in  thy  veins  : 
Rise,  peerless  in  thy  beauty  !  what  remains 
Of  thy  (jld  glory  is  enough  for  me  ! 
Flow  then,  ye  emerald  waters,  bright  and  free; 
And  breathe,  ye  orange  groves,  along  her  plains; 
Ye  fountains,  sparkle  through  her  marble  fanes; 
And  hang  aloft,  thou  rich  and  purple  sky  ! 
Hang  up  thy  gorgeous  canopy,  thou  sun  ! 
Shine  on  her  marble  palaces,  that  gleam 
Like  silver  in  thy  never-dying  beam  : 
Think  of  the  years  of  glory  she  has  won. 
She  must  not  sink  before  her  race  is  run, 
Nor  her  long  age  of  conquest  seem  a  dream. 

In  Milton's  Sonnets  there  is  nothing  of  the  flow  and  excited  temperament  of"  Lyci- 
das  ;"  the  reiteration  of  the  rhyme  seems  in  general  to  embarrass  and  impede  the 
author :  the  words  are  sometimes  forced  into  their  places  :  it  seems  as  if  the  writer 
was  resolved  to  rely  solely  on  the  strength  or  elevation  of  the  thought :  neither  have 
they  any  imagination,  except  the  last ;  nor  any  rural  pictures. 

This  is  a  less  favorable  view  of  these  Sonnets  than  I  have  been  accustomed  hitherto 
to  take;  but  it  arises  from  a  still  more  close  and  analytical  dissection  of  them,  or, 
perhaps,  from  a  transient  state  of  gloom  and  spleen  in  myself.  I  will  never  admit 
that  the  sonnet  is  not  capable  of  every  sort  of  sweetness  and  poetical  spirit ;  but  its 
shortness  is  some  impediment  to  the  gradual  elevation  to  grand  or  passionate  strains  : 
it  has  not 

Ample  room  and  verge  enough. 

Though  Milton's  single  images  are  commonly  given  with  extraordinary  compression 
yet  the  multitude  of  them  is  inconsistent  with  the  limits  of  the  sonnet :  the  power  of 

•  See  "AlheniEum,"  August  22,  1835. 

t  See  Dyer's  "  Specimens  of  English  Sonnets,"  1833.  This  chronological  and  critical  series 
of  sonnets  has  been  selected  in  concurrence  with  the  opinions  which  I  ventured  to  express  to 
the  editor.  It  appears  to  me  an  instructive  gradation  of  specimens,  and  ought  to  be  studied  by 
every  lover  of  English  poetry  with  great  attention  :  it  shows  the  progress  of  language  and 
thought,  and  proves  that  the  genuine  character  of  poetry  is  always  the  same.  How  little  dif- 
ference is  there  between  the  language  and  sentiment  and  harmony  of  Shakspeare,  and  those  of 
the  present  day  I  The  high  intellect  and  sensibility  of  human  nature  ane  always  the  same. 
98 


738  SONNETS. 


the  Treb  depends  on  its  combination  and  extension.  The  poet  scorns  all  prettiness  of 
littleness :  I  do  not  wonder,  therefore,  that  in  these  short  compositions  he  has  not  hit 
the  popular  taste  :  I  am  rather  surprised,  that,  fond  as  he  was  of  the  Italian  poets,  he 
did  not  here  catch  more  of  their  manner ;  at  least,  of  the  solemn  and  sombre  inspi- 
ration of  Dante,  if  not  of  the  amatory  tenderness  of  Petrarch. 

Loftiness  of  understanding,  and  the  resolution  of  a  bold,  virtuous,  strong,  and 
uncompromising  heart,  the  bard  had  at  all  times ;  they  were  inseparable  from  his 
nature :  but  I  persevere  in  the  conviction,  that  during  that  long  period  of  his  middle 
life,  when  he  was  engaged  in  political  controversy  and  state  affairs,  the  fire  and  tone 
of  the  Muse  were  suppressed,  and  partly  forgotten.  Mighty  poet  as  he  "was,  I  am  sure 
that  he  would  have  been  still  greater  if  he  had  never  engaged  in  politics :  these  politics 
weighed  down  and  stifled  all  the  romantic  predilections  and  golden  array?  of  hia 
youthful  taste  and  enthusastic  imagination :  chivalry  was  his  early  delight,  and  how 
oould  chivalry  and  democracy  co-exist  ? 

Such  are  the  inconsistencies  of  the  most,  highly  endowed  and  greatest  of  men !  for 
what  man  has  been  greater  or  more  virtuous  than  Milton?  Though  the  idle  pomps  and 
riches  of  the  world  were  not  with  him, — empty  possessions  which  he  scorijed ;  yet  how 
much  greater  was  he  than  kings  and  heroes !  In  his  solitary  study,  working  out  hia 
glorious  fables  by  the  midnight  lamp,  how  infinitely  more  exalted  than  in  his  office  of 
secretary ;  or  than  if  he  had  been  performing  the  acts  of  Cromwell  and  Fairfax,  the 
themes  of  his  majestic  Muse ! 


I. 
TO  THE  NIGHTINGALE. 

0  NIGHTINGALE,  that  on  yon  bloomy  spray 

Warblest  at  eve,  when  all  the  woods  are  still ; 

Thou  with  fresh  hope  the  lover's  heart  dost  fill, 

While  the  jolly  Hours  lead  on  propitious  May. 
Thy  liquid  notes  that  close  the  eye  of  day. 

First  heard  before  the  shallow  cuckoo's  bill,* 

Portend  success  in  love.     0,  if  Jove's  will 

Have  link'd  that  amorous  power  to  thy  soft  lay, 
Now  timely  sing,  ere  the  rude  bird  of  hate 

Foretell  my  hopeless  doom  in  some  grove  nigh ; 

As  thou  from  year  to  year  hast  sung  too  late 
For  my  relief,  yet  hadst  no  reason  why  : 

Whether  the  Muse  or  Love  call  thee  his  mate, 

Both  them  I  serve,  and  of  their  train  am  I.* 

II. 
Donna  legiadra,  il  cui  bel  nome  honora 
L'herbosa  val  di  Rheno,  e  il  nobil  varco ; 
Bene  6  colui  d'  ogni  valore  scarco, 
Qual  tuo  spirto  gentil  non  innamora : 

»  While  the  jolly  Hours  lead  on  propitious  May. 
Because  the  nightingale  is  supposed  to  begin  singing  in  April. — T.  Warton. 

'j  First  heard  before  the  shallow  cuckoo's  hill,  Ac. 
That  is,  if  they  happen  to  be  heard  before  the  cuckoo,  it  is  lucky  for  the  lover 
Milton  laments  afterwards,  that  hitherto  the  nightingale  had  not  preceded  the  cuckoo 
as  she  ought :  had  always  sung  too  late,  that  is,  after  the  cuckoo. — T.  Warton. 

«  Of  their  train  am  I, 
This  sonnet  has  b»en  commended  rather  more  than  it  deserves :  the  nightingale  is  a 
common  th<me  of  poets,  and  has  been  often  better  sung. 


SONNETS.  139 


Che  dolcemente  mostra  si  di  fuora 
De  sui  atti  soavi  giamai  parco, 
E  i  don',  che  son  d'  amor  saette  ed  arco, 
La  onde  1'  alta  tua  virtu  s'  infiora. 

Quando  tu  vaga  parli,  o  lieta  canti 
Cho  mover  possa  duro  alpestre  legno, 
Guardi  ciascun  a  gli  occhi,  ed  a  gli  orecclii 

L'  entrata,  chi  di  te  si  trouva  indegno ; 
Gratia  sola  di  su  gli  vaglia,  inanti 
Che  '1  disio  amoroso  al  cuor  s'  invecchi. 


Qual  in  colle  aspro,  al  imbrunir  di  sera 
L'  avezza  giovinetta  pastorella 
Va  bagnando  F  herbetta  strana  e  bella 
Che  mal  si  spande  a  disusata  spera 

Fuor  di  sua  natia  alma  primavera, 
Cosi  Amor  meco  insil  la  lingua  snella 
Desta  il  fior  novo  di  strania  favella, 
Mentre  io  di  te,  vezzosamente  altera, 

Canto,  dal  mio  buon  popol  non  inteso 
E'l  bel  Tamigi  cangio  col  bel  Arno. 
Amor  lo  volse'  ed  io  a  1'  altrui  peso 

Seppi  ch'  Amor  cosa  mai  volse  indarno. 
Deh !  foss'  il  mio  cuor  lento  e  '1  duro  seno 
A  chi  pianta  dal  ciel  si  buon  terrene. 


CANZONE.d 

Ridonsi  donne  e  giovani  amorosi 

M'  accostandosi  attorno,  e  perche  scrivi, 
Perche  tu  scrivi  in  lingua  ignota  e  strana 
Verseggiando  d'  amor,  e  come  t'  osi  ? 
Dinne,  se  la  tua  speme  sid  mai  vena, 
E  de  pensieri  lo  miglior  t'  arrivi ; 
Cosi  mi  van  burlando,  altri  rivi 
Aliri  lidi  t'  aspettan,  ed  altre  onde 
Nelle  cui  verdi  sponde 
Spuntati  ad  hor,  ad  hor  a  la  tua  chioma 
L'  immortal  guiderdon  d'  eterne  frondi 
PerchiJ  alle  spalle  tue  soverchia  soma  ? 
Canzon  dirotti,  e  tu  per  me  rispondi 
Dice  mia  Donna,  e  '1  suo  dir,  6  il  mio  cuore 
Questa  e  lingua  di  cui  si  vanta  Amore. 

<•  It  is  from  Petrarch  that  Milton  mixes  the  canzone  with  the  sonnetto.    Dante  re- 

farded  the  canzoiie  as  the  most  perfect  species  of  lyric  composition.  "  Delia  Volg. 
lloqu."  c.  iv.  but,  for  the  canzone^  he  allows  more  laxity  than  for  the  sonnet.  He 
says,  when  the  son^  is  written  on  a  grave  or  tragic  subject,  it  is  denominated  canzone  ; 
and  when  on  a  comic  cantilena,  as  diminutive. — T.  W  AEToif. 


T40  SONNETS. 


Diodati,  e  te  '1  dir5  con  maraviglia, 

Quel  ritroso  io  ch*  amor  spreggiar  sol6a 

E  de  suoi  lacci  spesso  mi  ridia 

Gia  caddi,  ov'  huom  dabben  talhor  s'  impiglia. 

Ne  treccie  d'  oro,  ne  guancia  vermiglia 
M'  abbaglian  si,  ma  sotto  novo  idea 
Pellegrina  bellezza  che  '1  cuor  bea, 
Portamenti  alti  honesti,'  e  nolle  ciglia 

Quel  serene  fulgor  d'  amabil  nero, 
Parole  adorne  di  lingua  piu  d'  una, 
E  '1  can  tar  che  di  mezzo  1'  hemispero 

Traviar  ben  puo  la  faticosa  Luna, 

E  degli  occLi  suoi  auventa  si  gran  fuoco 
Che  r  incerar  gli  orecchi  mi  fia  poco. 


Per  certo  i  bei  vostr'  occhi,  Donna  mia 
Esser  non  puo  che  non  sian  lo  mio  sole 
Si  mi  percuoton  forte,  come  ei  suole 

Per  1'  arene  di  Libia  chi  s'  invia, 

Mentre  un  caldo  vapor  (ne  senti  pria) 
Da  quel  lato  si  spinge  ove  mi  duole, 
Che  forse  amanti  nelle  lor  parole 
Chiaman  sospir ;  io  non  so  che  si  sia : 

Parte  rinchiusa,  e  turbida  si  cela  : 

Scosso  mi  il  petto,  e  poi  n'  uscendo  poco 
Quivi  d'  attorno  o  s'  agghiaccia,  o  s'  ingiela; 

Ma  quanto  a  gli  occi  giunge  a  trovar  loco 
Tutte  le  notti  a  me  suoi  far  piovose 
Finche  mia  Alba  rivien  colma  di  rose.' 


Giovane  piano,  e  semplicetto  amante 

Poi  che  fuggir  me  stesso  in  dubbio  sono, 

Madonna  a  voi  del  mio  cuor  1'  humil  dono 

Far6  divoto ;  io  certo  a  prove  tante 
L'  hebbi  fedele,  intrepido,  costante, 

De  pensieri  leggiadro,  accorto,  e  buono; 

Quando  rugge  il  gran  mondo,  e  scocco  il  tuono, 

S'  arma  di  se,  e  d'  intero  diamante  : 

«  Portamenti  alti  honesti. 

So  before,  "  Son."  iii.  8.  "  Vezzosaraente  altera."  Portamento  expresses  the  lofty 
dignified  lieportment,  by  which  the  Italian  poets  constantly  describe  female  beauty; 
»nd  which  is  strikingly  characteristic  of  the  composed  majestic  carriage  of  the  Italian 
ladies,  either  as  contrasted  with  the  liTeliness  of  the  French,  or  the  timid  delicacy  of 
|he  English. — T.  Warton. 

f  Colma  di  rose. 

The  forced  thoughts  at  the  close  of  this  sonnet  are  intolerable :  but  he  was  now  ic 
tiie  land  of  conceit,  and  was  infected  by  writing  in  its  language.  He  had  changed  hit 
native  Thames  for  Arno,  "  Son."  iii.  9. 

Canto,  dal  mio  buon  popol  non  inteso, 

E'l  bel  Tamigi  cangio  col  bel  Arno. — T.  Warto* 


SONNETS.  141 


Tan  to  del  forse,  e  d'  invidia  sicuro, 

Di  timori,  e  speranze,  al  popol  use, 

Quanto  d'  ingegno,  e  d'  alto  valor  vago, 
E  di  cetra  sonora,  e  delle  muse : 

Sol  troverete  in  tal  parte  men  dure, 

Ove  Amor  mise  1'  insanabil  ago.* 

VII. 

ON  HIS  BEING  ARRIVED  TO  THE  AGE  OF  TWENTY-THREE. 

How  soon  hath  Time,*'  the  subtle  thief  of  youth, 

Stolen  on  his  wing  my  three  and  twentieth  year  I 

My  hasting  days  fly  on  with  full  career, 

But  my  late  spring  no  bud  or  blossom  shew'th. 
Perhaps  my  semblance  might  deceive  the  truth, 

That  I  to  manhood  am  arrived  so  near; 

And  inward  ripeness  doth  much  less  appear. 

That  some  more  timely-happy  spirits  endu'th. 
Yet  be  it  less  or  more,  or  soon  or  slow. 

It  shall  be  still  in  strictest  measure  even 

To  that  same  lot,  however  mean  or  high, 
Toward  which  Time  leads  me,  and  the  will  of  Heaven ; 

All  is,  if  I  have  grace  to  use  it  so. 

As  ever  in  my  great  Task-master's  eye. 

K  L'insanahil  ago. 

Milton  had  a  natural  severity  of  mind.  For  love-verses,  his  Italian  sonnets  have  a 
remarkable  air  of  gravity  and  dignity  :  they  are  free  from  the  metaphysics  of  Petrarch, 
and  are  more  in  the  manner  of  Dante :  yet  he  calls  his  seventh  sonnet,  in  a  lettef 
printed  from  the  Cambridge  manuscript  by  Birch,  a  composition  in  the  Petrarohian 
stanza.  In  1762,  the  late  Mr.  Thomas  HoUis  examined  the  Laurentian  library  at 
Florence,  for  six  Italian  sonnets  of  Milton,  addressed  to  his  friend  Chimentelli;  and 
for  other  Italian  and  Latin  compositions  and  various  original  letters,  said  to  be  remain- 
ing in  manuscript  at  Florence :  he  searched  also  for  an  original  bust  in  marble  of 
Milton,  supposed  to  be  somewhere  in  that  city  :  but  he  was  unsuccessful  in  his  curioua 
inquiries. — T.  Wahton. 

This  fcist  of  Milton  is  now  in  England :  it  is  beautifully  carved,  small,  and  in  a  very 
architectural  case  of  mahogany.  The  likeness  shows  both  the  features  and  the  age  of 
the  poet — J.  B. 

Mr.  Hayley  justly  considers  this  sonnet  as  a  very  spirited  and  singular  sketch  of 
the  poet's  own  character. — Todd. 

•>  How  soon  liath  Time.,  &c. 

This  sonnet  was  written  at  Cambridge  in  1631,  and  sent  in  the  following  letter  to  a 
friend,  wlio  had  importuned  our  author  to  take  orders : — 

"  Sir, — Besides  that,  in  sundry  other  respects,  I  must  acknowledge  me  to  profit  by 
you  whenever  we  meet ;  you  are  often  to  me,  and  were  yesterday  especially,  as  good  a 
watchman  to  admonish  that  the  hours  of  the  night  pass  on  (for  so  I  call  my  life,  as  yet 
obscure  and  unserviceable  to  mankind),  and  that  the  day  with  me  is  at  hand,  wlierein 
Christ  commands  all  to  labour  while  there  is  light :  which  because  1  am  persuaded  you 
do  to  no  other  purpose,  than  out  of  a  true  desire  that  God  should  be  honoured  in  every 
one,  I  therefore  think  myself  bound,  though  unaskt,  to  give  you  account^  as  oft  as  occa- 
sion is,  of  this  my  tardy  moving,  according  to  the  precept  of  my  conscience,  which  I 
firmly  trust  is  not  without  God.  Yet  now  I  will  not  streine  for  any  set  apologie,  but 
only  refere  myself  to  what  my  mind  shall  have  at  any  time,  to  declare  herselt  at  her 
best  ease.  But  if  you  think  a.s  you  said,  that  too  much  love  of  learning  is  in  fault,  and 
that  I  have  given  up  myself  to  dreame  away  my  years  in  the  arms  of  a  studious  retire- 
ment, like  Endymion  with  the  Moone,  as  the  tale  of  Latmus  goes ;  yet  consider,  that 
if  it  were  no  more  than  the  irieer  love  of  learning,  whether  it  proceed  from  a  principle 
bad,  good,  or  naturall,  it  could  not  have  held  out  thus  long  against  so  strong  opposition 
aa  the  other  side  of  every  kind.    For,  if  it  be  bad,  why  should  not  all  the  fond  hopes 


142  SONNETS. 


WHEN  THE  ASSAULT  WAS  INTENDED  TO  THE  CITY. 

Captain,  or  Colonel,  or  Knight  in  arms, 

Whose  chance  on  these  defenceless  doors  may  seize, 

If  deed  of  honour  did  thee  ever  please, 

Guard  them,  and  him  within  protect  from  harms. 

He  can  requite  thee ;  for  he  knows  the  charms 
That  call  fame  on  such  gentle  acts  as  these, 
And  he  can  spread  thy  name  o'er  lands  and  seas, 
Whatever  clime  the  sun's  bright  circle  warms. 

Lift  not  thy  spear  against  the  Muses'  bower : 
The  great  Emathian  conquerour  bid  spare 
The  house  of  Pindarus,'  when  temple  and  tower 

Went  to  the  ground :  and  the  repeated  air 

I 

that  forward  youthe  and  vanitie  are  fledged  with,  together  with  gaine,  pride,  and  am- 
bition, call  me  forward  more  powerfully,  than  a  poor,  regardless,  and  unprofitable  sir 
of  curiosity  should-  be  able  to  withhold  me,  whereby  a  man  cuts  himselfe  off  from  all 
action,  and  becomes  the  most  helplesse,  pusillanimous,  and  unweaponed  creature  in  the 
world ;  the  most  unfit  and  unable  to  do  that,  which  all  mortals  most  aspire  to ;  either  to 
be  usefuU  to  his  friends,  or  to  ofiend  his  enemies.  Or,  if  it  be  to  be  thought  a  natural 
pronenesse,  there  is  against  that  a  much  more  potent  inclination  inbred,  which  about 
this  time  of  a  man's  life  sollicits  most  the  desire  of  house  and  family  of  his  owne,  to  which 
nothing  is  esteemed  more  helpful,  than  the  early  entering  into  credible  employment, 
and  nothing  more  hindring  than  this  afiected  solitarinesse ;  and  tho'  this  were  enough, 
yet  there  is  to  this  another  act,  if  not  of  pure,  yet  of  refined  nature,  no  less  availeable 
to  dissuade  prolonged  obscurity;  a  desire  of  honour,  and  repute,  and  immortal  fame, 
seated  in  the  breast  of  every  true  scholar;  which  all  make  haste  to,  by  the  readiest 
ways  of  publishing  and  divulging  conceived  merits,  as  well  those  that  shall,  as  those 
that  never  shall  obtain  it.  Nature  would  presently  work  the  more  prevalent  way,  if 
there  were  nothing  but  this  inferiour  bent  to  restraine  her.  Lastly,  the  love  of  learn- 
ing, as  it  is  the  pursuit  of  something  good,  it  would  sooner  follow  the  more  excellent 
and  supreme  good  known  and  presented,  and  so  be  quickly  exempted  from  the  emptie 
and  fantastic  chase  of  shadows  and  potions,  to  the  solid  good  flowing  from  due  and 
tymely  obedience  to  that  command  in  the  Gospel,  sett  out  by  the  terrible  seasing  of 
him  that  hid  the  talent.  It  is  more  probable  therefore  that,  not  the  endless  delight  of 
speculation,  but  this  very  consideration  of  that  great  commandment,  does  not  presse 
forward  as  soon  as  many  doe  to  undergoe,  but  keeps  off"  with  a  sacred  reverence  and 
religious  advisement  how  best  to  undergoe;  not  taking  thought  of  being  late,  so  it  give 
advantage  to  be  more  fit :  for  those  that  were  latest  lost  nothing  when  the  maister  of 
the  vineyard  came  in  to  give  each  one  his  hire.  And  here  I  am  come  to  a  stream-head, 
e  pious  enough  to  disburthen  itself  like  Nilus  at  seven  mouths  into  an  ocean :  but  then 
I  jhould  aleo  run  into  a  reciprocall  contradiction  of  ebbing  and  flowing  at  once,  and 
do  that  which  I  excuse  myself  for  not  doing,  preach  and  not  preach.  Yet  that  you 
may  see  I  am  something  suspicious  of  myselfe,  and  do  take  notice  of  a  certain  belated- 
ness  in  me,  I  am  the  bolder  to  send  you  some  of  my  nightward  thoughts,  some  while 
Bince,  because  they  come  in  not  altogether  unfitly,  made  up  in  a  Petrarchian  stanza, 
which  I  told  you  of: — 

How  soon  hath  Time,  Sec. 

By  this  I  believe  you  may  well  repent  of  having  made  mention  at  all  of  this  matter; 
for  if  1  have  not  all  this  while  won  you  to  this,  I  have  certainly  wearied  you  of  it. 
This  therefore  alone  may  be  a  sufficient  reason  for  me  to  keep  me  as  I  am ;  least,  hav- 
ing thus  tired  you  singly,  I  should  deal  worse  with  a  whole  congregation,  and  spoyle  all 
tho  patience  of  a  parish ;  for  I  myself  do  not  only  see  my  own  tediousnesse,  but  now 
grow  off"ended  with  it,  that  has  hindered  me  thus  long  from  coming  to  the  last  and  best 
period  of  my  letter,  and  that  which  must  now  chiefly  work  my  pardon ; — that  I  am  your 
Irue  and  unfained  friend, 

"  John  Milton." 
"  Tke  great  Emathian  conqueror  bid  spare 
The  house  of  Pindarus. 
As  a  poet,  Milton  bad  as  good  right  to  expect  this  favour  as  Pindar;  nor  was  the 
English  monarch  loss  a  protector  of  the  arts,  and  a  lover  of  poetry,  than  Alexander. 


SONNETS.  /  743 


Of  sad  Electra's  poet ^  had  the  power 
To  save  the  Athenian  ffalla  from  ruin  baxi 


TO  A  VIRTUOUS  YOUNG  LADY. 

Lady,  that  in  the  prime  of  earliest  youth 

Wisely  hast  shunn'd  the  broad  way  and  the  greeU; 
And  with  those  few  art  eminently  seen, 
That  labour  up  the  hill  of  heavenly  truth ; 

The  better  part  with  Mary  and  with  Ruth 
Chosen  thou  hast ;  and  they  that  overween, 
And  at  thy  growing  virtues  fret  their  spleen. 
No  anger  find  in  thee,  but  pity  and  ruth. 

Thy  care  is  fix'd,  and  zealously  attends 

To  fill  thy  odorous  lamp  with  deeds  of  light, 

And  hope  that  reaps  not  shame. ^     Therefore  be  sure, 

Thou,  when  the  bridegroom  with  his  feastful  friends  ^ 
Passes  to  bliss  at  the  mid  hour  of  night. 

Hast  gain'd  thy  entrance,  Virgin  wise  and  pure. 


TO  THE  LADY  MARGARET  LEY. 
Daughter  to  that  good  earl,™  once  president 
Of  England's  council  and  her  treasury, 

Asa  subject,  Milton  was  too  conscious  that  his  situation  was  precarious,  and  that  hLs 
seditious  tracts  had  forfeited  all  pretensions  to  his  sovereign's  mercy.  Mr.  Bowk- 
here  refers  us  to  Pliny,  1.  vii.  c.  29: — "Alexander  Magnus  Pindari  vatis,  familiie 
penatibusque  jussit  parci,  cum  Thebas  caperet;"  and  to  the  old  commentator  on 
Spenser's  "Pastorals,"  who  relates  this  incident  more  at  large,  and  where  it  might 
have  first  struck  Milton,  as  a  great  reader  of  Spenser.  JElian  says,  that  in  this  havoc, 
Alexander  honoured  the  family  of  Pindar,  and  suflfered  his  house  alone  to  stand 
untouched  and  entire;  having  killed  90,000  Thebans,  and  taken  30,000  prisoners. — 
T.  Warton. 

i  Of  sad  Electra's  poet,  &c. 

Plutarch  relates,  that  when  the  Lacedemonian  general  Lysander  took  Athens,  it  was 
proposed  in  a  council  of  war  entirely  to  rase  the  city  and  convert  its  site  into  a  desert ; 
but  during  the  debate,  at  a  banquet  of  the  chief  officers,  a  certain  Phocian  sung  some 
fine  anastrophics  from  a  chorus  of  the  "  Electra"  of  Euripides ;  which  so  afi'ected  the 
hearers,  that  they  declared  it  an  unworthy  act,  to  reduce  a  place,  so  celebrated  for  the 
production  of  illustrious  men,  to  total  ruin  and  desolation.  The  lines  of  Euripides  are 
at  ver.  168.  It  appears,  however,  that  Lysander  ordered  the  walls  and  fortifications  to 
be  demolished.  By  the  epithet  "  sad,"  Milton  denominates  the  pathetic  character  of 
Euripides.  "  Repeated"  signifies  recited.  But  it  has  been  ingeniously  suggested,  that 
the  epithet  "  sad"  belongs  to  Electra,  who  very  often  so  calls  herself  in  Euripides's  play; 
and  says,  that  all  the  city  gave  her  the  same  appellation. — T.  Warton. 

Electra  had  been  before  denominated  "sad"  by  Drummond,  in  his  "Elegy  on  Prince 
Henry's  death :" — 

And  sad  Electra's  sisters,  who  still  weepe. 

This  is  one  of  Milton's  best  Sonnets,  as  Mr.  Warton  observes.  It  was  written  in  1642, 
when  the  king's  army  was  arrived  at  Brentford,  and  had  thrown  the  whole  city  into 
consternation. — Todd. 

k  And  hope  that  reaps  not  shame. 
Rom.  V.  5. — HuRD. 

I  When  the  bridegroom  with  his  feastful  friends. 
"Feastful"  is  an  epithet  in  Spenser.    He  alludes  to  the  midnight  feasting  of  the  Jew, 
before  the  consummation  of  marriage. — T.  Warton. 

™  Daughter  to  that  good  earl. 
She  was  the  daughter  of  Sir  James  Ley,  whose  singular  learning  and  abilities  raised 


•744  SONXETS. 


Who  lived  in  both,  unstain'd  with  gold  or  fee, 

And  left  them  both,  more  in  himself  content, 
Till  sad  the  breaking  of  that  parliament 

Broke  him,  as  that  dishonest  victory. 

At  Chaeronea,  fatal  to  liberty, 

Kill'd  with  report  that  old  man  eloquent." 
Though  later  born  than  to  have  known  the  days 

Wherein  your  father  flourish'd,  yet  by  you, 

Madam,  methinks  I  see  him  living  yet ; 
So  well  your  words  his  noble  virtues  praise, 

That  all  both  judge  you  to  relate  them  true, 

And  to  possess  them,  honour'd  Margaret. 

XI. 

ON  THE  DETRACTION  WHICH  FOLLOWED  UPON  MY  WRITING 
CERTAIN  TREATISES." 

A  BOOK  was  writ  of  late  call'd  "  Tetrachordon,"!" 
And  woven  close,  both  matter,  form,  and  style ; 
The  subject  new :  it  walk'd  the  town  awhile. 
Numbering  good  intellects;  now  seldom  pored  on. 

him  tbrough  all  the  great  posts  of  the  law,  till  he  came  to  be  made  Earl  of  Marlborough, 
and  Lord  High  Treasurer,  and  Lord  President  of  the  Council  to  King  James  I.  He 
died  in  an  advanced  age ;  and  Milton  attributes  his  death  to  "  the  breaking  of  the 
parliament;"  and  it  is  true  that  the  parliament  was  dissolved  the  10th  of  March.  1628-9, 
and  he  died  on  the  14th  of  the  same  month.  He  left  several  sons  and  daughters ;  and 
the  Lady  Margaret  was  married  to  Captain  Hobson,  of  the  Isle  of  Wight.  It  appears, 
from  the  accounts  of  Milton's  life,  that  in  1643  he  used  frequently  to  visit  this  lady  and 
her  husband;  about  which  time  we  may  suppose  this  Sonnet  to  have  been  composed,— 
Newton. 

n  Kill'd  with  report  that  old  man  eloquent. 
Isocrates,  the  orator.     The  victory  was  gained  by  Philip  of  Macedon  over  the  Athe- 
nians.— T.  Warton. 

0  Dr.  Johnson  says  of  this  and  the  next  Sonnet,  that  "the  first  is  contemptible,  and 
the  second  not  excellent;"  and  yet  he  had  unfairly  selected  the  contemptible  Sonnet  as 
a  specimen,  in  his  Dictionary,  of  this  species  of  verse  in  English.  But  Milton  wrote 
this  Sonnet  in  sport. — Todd. 

After  this  proved  fact,  who  can  doubt  Johnson's  malignity  and  dishonesty  towards 
Milton  ? 

P  A  book  was  writ  of  late  call'd  Tetrachordon, 

This  elaborate  discussion,  unworthy  in  many  respects  of  Milton,  and  in  which  much 
acuteness  of  argument  and  comprehension  of  reading  were  idly  thrown  away,  was 
received  with  contempt,  or  rather  ridicule,  as  we  learn  from  Howell's  "Letters."  A 
better  proof  that  it  was  treated  with  neglect  is,  that  it  was  attacked  by  two  nameless 
and  obscure  writers  only;  one  of  whom  Milton  calls,  "a  serving-man  turned  solicitor." 
Oiir  author's  divorce  was  on  Platonic  principles:  he  held,  that  disagreement  of  mind 
was  a  betler  cause  of  separation  than  adultery  or  frigidity :  here  was  a  fair  opening  for 
the  laughers.  This  and  the  following  Sonnet  were  written  soon  after  1645.  For  this 
doctrine  Milton  was  summoned  before  the  lords  :  but  they  not  approving  his  accusers, 
the  presbyterian  clergy,  or  thinking  the  business  too  speculative,  he  was  quickly  dis- 
missed. On  this  occasion  Milton  commenced  hostilities  against  the  presbyterians.  Ho 
illustrates  his  own  system  in  this  line  of  "Par.  Lost,"  b.  ix.  372.  "Go;  for  thy  stay, 
not  free,  absents  thee  more."  Milton  wished  he  had  not  written  this  work  in  English, 
This  is  observed  by  Mr.  Bowie,  who  points  out  the  following  proof,  in  the  "  Defensio 
Secunda:" — "Vellem  hoc  tantum,  sermone  vernaculo  me  non  soripsisse:  non  enira  in 
vemas  lectores  incidissem,  quibus  solenne  est  sua  bona  ignorare,  aliorum  mala  irridere." 
This  was  one  of  Milton's  books  published  in  lonsequence  of  his  divorce  [separation] 
from  his  first  wife.  "  Tetrachordon"  signifies  expositions  on  the  four  chief  plaoes  in 
Scripture  which  mention  marriaj!;e  or  nullities  iu  marriage. — T.  Wabtok. 


SONNETS.  745 


Cries  the  stall-reader,  Bless  us  !  what  a  word  on 
A  title-page  is  this !  and  some  in  file 
Stand  spelling  false,  while  one  might  walk  to  Mile- 
;^^,    End  Green.     Why  is  it  harder,  sirs,  than  Gordon, 
'j£j[;olkitto,  or  Macdonnel,  or  Galasp  ?  i 
c/^  Those  rugged  names  to  our  like  mouths  grow  sleek, 
<?---   That  would  have  made  Quintilian  stare  and  gasp. 
cX/Thy  age,  like  ours,  0  soul  of  Sir  John  Cheek,"" 
Q-'  Hated  not  learning  worse  than  toad  or  asp. 

When  thou  taught'st  Cambridge,  and  king  Edward,  Greek, 

XII. 

ON  THE  SAME.' 

I  DID  but  prompt  the  age  to  quit  their  clogs, 

By  the  known  rules  of  ancient  liberty. 

When  straight  a  barbarous  noise*  environs  me 

Of  owls  and  cuckoos,  asses,  apes,  and  dogs  : 
As  when  those  hinds  "  that  were  transform'd  to  frogs 

Bail'd  at  Latona's  twin-born  progeny. 

Which  after  held  the  sun  and  moon  in  fee. 

But  this  is  got  by  casting  pearl  to  hogs ; 

q  Colkitto,  or  Macdonnel,  or  Galasp. 
Milton  is  here  collecting,  from  his  hatred  to  the  Scots,  what  he  thinks  Scottish  names 
of  an  ill  sound.  "  Colkitto"*and  "  Macdonnel,"  are  one  and  the  same  person ;  a  brave 
ofBcer  on  the  royal  side,  an  Irishman  of  the  Antrim  family,  who  served  under  Montrose: 
the  Macdonalds  of  that  family  are  styled,  by  way  of  distinction,  "  Mao  Collcittok,"  i.  e. 
descendants  of  lame  Colin.  "  Galasp"  is  a  Scottish  writer  against  the  independents ; 
for  whom  see  Milton's  verses  "  On  the  Forcers  of  Conscience,"  Ac.  He  is  George  Gil- 
lespie, one  of  the  Scotch  members  of  the  assembly  of  divines,  as  his  name  is  subscribed 
to  their  letter  to  the  Belgic,  French,  and  Helvetian  churches,  dated  1643 ;  in  which  they 
pray,  "  that  these  three  nations  may  be  joined  as  one  stick  in  the  hands  of  the  Lord : 
that  all  mountains  may  become  plains  before  them  and  us ;  that  then  all  who  now  see 
the  plummet  in  our  hands,  may  also  behold  the  top-stone  set  upon  the  head  of  the  Lord's 
house  among  us,  and  may  help  us  with  shouting  to  cry,  Grace,  grace  to  it."  Rushw.  p. 
671.     Such  was  the  rhetoric  of  these  reformers  of  reformation  ! — T.  Wakton. 

f  Sir  John  Cheek. 

Or  Cheke  :  he  was  the  first  professor  of  the  Greek  tongue  in  the  university  of  Cam- 
bridge, and  was  highly  instrumental  in  bringing  that  language  into  repute,  and  restor- 
ing the  original  pronunciation  of  it ;  though  with  great  opposition  from  the  patrons  of 
ignorance  and  popery,  and  especially  from  Gardiner,  bishop  of  Winchester  and  chan« 
cellor  of  the  university.  He  was  afterwards  made  one  of  the  tutors  to  Edward  VL 
See  his  Life  by  Strype,  or  in  the  "  Biographia  Britannica." — Newton. 

•  The  preceding  Sonnet  is  evidently  of  a  ludicrous,  the  present  of  a  more  contemp- 
tuous cast.  There  is  a  portrait  of  the  celebrated  Spanish  poet,  Lopez  de  Vega,  painted 
when  he  was  young ;  surrounded  by  dogs,  monkeys,  and  other  monsters,  and  writing 
In  the  midst  of  them,  without  attending  to  their  noise.  It  is  not  improbable  that  Miltoa 
might  have  seen,  or  heard  of,  this  curious  picture  of  his  contemporary ;  and  be  led,  in 
consequence,  to  describe  so  minutely,  in  this  Sennet,  "the  barbarous  noise  that 
environed  him." — Todd. 

'  When  straight  a  barbarous  noise,  &c. 

Milton  was  violently  censured  by  the  presbyterian  clergy  for  his  "  Tetrachordon," 
and  other  tracts  of  that  tendency. — T.  Warton. 

1  As  when  those  hinds,  Ac. 
The  fable  of  the  Lycian  clowns  changed  into  frogs  is  related  by  Ovid,  "  Met."  vi. 
fab.  4 :  and  the  poet,  in  saying  "Which  after  held  the  sun  and  moon  in  fee,"  intimatei 
the  good  hopes  which  he  had  of  himself,  and  his  expectations  of  making  a  considerable 
figure  in  the  world.  -NEWTm. 


■746  SONNETS. 


That  bawl  for  freedom  in  their  senseless  mood, 
And  still  revolt  when  truth  would  set  them  free.' 
Licence  they  mean  when  they  cry  liberty ; 

For  who  loves  that,  must  first  be  wise  and  good ; 
But  from  that  mark  how  far  they  rove  we  see, 
For  all  this  waste  of  wealth,  and  loss  of  blood.'' 


xm. 
TO  MR.  H.  LAWES,  ON  THE  PUBLISHING  HIS  AIRS. 

Harry,  whose  tuneful  and  well-measured  song 
First  taught  our  English  musick  how  to  span 
Words  with  just  note  and  accent,  not  to  scan 
With  Midas  ears,  committing  short  and  long ;  ^ 

Thy  worth  and  skill  exempts  thee  from  the  throng,' 
With  praise  enough  for  Envy  to  look  wan : 
To  after  age  thou  shalt  be  writ  the  man,' 
That  with  smooth  air  could  st  humour  best  our  tongue. 

Thou  honour'st  verse,  and  verse  must  lend  her  wing 
To  honour  thee,  the  priest  of  Phoebus'  quire. 
That  tunest  their  happiest  lines  in  hymn  or  story." 

Dante  shall  give  Fame  leave  to  set  the  higher 
Than  his  Casella,*"  whom  he  woo'd  to  sing 
Met  in  the  milder  shades  of  purgatory. 

y  When  truth  would  set  them  free. 
Compare  St.  John,  viii.  32.    "  Ye  shall  know  the  truth,  and  the  truth  shall  make  you 
free." — Todd. 

w  Zo88  of  blood. 
The  latter  part  of  this  Sonnet  is  very  fine,  and  contains  a  most  important  political 
truth. 

^  With  Midas  ears,  committing  short  and  long. 
" Committing" is  a  Latinism,  as  Mr.  Warton  observes;  and,  as  Mr.  Richardson  had 
remarked,  conveys  with  i'  the  idea  of  offending  against  quantity  and  harmony. — Todd 

y  Exempts  thee  from  the  throng. 
Horace,  "  Od."  i.  i.  32.    "  Secernunt  populo." — Richardson. 

*  TTioH  shalt  be  writ  the  man. 

This  also  is  in  the  style  of  Horace,  "  Od."  i.  vi.  1 : — 

Scriberis  Vario  fortis,  et  hostium 
Victor. — Newton. 

»  Or  story. 
"  The  story  of  Ariadne  set  by  him  to  musick."     This  is  a  note  in  the  margin  of  this 
Sonnet,  as  it  stands  prefixed  to  '*  Choice  Psalms  put  into  musick  by  Henry  and  William 
Lawea,  Lond.  for  II.  Moseley,  1648."     The  inscription  is  there,  "To  my  friend  Mr. 
Henry  Lawes." — T.  Warton. 

b  Than  his  Casella,  <tc. 

Dante,  on  his  arrival  in  Purgatory,  sees  a  vessel  approaching  tlje  shore,  freighted 
with  souls  under  the  conduct  of  an  angel,  to  be  cleansed  from  their  sins,  and  made  fit 
for  Paradise  :  when  they  are  disembarked,  the  poet  recognises  in  the  crowd  his  ild 
friend  Casella  the  musician.  The  interview  is  strikingly  imagined,  and,  in  the  course 
of  an  affectionate  dialogue,  the  poet  requests  a  soothing  air ;  and  Casella  sings,  with 
the  most  ravishing  sweetnes?,  Dante's  second  Canzone.  By  "  milder  shades,"  ouJ 
author  means,  shades  comparatively  much  less  horrible  than  those  which  Dante  dd< 
scribes  in  the  "  Inferno." — T.  Warton. 

See  a  notice  of  Henry  Lawes  in  the  notes  prefixed  to  "Comus." 


SONNETS.  U1 


ON  THE  RELIGIOUS  MEMORY  OP  MRS.  CATHARINE  THOMSON, 

MY   CHRISTIAN  FRIEND,  DECEASED   DEC.  16,  1646.e 

When  Faith  and  Love,  which  parted  from  thee  never, 

Had  ripen'd  thy  just  soul  to  dwell  with  God, 

Meekly  thou  didst  resign  this  earthly  load 

Of  death,  call'd  life  ;  which  us  from  life  doth  sever. 
Thy  works,  and  alms,  and  all  thy  good  endeavour, 

Stay'd  not  behind,  nor  in  the  grave  were  trod ;  •* 

But,  as  Faith  pointed  with  her  golden  rod," 

Follow' d  thee  up  to  joy  and  bliss  for  ever. 
Love  led  them  on ;  and  Faith,  who  knew  them  best 

Thy  handmaids,  clad  them  o'er  with  purple  beams 

And  azure  wings,  that  up  they  flew  so  drest, 
And  spake  the  truth  of  thee  on  glorious  themes 

Before  the  Judge ;  who  thenceforth  bid  thee  rest, 

And  drink  thy  fill  of  pure  immortal  streams 

XV. 

TO  THE  LORD  GENERAL  FAIRFAX.' 

Fairfax,  whose  name  in  arms  through  Europe  rings, 
Filling  each  mouth  with  envy  or  with  praise, 
And  all  her  jealous  monarchs  with  amaze 
And  rumours  loud,  that  daunt  remotest  kings ;  s 

Thy  firm  unshaken  virtue  ever  brings 

Victory  home,  though  new  rebellions  raise 

c  Sonnet  xiv. — ifra.  Catharine  Thomson. 
I  find  in  the  accounts  of  Milton's  life,  that  when  he  was  first  made  Latin  Secretary^ 
he  lodged  at  one  Thomson's,  next  door  to  the  Bull-head  tavern  at  Charing-cross.     This 
Mra.  Thomson  was  in  all  probability  one  of  that  family. — Newton. 

d  Stay'd  not  behind,  nor  in  the  grave  were  trod, 
*'Nor  in  the  grave  were  trod,"  is  a  beautiful  periphrasis  for  "good  deeds  forgotten  at 
her  death,"  and   a  happy  improvement  of  the   original   line  in   th*  manuscript;^ 
"Straight  follow'd  the  path  that  saints  have  trod." — T.  Warton. 

e  With  her  golden  rod. 
Perhaps  from  the  golderr  reed  in  the  Apocalypse. — T.  Warton. 

'  For  obvious  political  reasons,  this  Sonnet,  the  two  following,  and  the  two  to  Cyriack 
Skinner,  were  not  inserted  in  the  edition  of  1673;  they  were  first  printed  at  the  end 
of  Philips's  Life  of  Milton  prefixed  to  the  English  version  of  his  public  letters,  1694 
They  are  quoted  by  Toland  in  his  Life  of  Milton,  169'8,  p.  24,  34,  35.  Tonson  omitted 
them  in  his  editions  of  1695,  1705;  but  growing  less  ofi'ensive  by  time,  they  appear  in 
his  edition  of  1713.  The  Cambridge  manuscript  happily  corrects  many  of  their  vitiated 
readings.  They  were  the  favourites  of  the  republicans  long  after  the  Restoration:  it 
was  some  consolation  to  an  exterminated  party  to  have  such  good  poetry  remaining  on 
their  side  of  the  question.  These  five  Sonnets,  being  frequently  transcribed,  or  repeated 
from  memory,  became  extremely  incorrect :  their  faults  were  implicitly  preserved  by 
Tonson,  and  afterwards  continued  without  examination  by  Tickell  and  Fenton.  This 
Sonnet,  as  appears  from  Milton's  manuscript,  was  addressed  to  Fairfax  at  the  siege  of 
Colchester,  1648.— T.  Warton. 

S  Daunt  t  emotett  kings. 
Who  dreaded  the  example  of  England,  that  their  monarchies  would  be  turned  into 
republics. — T.  Warton. 


•748 


SONNETS. 


Their  hydra  heads,  and  the  false  North  displays 
Her  broken  league  ■•  to  imp  their  serpent-wings.* 

0,  yet  a  nobler  task  awaits  thy  hand, 

(For  what  can  war  but  endless  war  still  breed?) 
Till  truth  and  right  from  violence  be  freed, 

And  publick  faith  clear'd  from  the  shameful  brand 
Of  public  fraud.J.     In  vain  doth  Valour  bleed, 
While  Avarice  and  Rapine  share  the  land. 


TO  THE  LORD  GENERAL  CROMWELL.^ 
Cromwell,  our  chief  of  men,  who  through  a  cloud, 

Not  of  war  only,'  but  detractions  rude, 

Guided  by  faith  and  matchless  fortitude. 

To  peace  and  truth  thy  glorious  way  hast  plough' d, 
And  on  the  neck  of  crowned  Fortune"'  proud 

Hast  rear'd  God's  trophies,  and  his  work  pursued; 

While  Darweti  stream,"  with  blood  of  Scots  imbrued, 

And  Dunbar  field  resounds  thy  praises  loud. 
And  Worcester's  laureat  wreath."     Yet  much  remains  " 

To  conquer  still ;  Peace  hath  her  victories 

No  less  renown'd  than  War :  new  foes  arise 

*•  Her  broken  league. 
Because  the  English  parliament  held  that  the  Scotch  had  broken  their  covenant  by 
Hamilton's  march  into  England — Hurd. 

•  To  imp  their  serpent-wings. 
In  falconry,  to  imp  a  feather  in  a  hawk's  wing,  is  to  add  a  new  piece  to  a  mutilated 
stump.    From  the  Saxon  impan,  to  ingraft. — T.  Wakton. 

J  Of  public  fraud. 

The  presbyterian  committees  and  sub-committees.  The  grievance  so  much  com- 
plained of  by  Milton  in  his  "History  of  England."  "Publick  fraud"  is  opposed  to 
"publick  faith,"  the  security  given  by  the  parliament  to  the  city  contributions  for 
carrying  on  the  war. — Warburton. 

k  Written  in  1652.  The  prostitution  of  Milton's  Muse  to  the  celebration  of  Crom- 
well, was  as  inconsistent  and  unworthy,  as  that  this  enemy  to  kings,  to  ancient  mag- 
nificence, and  to  all  that  is  venerable  and  majestic,  should  have  been  buried  in  the 
chapel  of  Henry  VIL ;  but  there  is  great  dignity  both  of  sentiment  and  expression  in 
this  Sonnet :  and,  unfortunately,  the  close  is  an  anticlimax  to  both.  After  a  long 
flow  of  perspicuous  and  nervous  language,  the  unexpected  pause  at  "  Worcester's 
laureat  wreath,"  is  very  emphatical  and  has  a  striking  eifect. — T.  Waeton. 

J  Not  of  war  only. 
A  "  cloud  of  war  "  is  a  classical  expression :  "  Nubem  belli,"  "Virg.  "^n."  x.  809. 
— Newton. 

™  Crowned  Fortune. 
His  malignity  to  kings  aided  his  imagination  in  the  expression  of  this  sublime  sen- 
timent.— HUED. 

°  While  Barwen  stream. 
The  Darwen,  or  Derwen,  is  a  small  river  near  Preston  in  Lancashire  ;  and  there 
Cromwell  routed  the  Scotch  army  under  Duke  Hamilton  in  August,  1648.     The  bat- 
tles of  Dunbar  and  Worcester  are  too  well  known  to  be  particularized ;  both  fought  on 
the  memorable  third  of  September,  the  one  in  1650,  the  other  in  1651. — Newton. 

o  And  Worcester'' 8  laureat  wreath. 
This  seems  pretty,  but  is  inexact  in  this  place.    However,  the  expression  alludes 
to  what  Cromwell  said  of  his  success  at  Worcester,  that  it  was  his  "  crowning 
mercy." — Hurd. 


SONNETS.  lid 


Threatening  to  bind  our  souls  with  secular  chaiBS.' 
Help  us  to  save  free  conscience  from  the  paw 
Of  hireling  wolves,  whose  gospel  is  their  maw.« 


TO  SIR  HENRY  VANE  THE  YOUNGER.r 
Vane,  young  in  years,  but  in  sage  counsel  old, 
Than  whom  a  better  senator  ne'er  held 
The  helm  of  Rome,  when  gowns,  not  arms,  repell'd 
The  fierce  Epirot  and  the  African  bold  : 

This  hemistich  oiiginally  stood,  "And  twenty  battles  more."  Such  are  often  our 
Brst  thoughts  in  a  fine  passage.  I  take  it,  that  one  of  the  essential  beauties  of  the 
Sonnet  is  often  to  carry  the  pauses  into  the  middle  of  the  lines.  Of  this  our  author  has 
given  many  striking  examples,  and  here  we  discern  the  writer  whose  ear  was  tuned  to 
blank  verse. — T.  Wartoit. 

p  Secular  chains. 

The  ministers  moved  Cromwell  to  lend  the  secular  arms  to  suppress  sectaries. — War. 

BURTON. 

1  Of  hireling  wolves,  whose  gospel  is  their  maw. 
Hence  it  appears  that  this  Sonnet  was  written  about  May  1652.  By  "hireling 
wolves,"  he  means  the  presbyterian  clergy,  who  possessed  the  revenues  of  the  paro- 
chial benefices  on  the  old  constitution,  and  whose  conformity  he  supposes  to  be  founded 
altogethe*  on  motives  of  emolument.  There  was  now  no  end  of  innovation  and  refor- 
mation. In  1649,  it  was  proposed  in  parliament  to  abolish  tithes,  as  Jewish  and  anti- 
christian,  and  as  they  were  authorized  only  by  the  ceremonial  law  of  Moses,  which 
was  abrogated  by  the  gospel :  but  as  the  proposal  tended  to  endanger  lay-improprintions, 
the  notion  of  their  divine  right  \^as  allowed  to  have  some  weight,  and  the  business  was 
postponed.  This  was  an  argument  in  which  Selden  had  abused  his  great  learning. 
Milton's  party  were  of  opinion,  that  as  every  parish  should  elect,  so  it  should 
respectively  sustain,  its  own  minister  by  public  contribution :  others  proposed  to  throw 
the  tithes  of  the  whole  kingdom  into  one  common  stock,  and  to  distribute  them  accord- 
ing to  the  size  of  the  parishes :  some  of  the  independents  urged,  that  Christ's  ministers 
should  have  no  settled  property  at  all,  but  be  like  the  apostles,  who  were  sent  out  to 
preach  without  stafif  or  scrip,  without  common  necessaries  ;  to  whom  Christ  said, 
"Lacked  ye  anything?"  A  succession  of  miracles  was  therefore  to  be  worked,  to  pre- 
vent the  saints  from  starving.  Milton's  praise  of  Cromwell  may  be  thought  inconsistent 
with  that  zeal  which  he  professed  for  liberty;  for  Cromwell's  assumption  of  the 
protectorate,  even  if  we  allow  the  lawfulness  of  the  rebellion,  was  palpably  a  violent 
usurp.ation  of  power  over  the  rights  of  the  nation,  and  was  reprobated  even  by  the 
republican  party.  Milton,  however,  in  various  parts  of  the  "Defensio  Secunda,"  gives 
excellent  admonitions  to  Cromwell,  and  with  great  spirit,  freedom,  and  eloquence,  not 
to  abuse  his  new  authority;  yet  not  without  an  intermixture  of  the  grossest  adulation. 
— T.  Warton. 

f  Perhaps  written  about  the  time  of  the  last,  having  the  same  tendency.  Sir  Henry 
Vane  the  younger  was  the  chief  of  the  independents,  and  therefore  Milton's  friend :  he 
was  the  contriver  of  the  solemn  league  and  covenant :  he  was  an  eccentric  character, 
in  an  age  of  eccentric  characters.  In  religion  the  most  fantastic  of  all  enthusiasts,  and 
a  weak  writer,  he  was  a  judicious  and  sagacious  politician :  the  warmth  of  his  zeal  never 
misled  his  public  measures  :  he  was  a  knight-errant  in  everything  but  afiairs  of  staie. 
The  sagacious  bishop  Burnet  in  vain  attempted  to  penetrate  the  darkness  of  his  creed. 
He  held,  that  the  devils  and  the_  damned  would  be  saved :  he  believed  himself  the 
person  delegated  by  God  to  reign  over  the  saints  upon  earth  for  a  thousand  years.  His 
principles  founded  a  sect  called  the  Vanists.  On  the  whole,  no  single  man  ever  exhi- 
bited such  a  medley  of  fanaticism  and  dissimulation,  solid  abilities  and  visionary  delu- 
sions, good  sense  and  madness.  In  the  pamphlets  of  that  age  he  is  called  Sir  Humorous 
Vanity.  He  was  beheaded  1662.  On  the  scafi"old,  he  compared  Tower  Hill  to  Mount 
Pisgah,  where  Moses  went  to  die,  in  full  assurance  of  being  immediately  placed  at  the 
right  hand  of  Christ  Milton  alludes  to  the  execution  of  Vane  and  other  regicides, 
after  the  Restoration,  and  in  general  to  tho  sufferings  of  his  friends  on  that  event,  in  a 
speech  of  the  Chorus  on  Samson's  degradation,  "Sams.  Agon."  v.  687.  This  Sonnet 
seems  to  have  been  written  in  behalf  of  the  independents  against  the  presbyterian 
hierarchy. — T.  W.:tiT0N. 


150  SONNETS. 


Whether  to  settle  peace  or  to  unfold 

The  drift  of  hollow  states*  hard  to  be  spell'd; 
Then  to  advise  how  War  may,  best  upheld, 
Move  by  her  two  main  nerves,  iron  and  gold, 

in  all  her  equipage  :  besides  to  know 

Both  spiritual  power  and  civil,  what  each  means. 

What  severs  each,  thou  hast  learn'd,  which  few  have  done ; 

The  bounds  of  either  sword  to  thee  we  owe  : 
Therefore  on  thy  firm  hand  Religion  leans 
In  peace,  and  reckons  thee  her  eldest  son. 


ON  THE  LATE  MASSACRE  IN  PIEMONT.t 
Avenge,  0  Lord,  thy  slaughter' d  saints,  whose  bones 
Lie  scatter'd  on  the  Alpine  mountains  cold  ; 
Ev'n  them  who  kept  thy  truth  so  pure  of  old, 
When  all  our  fathers  worship'd  stocks  and  stones," 
Forget  not :  in  thy  book  record  their  groans 
Who  were  thy  sheep,  and  in  their  ancient  fold 
Slain  by  the  bloody  Piemontese  that  roll'd 
Mother  with  infant  down  the  rocks.^    Their  moans 

•  Hollow  Hates. 
Peace  with  the  hollow  states  of  Holland. — Warbtjrton. 

•  In  1655,  the  Duke  of  Savoy  determined  to  compel  his  reformed  suhjects  in  the  val- 
leys of  Piedmont,  to  embrace  popery,  or  quit  their  country;  all  who  remained  and 
refused  to  be  converted,  with  their  wives  and  children,  suflfered  a  most  barbarous  mas- 
sacre: those  who  escaped  fled  into  the  mountains,  from  whence  they  sent  agents  into 
England  to  Cromwell  for  relief.  He  instantly  commanded  a  general  fast,  and  promoted 
a  national  contribution,  in  which  near  £40,000  were  collected.  The  persecution  wag 
suspended,  the  duke  recalled  his  army,  and  the  surviving  inhabitants  of  the  Piedmon- 
tese  valleys  were  reinstated  in  their  cottages,  and  the  peaceable  exercise  of  their 
religion.  On  this  business  there  are  several  state-letters  in  Cromwell's  name  written  by 
Milton.  One  of  them  is  to  the  Duke  of  Savoy,  and  is  published  in  his  "  Prose  Works." 
Milton's  mind,  busied  with  this  affecting  subject,  here  broke  forth  in  a  strain  of  poetry, 
where  his  feelings  were  not  fettered  by  ceremony  or  formality.  The  protestants  availed 
themselves  of  an  opportunity  of  exposing  the  horrors  of  popery,  by  publishing  many 
Bets  of  prints  of  this  unparalleled  scene  of  religious  butchery,  which  operated  like 
Fox's  "Book  of  Martyrs."  Sir  William  Moreland,  Cromwell's  agent  for  the  valleys  of 
Piedmont,  at  Geneva,  published  a  minute  account  of  this  whole  transaction,  in  "  The 
History  of  the  Valleys  of  Piemont,  &c.  Lond.  1658,"  fol.,  with  numerous  cuts.  Milton, 
among  many  other  atrocious  examples  of  the  papal  spirit,  appeals  to  this  massacre,  in 
Cromwell's  letter  to  king  Charles  Gustavus,  dat.  1656.  "  Testes  Alpinas  valies  misero- 
rum  casde  ac  sanguine  redundantes,"  &c. — T.  Warton. 

»  Ev'n  them  who  kept  thy  truth  so  pure  of  old, 
When  all  our  fathers  worship'd  stocks  and  stones. 
It  is  protended  that,  when  the  church  of  Rome  became  corrupt;  they  preserved  the 
primitive  apostolical  Christianity;  and  that  they  have  manuscripts  against  the  papal 
antichrist  and  purgatory,  as  old  as  1120.  See  their  history  by  Paul  Perrin,  Genev. 
1619.  Their  poverty  and  seclusion  from  the  rest  of  the  world  for  so  many  ages,  con- 
tributed in  great  measure  to  this  simplicity  of  worship.  In  his  pamphlet,  "  The  like- 
liest Means  to  remove  Hirelings  out  of  Churches,"  against  endowing  churches  with 
tithes,  our  author  frequently  refers  to  the  happy  poverty  and  parity  of  the  Waldenses. 

— T.  WiHTON. 

V  That  roll'd 
Mother  with  infant  doton  the  rocks. 
There  is  a  print  of  this  piece  of  cruelty  in  Moreland.    He  relates  that  "  a  mother 
was  hurled  down  a  mighty  rock,  with  a  little  infant  in  her  arms ;  and  three  days  after, 
was  found  dead  with  the  little  childe  alive,  but  fast  clasped  between  the  arms  of  the 


SONNETS.  "751 


The  vales  redoubled  to  the  hills,  and  they 

To  Heaven,     Their  raartyr'd  blood  and  ashes  sow 
O'er  all  the  Italian  fields,  where  still  doth  sway 

The  triple  tyrant;  that  from  these  may  grow 
A  hundred  fold,  who,  having  learn'd  thy  way, 
Early  may  fly  the  Babylonian  woe.^ 


ON  HIS  BLINDNESS. 
When  I  consider  how  my  light  is  spent 

Ere  half  my  days,  in  this  dark  world  and  wide, 

And  that  one  talent  which  is  death  to  hide,* 

Lodged  with  me  useless,  though  my  soul  more  bent 
To  serve  therewith  my  Maker,  and  present 

My  true  account,  lest  He,  returning,  chide ; 

"  Doth  God  exact  day-labour,  light  denied  V  ' 

I  fondly  ask  :  but  Patience,  to  prevent 
That  murmur,  soon  replies ; — "  God  doth  not  need 

Either  man's  work,  or  his  own  gifts ;  *  who  best 

Bear  his  mild  yoke,  they  serve  him  best :  his  state 
Is  kingly ;  thousands  at  his  bidding  speed. 

And  post  o'er  land  and  ocean  without  rest : 

They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait.* 

XX. 

TO  MR.  LAWRENCE. 
Lawrence,  of  virtuous  father  virtuous  son,* 
Now  that  the  fields  are  dank,  and  ways  are  mire, 

dead  mother  which  were  cold  and  stiffe,  insomuch  that  those  who  found  them  had  much 
ado  to  get  the  young  childe  out."  P.  363. — T.  Warton. 

w  Babylonian  woe. 
Antichrist. — Warburton. 

«  And  that  one  talent  which  is  death  to  hide. 
He  speaks  here  with  allusion  to  the  parable  of  the  talents,  Matt,  xxv.,  and  he  speaka 
with  great  modesty  of  himself,  as  if  he  had  not  five,  or  two,  but  only  one  talent. — 
Newton. 

y  Doth  God  exact  day-labour,  light  denied  f 
Here  is  a  pun  on  the  doctrine  in  the  gospel,  that  we  are  to  work  only  while  it  is  light, 
and  in  the  night  no  man  can  work.     There  is  an  ambiguity  between  the  natural  light 
of  the  day;  and  the  author's  blindness. — T.  Warton. 

*  Man's  work,  or  his  own  gifts. 
Free-will  or  grace. — T.  Warton. 

»  Stand  and  wait. 
My  own  opinion  is  that  this  is  the  noblest  of  Milton's  Sonnets. 

b  Laiorence,  o/ virtuous  father  virtuorta  son,  Ac. 
Of  the  "  virtuous  son,"  nothing  has  transpired :  the  "  virtuous  father,"  Henry  Law- 
rence, was  member  for  Hertfordshire  in  the  little  parliament  which  began  in  1653,  and 
was  active  in  settling  the  protectorate  of  Cromwell.  In  consequence  of  his  services,  he 
was  made  president  of  Cromwell's  council;  where  he  appears  to  have  signed  many 
severe  and  arbitrary  decrees,  not  only  against  the  royalists,  but  the  Brownists,  fifth- 
monarchy  men,  and  other  sectarists.  He  continued  high  in  favour  with  Richard  Crom- 
well. As  innovation  is  progressive,  perhaps  the  son,  Milton's  friend,  was  an  inde- 
pendent and  a  still  warmer  republican.    The  family  appears  to  have  been  seated  not 


752  SONNETS. 


Where  shall  we  sometimes  meet,  and  by  the  fire 
Help  waste  a  sullen  day,  what  may  be  won 
From  the  hard  season  gaining  ?  Time  will  run 
On  smoother,  till  Favonius  reinspire 
The  frozen  earth,  and  clothe  in  fresh  attire 
The  lily  and  rose,  that  neither  sow'd  nor  spun." 

far  from  Milton's  neighbourhood  in  Buckinghamshire  :  for  Henry  Lawrence's  near 
relation,  William  Lawrence,  a  writer,  and  appointed  a  judge  in  Scotland  by  Cromwell, 
and  who  was  in  1631  a  gentleman  commoner  of  Trinity  College,  Oxford,  died  at  Bedfont 
near  Staines  in  Middlesex,  in  1682.     Hence,  says  Milton,  v.  2 : — 

Now  that  the  fields  are  dank,  and  ways  are  mire, 
Where  shall  we  sometimes  meet,  &c. 

Milton,  in  bis  first  "Reply  to  More,"  written  1654,  recites  among  the  most  respectable 
of  his  friends,  who  contributed  to  form  the  commonwealth, — "  Montacutium,  Lauren- 
tiuin,  summo  ingenio  ambos,  optimisque  artibus  expositas,"  &c.  See  Milton's  "Prose 
Works."  Where  by  "  Montacutium"  we  are  to  understand  Edward  Montague,  Earl  of 
Manchester;  who,  while  Lord  Kimbolton,  was  one  of  the  members  of  the  house  of  com- 
mons impeached  by  the  king,  and  afterwards  a  leader  in  the  rebellion.  I  believe  they 
both  deserved  this  panegyric. — T.  Wakton. 

Mr.  Warton  is  mistiiken  in  saying  that  "  of  the  '  virtuous  son'  nothing  has  transpired." 
This  Henry  Lawrence,  the  "  virtuous  son,"  is  the  author  of  a  work,  of  which  I  am  in 
possession,  suited  to  Milton's  taste;  on  the  subject  of  which,  I  make  no  doubt,  he  and 
the  author  "  by  the  fire  helped  to  waste  many  a  sullen  day."  It  is  entitled,  "  Of  our 
Communion  and  Warre  with  Angels,  &c."  Printed  Anno  Dom.  1646,  4to.  189  pages. 
The  dedication  is  "  To  my  Most  deare  and  Most  honoured  Mother,  the  Lady  Law- 
rence." I  suppose  him  also  to  be  the  same  Henry  Lawrence,  who  printed  "A  Vindica- 
tion of  the  Scriptures  and  Christian  Ordinances,"  1649,  Lond.  4to. — Todd. 

See  "  Gentleman's  Magazine,"  about  1825,  for  the  Lawrence  pedigree,  furnished  by 
Sir  James  Lawrence,  then  resident  at  Paris.  This  lineal  descendant  of  the  subject  of 
Milton's  panegyric  has  also  communicated  to  the  publisher  the  following  important  and 
interesting  information  on  the  same  subject: — 

"  Henry  Lawrence,  of  whose  family  and  descent  a  long  account  is  inserted  in  the 
'  Gent.  Mag.'  for  July  1815,  was  the  eldest  son  of  Sir  John  Lawrence,  of  St.  Ives  in 
Huntingdonshire,  by  Elizabeth,  daughter  and  heir  of  Ralph  Waller,  Esq.,  of  Clerken- 
well,  of  the  Beaconsfield  family,  who  took  to  her  second  husband  Robert  Bathurst  of 
Lecklade,  and  was  the  mother  of  Sir  Edward  Bathurst,  created  a  baronet  1643.  He 
was  educated  at  Emmanuel-college,  and  represented  Westmoreland  in  the  Long  Par- 
liament :  having  retired  into  Holland,  he  published  at  Amsterdam,  in  1646,  a  book, 
'  Of  our  Communion  and  Warre  with  Angels,'  and  another  book  '  Of  Baptism.'  He 
afterwards  represented  Hertfordshire ;  was  a  lord  of  the  other  house ;  and  after  the 
abdication  of  Richard  Cromwell,  continued  president  of  the  council  of  state.  He  mar- 
ried Ame,  daughter  of  that  inveterate  antagonist  of  the  house  of  Stuart,  Sir  Edward 
Peyton,  of  Iselham,  in  Cambridgeshire,  Bart.,  by  whom  he  had  seven  sons  and  six 
daughters.     He  died  in  1664,  and  was  buried  at  St.  Margaret's  Hertfordshire. 

"Henry,  the  eldest,  was  the  'virtuous  son:'  for  in  a  political  squib,  printed  1660, 
called  'The  Receipts  and  Disbursements  of  the  Committee  of  Safety,'  we  find, — 'Item, 
reimbursed  to  the  said  Lord  Lawrence  several  sums  of  money,  which  his  eldest  son  had 
Bquandered  away  on  poets  and  dedications  to  his  ingenuity,  to  the  value  of  five  hundred 
pounds  more.  Item,  paid  for  three  great  saddles  for  the  Lord  Lawrence's  son,  and  for 
provender  for  his  lofty  steeds,  ever  since  the  Protector's  political  death,  five  hundred 
pour.ds.  Item,  paid  for  a  pound  of  May  butter  made  of  a  cow's  milk  that  fed  on  Her- 
nion  Hill,  given  to  the  said  Lady  Lawrence  for  pious  uses,  871.  168.'  Henry  died  1679. 
His  son,  Sir  Edward  Lawrence  of  St.  Ives,  was  created  a  baronet  in  January,  l'i'49,  and 
died  in  May  following.  Martha,  one  of  the  president's  daughters,  married  Richard, 
Earl  of  Barrymore,  and  was  married  to  his  successor,  Lawrence,  Earl  of  Barrymore; 
John  Lawrence,  a  younger  son,  left  England  with  James  Bradshaw,  a  nephew  of  the 
judge,  and  settled  in  Jamaica,  where  James  Bradshaw,  after  having  been  president  of 
the  Assembly,  died  in  1699 ;  and  John  Lawrence,  who  died  1690,  was  great-grandfather 
to  the  present  Sir  James  Lawrence,  Knight  of  Malta." 

«  That  neither  sow'd  nor  spun. 
Alluding,  as  Dr.  Newton  observes,  to  Mat.  vi.  26,  28 :    "  They  sow  not,  neither  do 
they  spin."  And  compare  ver.  30,  with  the  preceding  hemietich.  — Todd. 


SONNETS.  153 


What  neat  repast  shall  feast  us,  light  and  choice, 
Of  Attick  taste,  with  wine,  whence  we  may  rise 
To  hear  the  lute  well  touch'd,  or  artful  voice 

Warble  immortal  notes  and  Tuscan  air  ? 

He  who  of  those  delights  can  judge,*  and  spare 
To  interpose  them  oft,  is  not  unwise. 

XXI.        ' 

TO  CYRIACK  SKINNER.* 
Cyriack,  whose  grandaire,  on  the  royal  bench 

Of  British  Themis,  with  no  mean  applause 

Pronounced,  and  in  his  volumes  taught,  our  laws, 

Which  others  at  their  bar  so  often  wrench ; 
To-day  deep  thoughts  resolve  with  me  to  drench 

In  mirth,  that,  after,  no  repenting  draws ! ' 

Let  Euclid  rest,  and  Archimedes  pause, 

Ana  what  the  Swede  intends,^  and  what  the  French. 
To  measure  life  learn  thou  betimes,  and  know 

Toward  solid  good  what  leads  the  nearest  way ; 

For  other  things  mild  Heaven  a  time  ordains, 
And  disapproves  that  care,  though  wise  in  show, 

That  with  superfluous  burden  loads  the  day, 

And,  when  God  sends  a  cheerful  hour,  refrains. 

XXII. 

TO  THE  SAME. 

Utriack,  this  three  years  day  these  eyes,  though  clear, 
To  outward  view,  of  blemish  or  of  spot, 
Bereft  of  light,  their  seeing  have  forgot ; 
Nor  to  their  idle  orbs  doth  sight  appear 

Of  sun,  or  moon,  or  star,  throughout  the  year, 
Or  man,  or  woman.     Yet  I  argue  not 
Against  Heaven's  hand  or  will,  nor  bate  a  jot 
Of  heart  or  hope ;  •>  but  still  bear  up  and  steer 

d  He  who  of  those  delights  can  judge,  Ac. 

The  close  of  this  sonnet  is  perfectly  in  the  style  of  Horace  and  the  Grecian  lyrics ;  as 
is  that  of  the  following  to  Cyriack  Skinner. — T.  Warton. 

e  Cyriack  Skinner  was  one  of  the  principal  memhers  of  Harrington's  political  club 
Wood  says,  that  he  was  "'an  ingenious  young  gentleman,  and  scholar  to  John  Milton; 
which  Skinner  sometimes  held  the  chair." — "  Ath.  Oxon."  ii.  691. 

t  In  mirth,  that,  after,  no  repenting  draws. 
This  is  the  decent  mirth  of  Martial : — 

Nox  non  ebria,  sed  soluta  curis. — T.  Wartow. 

s  And  what  the  Swede  intends,  &c. 
Charles  Gustavus,  king  of  Sweden,  was  at  this  time  waging  war  with  Poland,  and  the 
French  with  the  Spaniards  in  the  Netherlands :  and  what  Milton  says  is  somewhat  in 
the  manner  and  spirit  of  Horace,  "  Od."  ii,  xi.  1 : — 

Quid  bellicosus  Cantaber,  et  Scythes, 
Hirpine  Quincti,  cogitet,  Adria 
Divisus  objecto,  remittas 
QusErere,  &c. — Newton. 

h  0/  heart  or  hope,  Ac. 
One  of  Milton's  characteristics  was  a  singular  fortitude  of  mind,  arising  from  a  con- 
sciousness of  superior  abilities,  and  a  conyiction  that  his  cause  was  just. — T.  Wabton. 
96 


754  SONNETS. 


Right  onward.    "What  supports  me,  dost  thou  ask  ?  * 
The  conscience,  friend  to  have  lost  them  overplied' 
In  liberty's  defence,  J  my  noble  task, 

Of  which  all  Europe  rings  from  side  to  side. 

This  thought  might  lead  me  through  the  world's  vain  mask 
Content  though  blind,  had  I  no  better  guide. 

XXIII. 

•     ON  HIS  DECEASED  WIFE. 

Methought  I  saw  iny  late  espoused  saint " 
Brought  to  me,  like  Alcestis  from  the  grave,' 
Whom  Jove's  great  son  to  her  glad  husband  gave, 
Rescued  from  death  by  force,  though  pale  and  faint 

Mine,  as  whom  wash'd  from  spot  of  child-bed  taint 
Purification  in  the  old  Law  did  save. 
And  such,  as  yet  once  more  I  trust  to  have 
Full  sight  of  her  in  Heaven  without  restraint ; — 

'Jame,  vested  all  in  white,  pure  as  her  mind : 
Her  face  was  veil'd ;  yet  to  my  fancied  sight 
Love,  sweetness,  goodness,  in  her  person  shined 

So  clear,  as  in  no  face  with  more  delight. 
But,  0,  as  to  embrace  me  she  inclined, 
I  waked;  she  fled;  and  day  brought  back  my  night. 

'  To  have  lost  them  overplied,  &c. 
When  he  was  employed  to  answer  Salmasius,  one  of  his  eyes  was  almost  gone  ,•  and 
the  phyaieians  predicted  the  loss  of  both  if  he  proceeded :  but  he  says,  in  answer  to 
Du  Moulin,  "  I  did  not  long  balance  whether  my  duty  should  be  preferred  to  my  eyes." 
— T.  Warton. 

J  In  liberty's  defence,  Ac 
This  Sonnet  was  not  hazarded  in  the  edition  of  1673,  where  the  last  appears :  for  the 
"Defensio  pro  Populo  Anglicano,"  of  which  he  here  speaks  with  so  much  satisfaction 
and  self-applause,  at  the  Restoration  was  ordered  to  be  burnt  by  the  handa  of  the  com- 
mon hangman,  together  with  his  "  Iconoclastes,"<it  which  time  his  person  was  spared; 
and,  by  a  singular  act  of  royal  clemency,  he  survived  to  write  "  Paradise  Lost."  But 
Milton's  prose  was  to  suffer  another  disgrace.  Twenty-seven  propositions,  gathered 
from  the  writings  of  our  author,  Buchanan,  Hobbes,  Ba.xter,  John  Goodwin,  Knox, 
Owen,  and  others,  were  proscribed  by  the  university  of  Oxford,  July  21,  1683,  as  de- 
structive both  to  church  and  state ;  and  ordered  to  be  burnt  in  the  court  of  the  schools. 
This  transaction  is  celebrated  in  a  poem  of  the  "Musae  Anglicanas,"  called  "Decretum 
Oxoniense,"  1683,  vol.  ii.  p.  180^  181,  edit.  1714.  I  transcribe  some  of  the  lines  with 
abhorrence : — 

HaB  tibi  sint  laudes  immortalesque  triumph!, 

O  Dea,  Bellositi  sacras  quos  protegis  arces! — 

Quanquam,  O,  si  simili  quicunque  hcEC  scripsent  auctor  • 

Fate  succubuisset,  eoilemque  aiserit  igne  ; 

In  medio  videas  fiamma  crepitante  cremari 

Miltonum,  coelo  terrisque  in  amabile  nomen  ! 

But  by  what  follows,  the  writer  does  not  seem  to  have  been  insensible  to  the  beauties 
of  Milton's  poetry. — T.  Wahtox. 

k  Methought  I  saw  my  late  espoused  saint,  Ac. 
This  Sonnet  was  written  about  the  year  1656,  on  the  death  of  his  second  wife,  Cathe- 
rine, the  daughter  of  Captain  Woodcock  of  Hackney,  a  rigid  sectarist.     She  died  in 
child-bed  of  a  daughter,  within  a  year  after  their  marriage.     Milton  had  now  been  long 
totally  blind ;  s(j  that  this  might  have  been  one  of  his  day-dreams. — T.  Warton. 

I  Brought  to  me,  like  Alcestis,  from  the  grave. 
Dr  Jchnson  calls  this  "  a  poor  Sonnet."     Perhaps  he  was  not  struck  with  this  fine 
allusion  to  Euripides. — T.  Waeton. 


HYMN  ON  CHRIST'S  NATIVITT.  155 


ON  THE  MOKNING 

OF 

CHRIST'S     NATIYITT.* 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 

The  "  Hymn  on  the  Nativity"  is  a  favourite  poem  with  me,  notwithstanding  Thomas 
W^arton,  unlike  himself,  has  commenced  with  a  censure  on  what  he  calls  its  conceits ; 
Joseph  Warton,  in  a  short  but  beautiful  note  on  ver.  173,  has  expressed  a  very  opposite 
opinion.  There  is  no  doubt  that  the  prima  stamina  of  the  bard's  divine  epics  are  exhibited 
in  this  poem ;  but  it  has  several  peculiarities,  which  distinguish  it  from  the  poet's  other 
compositions:  it  is  more  truly  lyrical ;  the  stanza  is  beautifully  constructed;  and  there 
is  a  solemnity,  a  grandeur,  and  a  swell  of  verse,  which  is  magical.  The  images  are 
magnificent,  and  they  have  this  superiority  of  excellence;  that  none  of  them  are  merely 
descriptive,  but  have  a  mixture  of  intellectuality  and  spirituality. 

If  there  are  any  "conceits,"  they  are  entirely  confined  to  the  first  two  stanzas  of  the 
lyrical  part, — "  It  was  the  winter  wild,"  and  "  Only  with  speeches  fair :"  all  the  rest  is 
essence  of  poetry;  and  that  of  the  strongest  and  most  picturesque  sort.  The  ninth 
stanza  "  When  such  music  sweet,"  is  such  as  perhaps  no  one  but  Milton  could  have 
written ;  and  still  several,  which  follow,  rise  even  upon  this. 

Some  one  has  said  that  Milton  had  no  ear  for  the  harmony  of  versification ;  this 
hymn  proves  that  his  ear  was  perfect.  Spenser's  Alexandrines  are  fine ;  Milton's  are 
more  like  the  deepest  swell  of  the  organ. 

When  it  is  recollected  that  this  piece  was  produced  by  the  author  at  the  age  of 
twenty-one,  all  deep  thinkers  of  fancy  and  sensibility  must  pore  upon  it  with  delighted 
wonder.  The  vigour,  the  grandeur,  the  imaginativeness  of  the  conception ;  the  forc(» 
and  maturity  of  language ;  the  bound,  the  gathering  strength,  the  thundering  roll  of 
the  metre;  the  largeness  of  the  views;  the  extent  of  the  learning;  the  solemn  and 
awful  tones;  the  enthusiasm,  and  a  certain  spell  in  the  epithets,  which  puts  the  reader 
into  a  state  of  mysterious  excitement,  may  be  better  felt  than  described, 

I  venture  to  pronounce  this  poem  far  superior  to  the  "  L'Allegro"  and  "  H  Penseroso," 
though  the  popular  taste  may  not  concur  with  me :  it  is  much  deeper;  much  more  ori- 
ginal ;  and  of  a  nobler  cast  of  materials.  The  two  latter  poems  are  mainly  descriptive 
of  the  inanimate  beauties  of  the  creation :  it  is  the  grand  purpose  of  poetry  to  embody 
invisible  spirits ;  to  give  shape  and  form  to  the  ideal ;  to  bring  out  into  palpable  lines 
and  colours  the  intellectual  world;  to  associate  with  that  which  is  material  that  which 
is  purely  spiritual ;  to  travel  into  air,  and  open  upon  the  fancy  other  creations.  Fancy 
is  but  cce  faculty  of  the  mind ;  it  is  a  mirror,  of  whose  impressions  the  transfer  upon 
paper  by  the  medium  of  language  '"  a  single  operation. 

Milton,  before  he  could  write  the  Hymn,  must  have  already  exercised  and  enriched 
all  his  faculties  with  vast  and  successful  culture.  He  had  travelled  in  those  dim 
regions,  into  which  young  minds  scarcely  ever  venture ;  and  he  had  carried  a  guarded 
lamp  with  him,  so  as  to  see  all  around  him,  before  and  behind ;  yet  not  so  peering  and 
reckless  as  to  destroy  the  religious  awe.  The  due  position  of  the  lights  and  shades 
was  never  infringed  upon. 

•This  Ode,  in  which  the  many  learned  allusions  are  highly  poetical,  was  probably 
oomposed  as  a  college-exercise  at  Cambridge,  our  author  being  now  only  twenty-one 
years  old.  In  the  edition  of  1645,  in  its  title  it  is  said  to  have  been  written  in  1629.  We 
are  informed  by  himself,  that  he  was  employed  in  writing  this  piece,  in  the  conclusion 
of  the  sixt'-  Elegy  to  his  friend  Deodate,  which  appears  to  have  been  sent  about  the 
close  of  the  month  December. — T.  Wakton. 


t56  HYMN  ON  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY. 

This  is  the  month,  and  this  the  happy  mom, 
Wherein  the  Son  of  Heaven's  Eternal  King, 
Of  wedded  Maid  and  Virgin  Mother  born, 
Our  great  redemption  from  above  did  bring ; 
For  so  the  holy  sages  *  once  did  sing, 

That  he  our  deadly  forfeit  should  release, 
And  with  his  Father  work  us  a  perpetual  peace. 

That  glorious  form,  that  light  unsufferable, 
And  that  far-beaming  blaze  of  majesty, 
Wherewith  he  wont  at  Heaven's  high  council-table 
To  sit  the  midst  of  Trinal  Unity, 
He  laid  aside  3  and  here  with  us  to  be^ 

Forsook  the  courts  of  everlasting  day, 
And  chose  with  us  a  darksome  house  of  mortal  clay. 

Say,  heavenly  Muse,  shall  not  thy  sacred  vein 

Afford  a  present  to  the  Infant  God  ! 

Ha.«t  thou  no  verse,  no  hymn  or  solemn  strain. 

To  welcome  him  to  this  his  new  abode. 

Now,  while  the  heaven,  by  the  sun's  team  untrod, 

Hath  took  no  print  of  the  approaching  light. 
And  all  the  spangled  host  *  keep  watch  in  squadrons  bright  ? 

See,  how  from  far,  upon  the  eastern  road. 
The  star-led  wisards  "=  haste  with  odours  sweet : 
0,  run,  prevent  them  with  thy  humble  ode, 
And  lay  it  lowly  at  his  blessed  feet ; 
Have  thou  the  honour  first  thy  lord  to  greet. 

And  join  thy  voice  unto  the  angel  quire. 
From  out  his  secret  altar  touch'd  with  hallow'd  fire.* 

THE  HYMN. 

It  was  the  winter  wild. 
While  the  heaven-born  child 

All  meanly  wrapt  in  the  rude  manger  lies ; 
Nature,  in  awe  to  him. 
Had  doff'd  her  gaudy  trim, 

With  her  great  Master  so  to  sympathise : 
It  was  no  season  then  for  her 
To  wanton  with  the  sun,  her  lusty  paramour. 

»  Sages. 
The  prophets  of  the  Old  Testament— T.  Wartoit. 

b  Spangled  host. 
A  magnificent  line :  hut  these  four  introductory  stanzas  are  not  eqn^  to  the  Hymn. 

«  The  star-led  wisarda. 
Wise  men. — T.  Warton. 

d  From  out  Mi  secret  altar  touch'd  ioith  hallow'd  fire, 
Alluding  to  Isaiah  vi.  6,  7. — Nkwtom. 


HYMN  ON  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY.  757 

Only  with  speeches  fair 
She  woos  the  gentle  air 

To  hide  her  guilty  front  with  innocent  snow ; 
And  on  her  naked  shame, 
Pollute  with  sinful  blame, 

The  saintly  veil  of  maiden  white  to  throw  J 
Confounded,  that  her  Maker's  eyes 
Should  look  so  near  upon  her  foul  deformities. 

But  he,  her  fears  to  cease,* 
Sent  down  the  meek-eyed  Peace  : 

She,  crown'd  with  olive  green,  came  softly  sliding 
Down  through  the  turning  sphere. 
His  ready  harbinger. 

With  turtle  wing  the  amorous  clouds  dividing : 
And,  waving  wide  her  myrtle  wand. 
She  strikes  a  universal  peace  through  sea  and  land.' 

No  war,  or  battle's  sound. 
Was  heard  the  world  around  : 

The  idle  spear  and  shield  were  high  up  hungj 
The  hooked  chariot  stood 
Unstain'd  with  hostile  blood ; « 

The  trumpet  spake  not  to  the  armed  throng ; 
And  kings  sat  still  with  awful  eye. 
As  if  they  surely  knew  their  sovran  Lord  was  by. 

But  peaceful  was  the  night. 
Wherein  the  Prince  of  light 

His  reign  of  peace  upon  the  earth  began  : 
The  winds,  with  wonder  whist,** 
Smoothly  the  waters  kist. 

Whispering  new  joys  to  the  mild  ocean, 

e  Fears  to  cease. 
I  believe  cease  is  seldom  used  as  a  verb  active.        ^ 

'  She  strikes  a  universal  peace  through,  sea  and  land. 

Dr.  Newton  perhaps  too  nicely  remarks,  that  for  "  Peace  to  strike  peace"  is  an  inao- 
ouracy :  yet  he  allows  that  "  foedus  ferire"  is  classical.  But  Roman  phraseology  is  here 
quite  out  of  the  question.  It  is  not  a  league,  or  agreement  of  peace  between  two  par- 
tics,  that  is  intended :  a  quick  and  universal  diffusion  is  the  idea.  It  was  done  as  with 
a  stroke. — T.  Warton. 

Yet  it  will  perhaps  be  generally  supposed  that  Milton  had  the  "  ferire  foedus,"  which 
Stephens  interprets  "  pacem  componere,"  in  his  mind. — Dunster. 

g  The  hooked  chariot  stood 
Unstain'd  with  hostile  blood. 
Liv.  1.  xxxvii.  xli.      "Falcatae  quadrigae,  quibus  se  perturbaturum  hostium  aciem 
Antiochus  crediderat,  in  suos  terrorem  verterunt." — Bowle. 

Nothing  can  be  more  poetically  grand  than  this  stanza.  In  all  Milton's  noble  poetry 
there  are  few  passages  finer  than  this. 

^The  winds,  with  wonder  whist. 
"Whist"  is  silenced.     In  Stanyhurst's  Virgil  "Intentique  ora  tenebant,"  is  translated 
"  Thoy  whisted  all."    B,  u.  1.— T.  Warton. 


758  HYMN  ON  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY. 

Who  now  hath  quite  forgot  to  rave, 

While  birds  of  calm  sit  brooding  on  the  charmed  wave.* 

The  stars,  with  deep  amaze. 
Stand  fix'd  in  steadfast  gaze, 

Bending  one  way  their  precious  influence ; 
And  will  not  take  their  flight, 
For  all  the  morning  light, 

Or  Lucifer,  that  often  warn'd  them  thence ; 
But  in  their  glimmering  orbs  did  glow, 
Until  their  Lord  himself  bespake,  and  bid  them  go. 

And,  though  the  shady  gloom  •• 
Had  given  day  her  room, 

The  sun  himself  withheld  his  wonted  speed; 
And  hid  his  head  for  shame, 
As  his  inferior  flame 

The  new-enlighten'd  world  no  more  should  need : 
He  saw  a  greater  sun  appear 
Than  his  bright  throne,  or  burning  axletree  could  bear. 

The  shepherds  on  the  lawn, 
Or  e'er  the  point  of  dawn, 

Sat  simply  chatting  in  a  rustick  row ; 
Full  little  thought  they  than, 
That  the  mighty  Pan 

Was  kindly  come  to  live  with  them  below  : " 
Perhaps  their  loves,  or  else  their  sheep, 
Was  all  that  did  their  silly  thoughts  so  busy  keep : 

When  such  music  sweet 
Their  hearts  and  ears  did  greet. 

As  never  was  by  mortal  finger  strook ; 

'  While  birds  of  calm  git  brooding  on  the  charmed  wave. 
Another  glorious  line.    The  whole  stanza  breathes  the  essence  of  descriptive  poetry. 

J  And,  though  the  shady  gloom,  &c. 
Mr.  Bowie  saw  with  me  that  this  stanza  is  a  copy  of  one  in  Spenser's  "  April  :"— 

I  sawe  Phcebus  thruste  out  his  golden  hede 

Vpon  her  to  gaze : 
But,  when  he  saw  howe  broade  her  beames  did  sprede, 

It  did  him  amaze. 
Hee  blusht  to  see  another  sunne  belowe, 

Ne  durst  againe  his  fierie  face  outshowe,  &c. — T.  Warton. 

k  That  the  mighty  Pan 

Was  kindly  come  to  live  with  them  below. 

That  is,  with  the  shepherds  on  the  lawn.     So,  in  Spenser's  "May,"  which  Milton 
imitates  in  "  Lycidas  :" — 

I  muse  what  account  both  these  will  make, 
The  one  for  the  hire  which  he  doth  take  ; 
And  the  other  for  leaving  his  lordes  taske, 
When  great  Pan  account  of  shepheards  shall  aske. 

We  should  recollect  that  Christ  is  styled  a  shepherd  in  the  sacred  writings.  Mr.  Bowie 
ohser\'e«,  that  Dante  calls  him  Jupiter,  "  Purgat."  c.  vi.  y.  118;  and  that  this  passage 
is  literally  adopted  by  Pulci,  "  Morgant.  Magg."  c.  ii.  t.  2. — T.  Warton. 


HYMN  ON  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY.  T59 

Divinely-warbled  voice 
Answering  the  stringed  noise, 

As  all  their  souls  in  blissful  rapture  took : 
The  air,  such  pleasure  loth  to  lose. 
With  thousand  echoes  still  prolongs  each  heavenly  close. 

Nature,  that  heard  such  sound,* 
Beneath  the  hollow  round 

Of  Cynthia's  seat,  the  aery  region  thrilling, 
Now  was  almost  won, 
To  think  her  part  was  done. 

And  that  her  reign  had  here  its  last  fulfilling : 
She  knew  such  harmony  alone 
Could  hold  all  heaven  and  earth  in  happier  union. 

At  last  surrounds  their  sight 
A  globe  of  circular  light. 

That  with  long  beams  the  shamefaced  night  array'd  j 
The  helmed  cherubim. 
And  sworded  seraphim. 

Are  seen  in  glittering  ranks  with  wings  display'd, 
Harping  in  loud  and  solemn  quire. 
With  unexpressive  notes,""  to  Heaven's  new-born  heir. 

Such  musick,"  as  'tis  said, 
Before  was  never  made. 

But  when  of  old  the  sons  of  morning  sung, 
While  the  Creator  great 
His  constellations  set. 

And  the  well-balanced  world  on  hinges  hung ; 
And  cast  the  dark  foundations  deep. 
And  bid  the  weltering  waves  their  oozy  channel  keep 

Ring  out,  ye  crystal  spheres  j 
Once  blehs  our  human  ears. 

If  ye  have  power  to  touch  our  senses  so  j 
And  let  your  silver  chime 
Move  in  melodious  time  j 

And  let  the  bass  of  Heaven's  deep  organ  blow ;  • 

1  Nature,  that  heard  such  sound. 
I  Buppose  this  is  one  of  the  stanzas  which  Warton  deemed  a  conceit     I  can  hardly 
call  it  80. 

n»  With  unexpressive  notes. 
So,  in  "Lycidas,"  v.  176  :— 

And  hears  the  unexpressive  nuptial  song. 
The  woid,  which  is  the  object  of  this  note,  was  perhaps  coined  by  Shakspeare,  "As  you 
Like  it,"  a.  iii.  s.  2 : — 

The  fair,  the  chaste,  the  unexpressive  she.— T.  Wartom. 
This  stanza  is  sublime,  and  in  Milton's  peculiar  manner, 

n  Such  musieJc. 
This  stanza  also  is  of  equal  excellence ;  and  so  the  stanza  which  follows. 

o  And  let  the  baas  of  Heaven's  deep  organ  blow. 
Here  is  another  idea  caught  by  Milton  from  St.  Paul's  cathedral  while  he  was  a 


760  HYMN  ON  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY. 

And,  with  your  ninefold  harmony,' 

Make  up  full  consort  to  the  angelick  symphony. 

For,  if  such  holy  song 
Enwrap  our  fancy  long. 

Time  will  run  back,  and  fetch  the  age  of  gold  j 
And  speckled  Vanity  i 
Will  sicken  soon  and  die. 

And  'sprous  Sin  will  melt  from  earthly  mould; 
And  H  ^11  itself  will  pass  away, 
And  leave  her  dolorous  mansions  to  the  peering  day.» 

Yea,  Truth  and  Justice  then 
Will  down  return  to  men, 

Orb'd  in  a  rainbow ;  and,  like  glories  wearing, 
Mercy  will  sit  between. 
Throned  in  celestial  sheen. 

With  radiant  feet*  the  tissued  clouds  down  steering;* 
A.nd  heaven,  as  at  some  festival, 
Will  open  wide  the  gates  of  her  high  palace  hall. 

But  wisest  Fate  says  no. 
This  must  not  yet  be  so ; 

The  Babe  yet  lies  in  smiling  infancy, 
That  on  the  bitter  cross 
Must  redeem  our  loss ; 

So  both  himself  and  us  to  glorify  : 

Bchool-boy.  Milton  was  not  yet  a  puritan :  afterwards,  he  and  his  friends  the  fanatics 
would  not  have  allowed  of  so  papistical  an  establishment  as  an  organ  and  choir,  even 
in  heaven. — T.  Warton. 

I  think,  to  name  the  organ,  in  speaking  of  the  music  of  the  spheres,  is  rather  the 
bathos. 

P  And,  tctth  your  ninefold  harmony. 

There  being  "  nine  infolded  spheres,"  as  in  "  Arcades,"  v.  64. — Newton. 

q  And  speckled  Vanity,  Ac. 
Plainly  taken  from  the  "maculosum  nefas"  of  Horace,  "Od."  v.  4. 28. — Jos.  Wartor 
Vanity  dressed  in  a  variety  of  gaudy  colours.     Unless  he  means  spots,  the  marks  of 
disease  and  corruption,  and  the  symptoms  of  approaching  death. — T.  Warton. 

f  And  Hell  itself  will  pass  away, 
And  leave  her  dolorous  mansions  to  the  peering  day. 
The  image  is  in  Virgil,  "  ^n."  viii.  245 : — 

Regna  recludat 
Pallida,  Dis  invisa ;  superque  immane  barathrum 
Cernatur,  trepidentque  immisso  lumine  Manos. — T.  Warton. 

The  Alexandrine  here  is  sonorous  and  majestic. 

•  With  radiant  feet. 
Isaiah  lii.  7 : — "How beautiful  upon  the  mountains  are  the  feet  of  him  that bringeth 
good  tidings — that  publisheth  salvation ;  that  saith  unto  Sion,  Thy  God  reigneth  !"— 

DulfSTER. 

t  Down  steering. 
The  old  writers  use  this  word  sinrply  for  moving.    Thus  our  author,  in  "Samson 
Agonistes,"  ver.  110  : — 

1  hear 
The  tread  of  many  feet  steering  this  way.— Hued. 


HYMN  ON  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY.  761 

Yet  first,  to  those  yehain'd  in  sleep, 

The  wakeful  trump  of  doom  must  thunder  through  the  deep ;  ■ 

With  such  a  horrid  clang 
As  on  Mount  Sinai  rang, 

While  the  red  fire  and  smouldering  clouds  out  brake : 
The  aged  earth  aghast, 
With  terrour  of  that  blast. 

Shall  from  the  surface  to  the  centre  shake; 
When,  at  the  world's  last  session, 
The  dreadful  Judge  in  middle  air  shall  spread  his  throne. 

And  then  at  last  our  bliss 
Full  and  perfect  is, 

But  now  begins ;  for,  from  this  happy  day, 
The  old  dragon,  under  ground 
In  straiter  limits  bound, 

Not  half  so  far  casts  his  usurped  sway ; 
And,  wroth  to  see  his  kingdom  fail, 
Swindges  the  scaly  horrour  of  his  folded  tail/' 

The  oracles  ^  are  dumb ; 
No  voice  or  hideous  hum 

Runs  through  the  arched  roof  in  words  deceiving. 
Apollo  from  his  shrine 
Can  no  more  divine. 

With  hollow  shriek  the  steep  of  Delphos  leaving. 
No  nightly  trance,  or  breathed  spell. 
Inspires  the  pale-eyed  priest  from  the  prophetick  cell. 

The  lonely  mountains  o'er,* 
And  the  resounding  shore, 

A  voice  of  weeping  heard  and  loud  lament ; ' 

»  The  wakeful  trump  of  doom  must  thunder  through  the  deep. 
A  line  of  great  energy,  elegant  and  sublime. — T.  Warton. 

»  Swindges  the  scaly  horrour  of  his  folded  tail. 
This  strong  image  is  copied  from  the  descriptions  of  serpents  and  dragons  in  the  oW 
romances  and  Ariosto.    There  is  a  fine  picture  by  Guide,  representing  Michael  the  arch- 
angel treading  on  Satan,  who  has  such  a  tail  as  is  here  described.— Jos.  Warton. 

w  TTie  oracles,  Ac. 
Attention  is  irresistibly  awakened  and  engaged  by  the  air  of  solemnity  and  enthn- 
siasm  that  reigns  in  this  stanza  and  some  that  follow.    Such  is  the  power  of  true  poetry, 
that  one  is  almost  inclined  to  believe  the  superstitions  real. — Jos.  Warton. 

This  is  a  noble  note  of  Jos.  Warton,  who,  though  ho  had  not  the  detached,  abstruse, 
and  curious  knowledge,  and  deep  research  of  his  brothei,  bad,  perhaps,  more  sensibility 
of  taste.  Here  is  just  enough  of  that  dim  imagery,  ant»  those  mysterious  epithets, 
to  set  the  imagination  into  that  magical  stir,  which  it  is  the  essence  of  true  poetry  to 
cause. 

*  The  lonely  mountains  o'er,  &c. 
Dr.  Newton  observes,  that  this  allusion  to  the  notion  of  the  cessation  of  oracles  at  the 
coming  of  Christ,  was  allowable  enough  in  a  young  poet.     Surely,  nothing  could  have 
been  more  allowable  in  an  old  poet.    And  how  poetically  is  it  extended  to  the  pagan 
divinities,  and  the  oriental  idolatries ! — T.  Warton. 

r  A  voice  of  weeping  heard  and  loud  lament. 
This  ia  scriptural.    Matt.  ii.  18 :  "In  Bama  was  there  a  voice  heard,  lamentation  and 
weeping,"  &o  — T.  Wartoh.  . 
96 


762  HYMN  ON  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY. 

From  haunted  spring  and  dale 
Edged  with  poplar  pale, 

The  parting  Genius  is  with  sighing  sent : 
With  flower-inwoven  tresses  torn, 
The  nymphs  in  twilight  shade  of  tangled  thickets  mourn." 

In  consecrated  earth, 
And  on  the  holy  hearth, 

The  Lars  and  Lemures  moan  with  midnight  plaint : 
In  urns,  and  altars  round, 
A  drear  and  dying  sound 

Affrights  the  flamens  at  their  service  quaint ; 
And  the  chill  marble  seems  to  sweat,* 
While  each  peculiar  Power  forgoes  his  wonted  seat.' 

Peor  and  Baalim 
Forsake  their  temples  dim. 

With  that  twice-batter'd  god  of  Palestine  ; 
And  mooned  Ashtaroth, 
Heaven's  queen  and  mother  both," 

Now  sits  not  girt  with  tapers'  holy  shine : 
The  Libyck  Haramon  shrinks  his  horn ; 
In  vain  the  Tyrian  maids  their  wounded  Thammuz  mourn : 

And  sullen  Moloch,  fled,'" 
Hath  left  in  shadows  dread 

Jlis  burning  idol  all  of  blackest  hue  : 
In  vain  with  cymbals'  ring 
They  call  the  grisly  king, 

In  dismal  dance  about  the  furnace  blue  :  • 

*  The  nymphs  in  tioilight  shade  of  tangled  thickets  mourn. 
An  exquisite  Alexandrine,  both  for  the  imagery  and  the  music  of  the  metre. 

»  The  chill  marhte  seems  to  sweat. 
Among  the  prodigia  at  the  death  of  Julius  Caesar,  Virgil  notices,  "moestem  illaorymat 
templis  ebur,  asraque  sudant."     Georg.  i.  480. — Dunstek. 

b  While  each  peculiar  Power /orgoes  his  wonted  seat. 
Virgil,  «^n."  ii.  351. 

Excesgere  omnes,  adytis  arisque  relictis, 
Di,  &c. — Richardson. 

<=  Heaven's  queen  and  mother  both. 

She  was  called  "regina  coeli"  and  "mater  Deum."    See  Selden. — Nkwton. 
d  And  sullen  Moloch,  fled,  &c. 

This  imagery,  but  with  less  effect,  was  afterwards  transferred  into  the  "Par.  Lost," 
b.  i.  392 ;  where  these  dreadful  circumstances,  of  themselves  sufficiently  striking  to  the 
imagination,  are  only  related :  in  our  Ode,  they  are  endued  with  life  and  action,  they 
are  put  in  motion  before  our  eyes,  and  made  subservient  to  a  new  purpose  of  the  poet 
by  the  superinduction  of  a  poetical  fiction,  to  which  they  give  occasion.  Milton,  like  a 
true  poet,  in  describing  the  Syriin  superstitions,  selects  such  as  were  most  susceptible 
of  poetical  enlargement;  and  which,  from  the  wildness  of  their  ceremonies,  were  most 
interesting  to  the  fancy. — T.  Warton. 

e  In  dismal  dance  about  the  furnace  blue. 
So  in  "Macbeth,"  as  Mr.  Steevens  has  observed  to  me: 

And  round  about  the  caldron  sing.— T.  Waeton. 


HYMN  ON  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY.  1G3 

The  brutish  gods  of  Nile  as  fast, 

Isis,  and  Orus,  and  the  dog  Anubis/  haste : 

Nor  is  Osiris  seen 

In  Memphian  grove  or  green, 

Trampling  the  unshower'd  grass  *  with  lowings  loud . 
Nor  can  he  be  at  rest 
Within  his  sacred  chest ; 

Nought  but  profoundest  hell  can  be  his  shroud : 
In  vain  with  timbrel'd  anthems  dark 
The  sable-stoled  sorcerers  bear  his  worshipt  ark. 

He  feels  from  Juda's  land 
The  dreaded  Infant's  hand ; 

The  rays  of  Bethlehem  blind  his  dusky  eyn  : 
Nor  all  the  gods  beside 
Longer  dare  abide; 

Not  Typhon  huge  ending  in  snaky  twine : 
Our  Babe,  to  show  his  Godhead  true, 
Can  in  his  swaddling  bands  controul  the  damned  crew. 

So,  when  the  sun  in  bed,. 
Curtain'd  with  cloudy  red, 

Pillows  his  chin  upon  an  orient  wave,"* 
The  flocking  shadows  pale ' 
Troop  to  the  infernal  jail ; 

Each  fetter'd  ghost  slips  to  his  several  grave ; 
And  the  yellow-skirted  fayes 
Fly  after  the  night-steeds,  leaving  their  moon-loved  maze. 

But  see,  the  Virgin  blest 
Hath  laid  her  Babe  to  rest : 

Time  is,  our  tedious  song  should  here  have  ending : 

'  And  the  dog  Anubie. 
Virgil,  "Ma."  viii.  698. 

Omnigenumque  Deura  monstra,  et  latrator  Anubis. — Todd. 
g  Trampling  the  unshower'd  grass. 
There  being  no  rain  in'  Egypt,  but  the  country  made  fruitful  with  the  overflowings 
of  the  Nile.  —Richardson. 

h  Pillows  his  chin  upon  an  orient  wave. 
The  words  "  pillows"  and  "  chin"  throw  an  air  of  burlesque  and  familiarity  over  a  com- 
parison  most  exquisitely  conceived  and  adapted. — T.  Warton. 

'  The  flocking  shadows  pale,  &c. 

Mr.  Bowie  directs  us  to  the  "Midsum.  Night's  Dr."  a.  iii.  s.  ult 

And  yonder  shines  Aurora's  harbinger  ; 

At  whose  approach,  ghosts,  wandering  here  and  there, 

Troop  home  to  churchyards:  damned  spirits  all, 

That  in  cross-ways  and  floods  have  burial. 

Already  to  their  wormy  beds  are  gone. — T.  Wabton. 

i  And  the  yellow-skirted  /ayes 
Fly  after  the  night-steeds,  leaving  their  moon-loved  maze. 
It  is  B  very  poetical  mode  of  expressing  the  departure  of  the  fairies  at  the  approach 
of  morning,  to  say  that  they  "fly  after  the  steeds  of  Night" — T.  Wartok. 


764  THE  PASSION. 


Heaven's  youngest-teemed  star 
Hath  fix'd  her  polish'd  car, 

Hor  sleeping  Lord  with  handmaid  lamp  attending:* 
And  all  about  the  courtly  stable 
Bright-harness' d  angels '  sit  in  order  serviceable. 

k  With  handmaid  lamp  attending. 
AUnding,  perhaps,  to  the  parable  of  the  ten  virgins,  in  the  Gospel. — Dukster. 

1  Bright-harness' d  angeh. 
Bright-armed,    So,  in  Exod.  xiii.  18 :  "  The  children  of  Israel  went  up  harnessed  out 
of  the  land  of  Egypt." — Newton. 

A  great  critic,  in  speaking  of  Milton's  smaller  poems,  passes  over  this  Ode  in  silence, 
and  observes,  "All  that  short  compositions  can  commonly  attain  is  neatness  and  ele- 
gance." But  Odes  are  short  compositions,  and  they  can  often  attain  sublimity,  which 
is  even  a  characteristic  of  that  species  of  poetry.  We  have  the  proof  before  us.  He 
adds,  "Milton  never  learned  the  art  of  doing  little  things  with  grace."  If  by  "little 
things"  we  are  to  understand  short  poems,  Milton  had  the  art  of  giving  them  another 
sort  of  excellence. — T.  Wauton. 

Here  Warton  does  justice  to  this  sublime  Hymn.  In  this  piece  are  all  the  constitu- 
ents of  poetry,  including  high  and  solemn  invention:  the  imagery  is  also  poetical;  the 
metrical  combination  of  the  words  rises  like  the  gathering  force  oi  a  flood,  or  rather  of 
the  careering  winds.  Milton  had  already  learned  to  amalgamate  his  ideal  riches,  an<S 
cast  them  in  a  mould  of  his  own. 


THE    PASSIOK 

This  Ode,  or  rather  Elegy,  is  unaccountably  inferior  to  the  preceding  Hymn,  and 
unworthy  of  Milton  :  indeed,  the  poet,  by  leaving  it  unfinished,  and  by  his  note 
at  the  end,  seems  himself  to  have  thought  so :  one  wonders,  therefore,  that^ 
with  such  an  impression  on  his  own  part,  he  printed  it.  The  language  is  of  an 
humbler  cast,  and  more  like  the  common  poets'  of  his  day. 

Erewhile  of  musick,  and  ethereal  mirth,» 
Wherewith  the  stage  of  air  and  earth  did  ring, 
And  joyous  news  of  heavenly  Infant's  birth, 
My  Muse  with  angels  did  divide  to  sing ; ' 
But  headlong  joy  is  ever  on  the  wing;' 

In  wintry  solstice,  like  the  shorten'd  light, 
Soon  swallow'd  up  in  dark  and  long  out-living  night 

»  Eretchile  of  musick,  and  ethereal  mirth. 
Hence  we  may  conjecture  that  this  Ode  was  probably  composed  soon  after  that  on  the 
Nativity :  and  this  perhaps  was  a  college  exercise  at  Easter,  as  the  last  was  at  Christ 
mas. — T.  Warton. 

•>  3fy  Muse  with  angels  did  divide  to  sing. 
See  Spenser,  "Faer.  Qu."  iii.  i.  40 : — 

And  all  the  while  sweet  musicke  did  divide 
Her  looser  notes  with  Lydian  harmony. 

As  Horace,  "  Imbelli  cithara  carmina  divides."  Od.  i.  xv.  15. — T.  Wabton. 
«  But  headlong  Joy  is  ever  on  the  wing. 
An  elegant  and  expressive  line. — T.  Warton. 


THE  PASSION.  765 


For  now  to  sorrow  must  I  tune  my  song, 
And  set  my  harp  to  notes  of  saddest  woe, 
Which  on  our  dearest  Lord  did  seize  ere  long, 
Dangers,  and  snares,  and  wrongs,  and  worse  than  so, 
Which  he  for  us  did  freely  undergo  : 

Most  perfect  Hero,"*  tried  in  heaviest  plight 
Of  labours  huge  and  hard,  too  hard  for  human  wight ! 

He,  sovran  Priest,  stooping  his  regal  head. 
That  dropt  with  odorous  oil  down  his  fair  eyes, 
Poor  fleshly  tabernacle  entered. 
His  starry  front  low-rooft  beneath  the  skies : 
0,  what  a  mask  was  there,  what  a  disguise  ! 

Yet  more  j  the  stroke  of  death  he  must  abide  j 
Then  lies  him  meekly  down  fast  by  his  brethren's  side. 

These  latest  scenes  confine  my  roving  verse ; 
To  this  horizon  is  my  Phoebus  bound  : 
His  godlike  acts,  and  his  temptations  fierce. 
And  former  suflFerings,  other  where  are  found ; 
Loud  o'er  the  rest  Cremona's  trump  *  doth  sound : 

Me  softer  airs  befit,  and  softer  strings 
Of  lute,  or  viol  still,  more  apt  for  mournful  things. 

Befriend  me.  Night,  best  patroness  of  grief; 
Over  the  pole  thy  thickest  mantle  throw. 
And  work  my  flatter'd  fancy  to  belief. 
That  heaven  and  earth  are  colour'd  with  my  woe; 
My  sorrows  are  too  dark  for  day  to  know : 

The  leaves  should  all  be  black  whereon  I  write , 
And  letters,'  where  my  tears  have  wash'd,  a  wannish  white. 

See,  see  the  chariot,  and  those  rushing  wheels. 
That  whirl'd  the  prophet  up  at  Chebar  flood ; 
My  spirit  some  transporting  cherub  feels. 
To  bear  me  where  the  towers  of  Salem  stood, 
Once  glorious  towers,  now  sunk  in  guiltless  blood : 

There  doth'my  soul  in  holy  vision  sit. 
In  pensive  trance,  and  anguish,  and  ecstatic  fit. 

•1  Most  perfect  Hero. 
From  Heb.  ii.  10.  *'  The  captain  of  their  salvation  perfect  through  BufTerings." — Todd. 

«  Lovd  o'er  the  rest  Cremona's  trump. 

Our  poet  seems  here  to  be  of  opinion,  that  Vida's  "  Christiad"  was  t}i«  finest  Latin 
poem  on  a  religions  subject — Jos.  Warton. 

'  The  leaves  should  all  he  black  whereon  I  write, 
And  letters,  Ac. 

Conceits  were  now  confined  not  to  words  only.  Mr.  Steevens  has  a  volume  of  Elegies, 
in  which  the  paper  is  black,  and  the  letters  white ;  that  is,  in  all  the  title-pages :  every 
intermediate  leaf  is  also  black.  What  a  sudden  change  from  this  childish  idea,  to  the 
noble  apostrophe,  the  sublime  rapture  and  imagination,  of  the  next  stanza ! — T.  Wakton. 


766  ODES. 

Mine  eye  hath  found  that  sad  sepulchral  rock 
That  was  the  casket  of  Heaven's  richest  store ; 
And  here,  though  grief  my  feeble  hands  up  lock, 
Yet  on  the  soften'd  quarry  would  I  score 
My  plaining  verse  as  lively  as  before ; 

For  sure  so  well  instructed  are  my  tears, 
That  they  would  fitly  fall  in  order' d  characters. 

Or  should  I  thence,  hurried  on  viewless  wing, 
Take  up  a  weeping  on  the  mountains  wild,  s 
The  gentle  neighbourhood  of  grove  and  spring 
Would  soon  unbosom  all  their  echoes  mild ;  ^ 
And  I  (for  grief  is  easily  beguiled) 

Might  think  the  infection  of  my  sorrows  loud 
Had  got  a  race  of  mourners  on  some  pregnant  cloud. 

This  subject  the  author  finding  to  be  above  the  years  he  had  when  he  wrote  it,  and 
nothing  satisfied  with  what  was  begun,  left  it  unfinished. 

g  Take  up  a  weeping  on  the  mountains  wild. 
This  expression  is  from  Jeremiah,  ix.  10;  "For  the  mountains  will  I  take  up  a  weep- 
ing and  wailing,  "<fcc. — T.  Wauton. 

•>  The  gentle  neighbourhood  of  grove  and  spring 
Woidd  soon  unbosom  all  their  echoes  mild. 
A  sweetly  beautiful  couplet,  which,  with  the  two  preceding  lines,  opened  the  stanza 
so  well,  that  I  particularly  grieve  to  find  it  terminate  feebly  in  a  most  miserably  dis- 
gusting concetto. — Dunster. 


ODES. 


INTRODUCTORY  REMA'feKS. 

The  Minor  Poems  which  follow  are  not  of  suflScient  length  or  importance  to  demand 
or  ju-stify  a  separate  introduction  to  each. 

The  "  Circumcision"  is  better  than  the  "  Passion,"  and  has  two  or  three  Miltonio  lines. 

The  "Elegy  on  the  Death  of  a  fair  Infant"  is  praised  by  Warton,  and  well  character- 
ized in  his  last  note  upon  it;  but  it  has  more  of  research  and  laboured  fancy  than  of 
feeling,  and  is  not  a  general  favourite. 

The  ode,  or  rather  fragment,  "  On  Time,"  closes  with  three  noble  and  sonorous  lines. 

The  "  Ode  at  a  Solemn  Musick"  is  a  short  prelude  to  the  strain  of  Genius  which  pro- 
duced "  Paradise  Lost."  Warton  says,  that  perhaps  there  are  no  finer  lines  in  Milton 
than  one  long  passage  which  he  cites.  I  must  say  that  this  is  going  a  little  too  far. 
That  they  are  very  fine,  I  admit;  but  the  sublime  philosophy,  to  which  he  alludes  an 
their  prototype,  must  not  be  put  in  comparison  with  the  fountains  of  "Paradise  Lost." 
Bo  far  they  are  exceedingly  curious,  that  they  show  how  early  the  poet  had  constructed 
in  his  own  mind  the  language  of  his  divine  imagery,  and  how  rich  and  vigorous  his 
style  was  almost  in  his  boyhood ;  as  this  : — 

Where  the  bright  seraphim,  in  burning  row, 
Their  loud  uplifted  angel  trumpets  blow  ; 
And  the  cherubick  host,  in  thousand  quires, 
Touch  their  immortal  harps  of  golden  wires. 

The  "Tpitaph  on  the  Marchioness  of  Winchester"  does  not  much  please  me  :  I  do  not 
like  its  quaint  conceits,  nor  its  want  of  pathos.    The  third  line, — 


A.  TiBConnt's  dauf  ht«r,  as  earl's  h«ir, 

is  equivocally  expressed.  It  means  the  daughter  of  a  viscount,  which  risconnt  was 
heir  to  an  earl.  See  T.  Warton's  note  on  ver.  69.  Thomas,  Lord  Darcie,  of  Chicho,  in 
Essex,  was  created  Viscount  Colchester,  19  James  I.,  with  a  collateral  remainder  to 
Sir  Thomas  Savage,  of  Rock-savage,  in  Cheshire,  who  had  married  Elizabeth  Laugh- 
ton  ;  and  at  length  coheir  of  the  said  Thomas  Lord  Darcie ;  and  in  the  second  Charle* 
L  he  was  created  Earl  Rivers,  with  the  same  remainder.  Thus  this  Sir  Thomas  Savoge 
was  called  Viscount  Colchester,  and  was  heir  to  an  earldom ;  but  he  did  not  succeed  to 
it,  for  he  died  in  1635,  before  his  father-in-law,  who  survived  till  1639,  when  his  son, 
Sir  John  Savage,  second  baronet  (the  brother  of  the  marchioness),  became  second  Earl 
Rivers,  and  died  16o4.  He  had  three  sons,  and  five  daughters :  Jane,  the  second 
daughter,  married,  first,  George  Brydges,  sixth  Lord  Chandos ;  secondly.  Sir  AVilliani 
Sedley;  thirdly,  George  Pitt,  of  Strathfield-say,  in  Hampshire;  and  having  obtained 
Sudely  castle  from  her  first  husband,  left  it  to  this  third  husband,  Mr.  Pitt  The 
Marchioness  of  Winchester  was  mother  of  Charles  Powlett,  first  Duke  of  Bolton,  whoso 
daughter  Lady  Jane  married  John  Egerton,  third  Earl  of  Bridgewater,  from  whom  all 
the  subsequent  peers  of  that  title  descended.  Thomas  Savage,  third  Earl  Rivers, 
dying  1694,  was  succeeded  by  his  son  Richard,  fourth  earl,  who  died  without  issue- 
male,  1712.*  He  was  succeeded  by  his  cousin,  John,  son  of  Richard  Savage,  third  son 
of  the  second  earl.  The  title  became  extinct  in  1728.  I  take  the  date  of  this  Epitaph 
to  have  been  1631,  for  a  reason  given  by  me  in  "  The  Tooograpber,"  1789,  vol.  i.,  which 
Todd  has  referred  to. 

The  "  Song  on  May  Morning,"  is  in  the  tone  of  the  beautifully  descriptive  passages 
In  "  Comus." 

The  "Verses  at  a  Vacation  Exercise  in  the  College,"  are  full  of  ingenuity  and 
imagery,  and  have  several  fine  passages;  but,  though  they  blame  "new-fangled  toys" 
with  a  noble  disdain,  they  are  themselves  in  many  parts  too  fantastic. 

As  to  the  "Epitaph  on  Shakspeare,"  Hurd  despises  it  too  much.  It  is  true,  that  it  is 
neither  equal  to  the  grand  cast  of  Milton's  poems,  nor  worthy  of  the  subject;  but  still 
it  would  honour  most  poets,  except  the  last  four  lines,  which  are  a  poor  conceit. 

The  two  strange  "Epitaphs  on  Hobson  the  Carrier,"  are  unworthy  of  the  author. 

The  rough  lines  on  the  "  New  Forcers  of  Conscience,"  are  interesting  on  account  of 
the  historical  notes  of  Warton,  to  which  they  have  given  occasion. 

The  "Translations"  are  scarcely  worth  notice,  except  the  Ode  of  Horace,  which  has  a 
plain  and  native  vigour. 

Of  the  "  Psalms"  I  have  said  all  that  is  necessary  in  the  poet's  Life. 


UPON  THE  CIRCUMCISION. 
Te  flaming  powers,  and  winged  warriours  bright, 
That  erst  with  musick,  and  triumphant  song, 
First  heard  by  happy  watchful  shepherds'  ear, 
So  sweetly  sung  your  joy  the  clouds  along 
Through  the  soft  silence  of  the  listening  night ; 
Now  mourn ;  and,  if  sad  share  with  us  to  bear 
Your  fiery  essence  can  distil  no  tear, 
Burn  in  your  sighs,*  and  borrow 
Seas  wept  from  our  deep  sorrow  : 

*  Richard  Savage,  the  poet,  was,  or  claimed  to  be,  his  natural  son,  by  the  Countess 
of  Macchsfield. 

»  Your  fiery  essence  can  distil  no  tear, 
Bum  in  your  sighs. 
Milton  is  puzzled  how  to  reconcile  the  transcendent  essence  of  angels  vrith  the 
infirmities  of  men.     In  "  Paradise  Lost,"  having  made  the  angel  Gabriel  share  in  a 
repast  of  fruit  with  Adam,  he  finds  himself  under  a  necessity  of  getting  rid  of  an 


He,  who  with  all  Heaven's  heraldry  whilere 
Enter'd  the  world,  now  bleeds  to  give  us  ease : 
Alas,  how  soon  our  sin 
Sore  doth  begin 

His  infancy  to  seize  ! 
0  more  exceeding  love,  or  law  more  just  ? 
Just  law  indeed,  but  more  exceeding  love  !  * 
For  we,  by  rightful  doom  remediless, 
Were  lost  in  death,  till  he  that  dwelt  above 
High  throned  in  secret  bliss,  for  us  frail  dust 
Emptied  his  glory, <=  ev'n  to  nakedness ; 
And  that  great  covenant  which  we  still  transgress 
Entirely  satisfied ; 
And  the  full  wrath  beside 
Of  vengeful  justice,  bore  for  our  excess; 
And  seals  obedience  first,  with  wounding  smart, 
This  day ;  but  0  !  ere  long, 
Huge  pangs  and  strong 

Will  pierce  more  near  his  heart. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  FAIR  INFANT,<i  DYING  OF  A  COUGH. 

O  FAIREST  flower,  no  sooner  blown  but  blasted, 
Soft  silken  primrose  fading  timelessly, 
Summer's  chief  honour,  if  thou  hadst  out-lasted 
Bleak  Winter's  force  that  made  thy  blossom  dry ; 
For  he,  being  amorous  on  that  lovely  dye 

That  did  thy  cheek  envermeil,  thought  to  kiss, 
But  kill'd  alas  !  and  then  bewail'd  his  fatal  bliss. 

For  since  grim  Aquilo,*  his  charioteer, 

By  boisterous  rape  the  Athenian  damsel  got, 

obvious  objection,  that  material  food  does  not  belong  to  intellectual  or  ethereal  sub- 
stances :  and  to  avoid  certain  circumstances,  humiliating  and  disgraceful  to  the  dignity 
of  the  angelic  nature,  the  natural  consequences  of  concoction  and  digestion,  he  forms  a 
new  theory  of  transpiration,  suggested  by  the  wonderful  transmutations  of  chemistry. 
In  the  present  instance,  he  wishes  to  make  angels  weep :  but,  being  of  the  essence  of 
fire,  they  cannot  produce  water:  at  length,  he  recollects  that  fire  may  produce  burning 
sighs.  It  is  debated  in  Thomas  Aquinas  whether  angels  have  not,  or  may  not  have 
beards. — T.  Warton. 

•>  0  more  exceeding  love,  or  law  more  just  f 
Just  law  indeed,  but  more  exceeding  love  ! 
Virgil,  "Eel."  viii.  49:— 

Cmdelis  mater  magis,  an  puer  improbus  ille? 

ImprobuB  ille puer  ;  crudelis  tu  quoque  mater. — Richakdbon. 

=  Emptied  his  glory. 
An  expression  taken  from  Philipp.  ii.  7,  but  not  as  in  our  translation, — "  He  made 
himself  of  no  reputation;"   but,  as  it  is  in  the  original,  "He  emptied  himself."— 
Newtox. 

d  Written  in  1625,  and  first  inserted  in  edition  1673.    He  was  now  seventeen.— T. 
Warton. 

e  For  since  grim  Aquilo,  Ac. 
Boreas  ravished  Oritkvia.  Ovid.  "  Metam."  vi.  677.— T.  Wabtos. 


He  thought  it  touch'd  his  deity  full  near, 
If  likewise  he  some  fair  one  wedded  not, 
Thereby  to  wipe  away  the  infamous  blot 

Of  long-uncoupled  bed  and  childless  eld, 
Which,  'mongst  the  wanton  gods,  a  foul  reproach  was  held. 

So,  mounting  up  in  icy-pearled  car, 
Through  middle  empire  of  the  freezing  air 
He  wander'd  long,  till  thee  he  spied  from  far  j 
There  ended  was  his  quest,  there  ceased  his  care. 
Down  he  descended  from  his  snow-soft  chair; 

But,  all  unwares,  with  his  cold-kind  embrace 
TInhoused  thy  virgin  soul  from  her  fair  biding-place. 

Yet  art  thou  not  inglorious  in  thy  fate ; 
For  so  Apollo,  with  unweeting  hand. 
Whilom  did  slay  his  dearly-loved  mate. 
Young  Hyacinth,''  born  on  Eurotas'  strand. 
Young  Hyacinth,  the  pride  of  Spartan  land ; 

But  then  transform'd  him  to  a  purple  flower : 
Alack,  that  so  to  change  thee  Winter  had  no  power  I 

Yet  can  I  not  persuade  me  thou  art  dead. 
Or  that  thy  corse  corrupts  in  earth's  dark  womb, 
Or  that  thy  beauties  lie  in  wormy  bed. 
Hid  from  the  world  in  a  low-delved  tomb. 
Could  Heaven  for  pity  thee  so  strictly  doom  ? 
0,  no !  for  something  in  thy  face  did  shine 
Above  mortality,  that  show'd  thou  wast  divine. 

Resolve  me  then,  0  soul  most  surely  blest, 
(If  so  it  be  that  thou  these  plaints  dost  hear) 
Tell  me,  bright  spirit,  where'er  thou  hoverest; 
Whether  above  that  high  first-moving  sphere. 
Or  in  the  Elysian  fields,  (if  such  there  weres) 
0,  say  me  true,  if  thou  wert  mortal  wight. 
And  why  from  us  so  quickly  thou  didst  take  thy  flight  ? 

Wert  thou  some  star,  which  from  the  ruin'd  roof 
Of  shaked  Olympus  by  mischance  didst  fall ; 

f  For  so  Apollo,  with  umceeting  hand, 
Whilom  did  slay  his  dearly-loved  mate, 
Young  Hyacinth. 
From  these  lines  one  would  suspect,  although  it  does  not  immediately  follow,  that  a 
boy  was  the  subject  of  the  Ode :  but  in  the  last  stanza  the  poet  says  expressly : — 
Then  thou,  the  mother  of  so  sweet  a  child, 
Iler  false-imagined  loss  cease  to  lament. 

Yet,  in  the  eighth  stanza  the  person  lamented  is  alternately  supposed  to  hare  been 
sent  down  to  earth  in  tho  shape  of  two  divinities,  one  of  whom  is  styled  a  "just  maid," 
and  the  other  a  "  sweet-smiling  youth."  But  the  child  was  certainly  a  niece,  a  daughter 
of  Milton's  sister  Philips,  and  probably  her  first  child. — T.  Warton. 

K  If  stick  there  were. 
He  should  have  said  "  are,"  if  the  rhyme  had  permitted. — Hurd. 
97 


Which  careful  Jove  in  Nature's  true  behoof 
Took  up,  and  in  fit  place  did  reinstall  ? 
Or  did  of  late  Earth's  sons  besiege  the  wall 

Of  sheeny  Heaven,  and  thou  some  goddess  fled, 
Amongst  us  here  below  to  hide  thy  nectar'd  head  ? 

Or  wert  thou  that  just  maid,  who  once  before 

Forsook  the  hated  earth,  0,  tell  me  sooth, 

And  camest  again  to  visit  us  once  more  ? 

Or  wert  thou  that  sweet-smiling  youth  ? 

Or  that  crown'd  matron  sage,  white-robed  Truth? 

Or  any  other  of  that  heavenly  brood. 
Let  down  in  cloudy  throne  to  do  the  world  some  good  ? 

Or  wert  thou  of  the  golden-winged  host. 

Who,  having  clad  thyself  in  human  weed. 

To  earth  from  thy  prefixed  seat  didst  post,  ; 

And  after  short  abode  fly  back  with  speed. 

As  if  to  show  what  creatures  heaven  doth  breed  j 

Thereby  to  set  the  hearts  of  men  on  fire 
To  scorn  the  sordid  world,  and  unto  heaven  aspire  ? 

But,  0  !  why  didst  thou  not  stay  here  below 
To  bless  us  with  thy  Heaven-loved  innocence. 
To  slake  his  wrath  whom  sin  hath  made  our  foe, 
To  turn  swift-rushing  black  Perdition  hence. 
Or  drive  away  the  slaughtering  Pestilence,'' 

To  stand  'twixt  us  and  our  deserved  smart  ? 
But  thou  canst  best  perform  that  office  where  thou  art. 

Then  thou,  the  mother  of  so  sweet  a  child. 
Her  false-imagined  loss  cease  to  lament, 
And  wisely  learn  to  curb  thy  sorrows  wild : 
Think  what  a  present  thou  to  Grod  hast  sent. 
And  render  him  with  patience  what  he  lent. 
This,  if  thou  do,  he  will  an  ofi'spring  give. 
That,  till  the  world's  last  end  shall  make  thy  name  to  live. 

t  To  turn  aim/t-rushing  black  Perdition  hence, 
Or  drive  away  the  slaughtering  Pestilence. 

Among  the  blessings,  which  the  "  hcavcn-loved "  innocence  of  this  child  might 
have  imparted,  by  remaining  upon  earth,  the  application  to  present  circumstances, 
the  supposition  that  she  might  have  averted  the  pestilence  now  raging  in  the  king- 
dom, is  happily  and  beautifully  conceived.  On  the  whole,  from  a  boy  of  seventeen, 
tliis  Ode  is  an  extraordinary  effort  of  fancy,  expression,  and  versification ;  even  in 
the  conceits,  which  are  many,  we  perceive  strong  and  peculiar  marks  of  genius.  I 
think  Milton  has  here  given  a  very  remarkable  specimen  of  his  ability  to  succeed  in 
the  Spenserian  stanza.  He  moves  with  great  ease  and  address  amidst  the  embarrass- 
ment of  afregueiit  return  of  rhyme. — T.  Warton. 


ON  TIME.i 

Fly,  envious  Time,  till  ttou  run  out  thy  race ; 

Call  on  the  lazy  leaden-stepping  hours, 

Whose  speed  is  but  the  heavy  plummet's  pace; 

And  glut  thyself  with  what  thy  womb  devours, 

Which  is  no  more  than  what  is  false  and  vain, 

And  merely  mortal  dross ; 

So  little  is  our  loss, 

So  little  is  thy  gain  ! 

For  when  as  each  thing  bad  thou  hast  entomb' d, 

And  last  of  all  thy  greedy  self  consumed. 

Then  long  Eternity  shall  greet  our  bliss 

With  an  individual^  kiss  ; 

And  Joy  shall  overtake  us  as  a  flood ; 

When  every  thing  that  is  sincerely  good 

And  perfectly  divine, 

When  Truth,  and  Peace,  and  Love,  shall  ever  shine 

About  the  supreme  throne 

Of  him,  to  whose  happy-making  sight  alone 

When  once  our  heavenly-guided  soul  shall  climb  j 

Then,  all  this  earthy  grossness  quit. 

Attired  with  stars,  we  shall  for  ever  sit. 

Triumphing  over  Death,  and  Chance,  and  thee,  0  Time.'' 


AT  A  SOLEMN  MUSICK. 

Blest  pair  of  Sirens,  pledges  of  Heaven's  joy; 
Sphere-born  harmonious  sisters.  Voice  and  Verse; 
Wed  your  divine  sounds,  p,nd  mix'd  power  employ 
Dead  things  with  imbreathed  sense  able  to  pierce ; 
And  to  our  high-raised  phantasy  present 
That  undisturbed  song  of  pure  concent,* 
Aye  sung  before  the  sapphire-colour' d  throne 
To  him  that  sits  thereon, 

>  In  Milton's  manuscript,  written  with  his  own  hand.  fol.  8,  the  title  is,  "  On  Time, 
To  be  set  on  a  clock-case."-^T.  Warton. 

j  Individual. 
Eternal,  inseparable.    As  in  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  iv.  485,  b.  v.  610.— T.  Warton. 

k  Milton  could  not  help  applying  the  most  solemn  and  mysterious  truths  of  religion 
on  all  subjects  and  occasions.  He  has  here  introduced  the  beatific  vision,  and  the  in- 
\restiture  of  the  soul  with  a  robe  of  stars,  into  an  inscription  on  a  clock-case.  Perhaps 
something  more  moral,  more  plain  and  intelligible,  would  hare  been  more  proper.  John 
Bunyan,  if  capable  of  rhyming,  would  have  written  such  an  inscription  for  a  clock- 
case.  The  latter  part  of  these  lines  may  be  thought  wonderfully  sublime ;  but  it  is  in 
the  cant  of  the  times.  The  poet  should  be  distinguished  from  the  enthusiast. — T. 
Warton. 

Yet  still,  I  think,  Milton  is  here  no  enthusiast:  the  triumph,  which  he  mentions, 
will  certainly  be  the  triumph  of  every  sincere  Christian. — Todd. 

I  That  undisturbed  song  of  pure  concent,  Ac. 
The  "  undisturbed  song  of  pure  concent"  is  the  diapason  of  the  music  of  the  spheres, 
on  which  in  Plato's  system,  God  himself  listens. — T.  Warton, 


With  saintly  shout,  and  solemn  jubilee  j 

Where  the  bright  seraphim,  in  burning  row. 

Their  loud  uplifted  angel  trumpets  blow ; 

And  the  cherubick  host,  in  thousand  quires, 

Touch  their  immortal  harps  of  golden  wires, 

With  those  just  spirits  that  wear  victorious  palms, 

Hymns  devout  and  holy  psalms 

Singing  everlastingly : 

That  we  on  earth,™  with  undiscording  voice, 

May  rightly  answer  that  melodious  noise ; 

As  once  we  did,  till  disproportion^  sin 

Jarr'd  against  Nature's  chime,  and  with  harsh  din 

Broke  the  fair  musick  that  all  creatures  made 

To  their  great  Lord,  whose  love  their  motion  sway'd 

In  perfect  diapason,  whilst  they  stood 

In  first  obedience,  and  their  state  of  good. 

0,  may  we  soon  again  renew  that  song. 

And  keep  in  tune  with  Heaven,  till  God  ere  long 

To  his  celestial  concert  us  unite, 

To  live  with  him,  and  sing  in  endless  morn  of  light ! 


AN  EPITAPH  ON  THE  MARCHIONESS  OF  WINCHESTEE. 
This  rich  marble  doth  inter 
The  honour'd  wife  of  Winchester, 
A  viscount's  daughter,  an  earl's  heir. 
Besides  what  her  virtues  fair" 
Added  to  her  noble  birth. 
More  than  she  could  own  from  earth. 
Summers  three  times  eight  save  one 
She  had  told  ;  alas  !  too  soon. 
After  so  short  time  of  breath, 
To  house  with  darkness  and  with  death. 
Yet  had  the  number  of  her  days 
Been  as  complete  as  was  her  praise, 
Nature  and  Fate  had  had  no  strife 
In  giving  limit  to  her  life. 

Her  high  birth,  and  her  graces  ^weet, 
Quickly  found  a  lover  meet ; » 

ni  That  we  oh  earth,  Ac. 

Perhaps  there  are  no  finer  lines  in  Milton,  less  ooscured  by  conceit,  less  embarrassed 

by  affected  expressions,  and  less  weakened  by  pompous  epithets :  and  in  this  perspicuous 

and  simple  style  are  conveyed  some  of  the  noblest  ideas  of  a  most  sublime  philosopiiy, 

heightened  by  metaphors  and  allusions  suitable  to  the  subject. — T.  Warton.  • 

1  Betides  what  her  virtues  fair,  &c. 
In  Howell's  entertaining  Letters,  there  is  one  to  this  lady,  the  Lady  Jane  Savage,  Mar. 
cfaioness  of  Winchester,  dated  March  15,  1626.     He  says,  he  assisted  her  in  learning 
Spanish;  and  that  Nature  and  the  Graces  exhausted  all  their  treasure  and  skill,  in 
"  framing  this  exact  model  of  female  perfection." — T.  Wartok. 

o  Her  high  birth,  and  her  graces  sweet, 
Quickly  found  a  lover  meet. 
She  was  the  wife  of  John,  Marquis  of  Winchester,  a  conspicuous  loyalist  in  the  j'eign 


The  virgin  quire  for  her  request 
The  god  that  sits  at  marriage  feast : 
He  at  their  invoking  came, 
But  with  a  scarce  well-lighted  flame  ;»• 
And  in  his  garland,  as  he  stood, 
Ye  might  discern  a  cypress  bud.» 
Once  h^d  the  early  matrons  run 
To  greet  her  of  a  lovely  son ; 
And  now  with  second  hope  she  goes, 
And  calls  Lucina  to  her  throes : 
But,  whether  by  mischance  or  blame, 
Atropos  for  Lucina  came ; 
And  with  remorseless  cruelty 
Spoil'd  at  once  both  fruit  and  tree : 
The  hapless  babe,  before  his  birth. 
Had  burial,  yet  not  laid  in  earth  j 
Aad  the  languish'd  mother's  womb 
Was  not  long  a  living  tomb. 

So  have  I  seen  some  tender  slip. 
Saved  with  care  from  winter's  nip, 
The  pride  of  her  carnation  train. 
Pluck' d  up  by  some  unheedy  swain, 
Who  only  thought  to  crop  the  flower 
New  shot  up  from*  vernal  shower ; 
But  the  fair  blossom  hangs  the  head 
Sideways,  as  on  a  dying  bed ; 
And  those  pearls  of  dew  she  wears 
Prove  to  be  presaging  tears. 
Which  the  sad  morn  had  let  fall 
On  her  hastening  funeral. 

Gentle  lady,  may  thy  grave 
Peace  and  quiet  ever  have ; 
After  this  thy  travel  sore 
Sweet  rest  seize  thee  evermore. 
That,  to  give  the  world  increase, 
Shortened  hast  thy  own  life's  lease. 

of  king  Charles  I.,  whose  magnificent  house  or  castle  of  Basing  in  Hampshire  withstood 
an  obstinate  siege  of  two  years  against  the  rebels,  and  when  taken  was  levelled  to  the 
ground,  because  in  every  window  was  flourished  Aymez  LoyautL  He  died  in  1674,  aud 
was  buried  in  the  church  of  Englefield  in  Berkshire  j  where,  on  his  monument,  is  an 
admirable  epitaph  in  English  verse  written  by  Dryden,  which  I  have  often  seen.  It  is 
remarkable,  that  both  husband  and  wife  should  have  severally  received  the  honour  of  an 
epitaph  from  two  such  poets  as  Milton  and  Dryden. — T.  Warton. 

p  He  at  their  invoking  came, 
But  with  a  scarce  well-lighted  fiame. 
Almost  literally  from  his  favourite  poet  Ovid,  "  Metam."  x,  4,  of  Hymen : 

Adfuit  ille  quidem:  sed  nee  solennia  verba, 

Nee  laetos  vultus,  nee  felix  uttuiit  omen  : 

Fax  qaoque  quam  tenuit,  lacrytnoso  stridula  fumo, 

Usque  fuit,  nullosque  invenit  motibus  ignes. — T.  Waktoh. 

q   Ye  might  discern  a  cypress  bud. 
An  emblem  of  a  funeral;  and  it  is  called  in  Virgil  "feralis,"  ^n.  vi.  216,  and  in 
Horace  "funebris,"  Epod.  v.  18,  and  in  Spenser  "the  cypress  funeral,"  Faer.  Qu.  lL  8. 
— Newton. 


Here,  besides  the  sorrowing 

That  thy  noble  house  doth  bring, 

Here  be  tears  of  perfect  moan 

Wept  for  thee  in  Helicon ; 

And  some  flowers,  and  some  bays, 

For  thy  herse,  to  strow  the  ways, 

Sent  thee  from  the  banks  of  Came,' 

Devoted  to  thy  virtuous  name ; 

Whilst  thou,  bright  saint,  high  sitt'st  in  glory, 

Next  her,  much  like  to  thee  in  story. 

That  fair  Syrian  shepherdess,' 

Who,  after  years  of  barrenness. 

The  highly-favour'd  Joseph  bore 

To  him  that  served  for  her  before ; 

And  at  her  next  birth,  much  like  thee. 

Through  pangs  fled  to  felicity,* 

Far  within  the  bosom  bright 

Of  blazing  Majesty  and  Light : 

There  with  thee,  new  welcome  saint. 

Like  fortunes  may  her  soul  acquaint, 

With  thee  there  clad  in  radiant  sheen, 

No  marchioness,  but  now  a  queen. 


SONG  ON  MAY  MORNING. 

Now  the  bright  morning-star,  day's  harbinger, 
Comes  dancing  from  the  east,  and  leads  with  her 
The  flowery  May,  who  from  her  green  lap  throws 
The  yellow  cowslip  and  the  pale  primrose. 

f  Sent  thee  from  the  banks  of  Came. 

I  have  been  told  that  there  was  a  Cambridge  collection  of  verses  on  her  death  among 
■which  Milton's  elegiac  ode  first  appeared:  but  I  have  never  seen  it,  and  I  lathei 
think  this  was  not  the  case :  at  least,  we  are  sure  that  Milton  was  now  a  student  at 
Cambridge.  Our  marchioness  was  the  daughter  of  Thomas  Lord  Viscount  Savage, 
of  Rocksavage  in  Cheshire ;  and  it  is  natural  to  suppose,  that  her  family  was  well 
acquainted  with  the  family  of  Lord  Bridgewater,  belonging  to  the  same  county,  for 
whom  Milton  wrote  the  Mask  of  "  Comus."  It  is  therefore  not  improbable  that  Milton 
wrote  this  elegy,  another  poetical  favour,  in  consequence  of  his  acquaintance  with  the 
Egerton  family.  The  accomplished  lady,  here  celebrated,  died  in  child-bed  of  a  second 
son  in  her  twenty-third  year,  and  was  the  mother  of  Charles,  the  first  Duke  of  Bolton. 
— T.  Wartox. 

•  That /air  Syrian  shepherdest. 

Rachel.     See  Gen.  xxix.  9,  xxxv.  18. — T.  Warton. 

f  Through  pangs  fled  to  felicity. 

We  cannot  too  much  admire  the  beauty  of  this  line :  I  wish  it  had  closed  the  poem; 
which  it  would  have  done  with  singular  effect.  What  follows  serves  only  to  weaken  it ; 
and  the  last  verse  is  an  eminent  instance  of  the  bathos,  where  the  "  saint  clad  in  radiant 
sheen"  sinks  into  a  marchioness  and  a  queen :  but  Milton  seldom  closes  his  little  poema 
well. — Ddnster. 

There  is  a  pleasing  vein  of  lyric  sweetness  and  ease  in  Milton's  use  of  this  metre, 
which  is  that  of  "L' Allegro"  and  "H  Penseroso:"  he  has  used  it  with  equal  success 
in  Comus's  festive  song,  and  the  last  speech  of  the  Spirit,  in  "Comus,"  93,  922i 
From  these  specimens  we  may  justly  wish  that  he  had  used  it  more  frequently.  Per- 
haps in  Comus's  song  it  has  a  peculiar  propriety :  it  has  certainly  a  happy  effect.— 
T.  Wartok. 


MISCELLANIES.  115 


Hail,  bounteous  May,  that  dost  inspire 

Mirth,  and  youth,  and  warm  desire ; 

Woods  and  groves  are  of  thy  dressing ; 

Hill  and  dale  doth  boast  thy  blessing  I 
Thus  we  salute  thee  with  our  early  song, 
And  welcome  thee,  and  wish  thee  long. 

This  beautiful  little  song  presents  an  eminent  proof  of  Milton's  attention  to  the 
effoct  of  metre,  in  that  admirable  change  of  numbers,  with  which  he  describes  the 
appearance  of  the  May  Morning,  and  salutes  her  after  she  has  appeared ;  as  difierect 
as  the  subject  is,  and  produced  by  the  transition  from  iambics  to  trochaics.  So  in 
"  L' Allegro,"  he  banishes  Melancholy  in  iambics,  but  invites  Euphrosyne  and  her  attend- 
ants in  trochaics. — Todd. 


MISCELLANIES. 


ANNO   .ETATIS  XIX. 

At  a  vacation  Exercise »  in  the  College,  part  Latin,  part  English.    The  Latin 
speeches  ended,  the  English  thus  began : — 

Hail,  native  Lajiguage,  that  by  sinews  weak 
"Didst  move  ray  first  endeavouring  tongue  to  speak ; 
And  madest  imperfect  words  with  childish  trips. 
Half  unpronounced,  slide  through  my  infant  lips ; 
Driving  dumb  Silence  from  the  portal  door, 
Where  he  had  mutely  sat  two  years  before ! 
Here  I  salute  thee,  and  thy  pardon  ask, 
That  now  I  use  thee  in  my  latter  task : 
Small  loss  it  is  that  thence  can  come  unto  thee ; 
I  know  my  tongue  but  little  grace  can  do  thee : 
Thou  need'st  not  be  ambitious  to  be  first ; 
Believe  me,  I  have  thither  pack'd  the  worst : 
And  if  it  happen  as  I  did  forecast, 
The  daintiest  dishes  shall  be  served  up  last. 
I  pray  thee,  then,  deny  me  not  thy  aid 
For  this  same  small  neglect  that  I  have  made : 
But  haste  thee  straight  to  do  me  once  a  pleasure, 
And  from  thy  wardrobe  bring  thy  chiefest  treasure 
Not  those  new-fangled  toys,  and  trimming  slight, 
Which  takes  our  late  fantasticks  with  delight ; '' 

Written  in  1627 :  it  is  hard  to  say  why  these  poems  did  not  first  appear  in  edition 
1645.    They  were  first  added,  but  misplaced,  in  edition  1673. — T.  Wabtok. 

h  Not  those  new-fangled  toys,  and  trimming  slight, 
Which  takes  otir  late  fantasticks  loith  delight. 
Perhaps  he  here  alludes  to  Lily's  "  Euphues,"  a  book  full  of  afi"ected  phraseology, 
which  pretended  to  reform  or  refine  the  English  language;  and  whose  effects,  although 
it  was  published  some  years  before,  still  remained.  The  ladies  and  the  coujtiers  were 
all  instructed  in  this  new  style  :  and  it  was  esteemed  a  mark  of  ignorance  or  unpolltenesB 
not  to  understand  Euphuism. — T.  Warton. 


776  MISCELLANIES. 


But  cull  those  richest  ^ obes,  and  gayest  attire, 

Which  deepest  spirits  and  choicest  wits  desire 

I  have  some  naked  thoughts  that  rove  about, 

And  loudly  knock  to  have  their  passage  out; 

And,  weary  of  their  place,  do  only  stay, 

Till  thou  hast  deck'd  them  in  thy  best  array ; 

That  so  they  may,  without  suspect  or  fears, 

Fly  swiftly  to  this  fair  assembly's  ears : 

Yet  I  had  rather,  if  I  were  to  chuse, 

Thy  service  in  some  graver  subject  use,* 

Such  as  may  make  thee  search  thy  coffers  round, 

Before  thou  clothe  my  fancy  in  fit  sound  : 

Such  where  the  deep  transported  mind  may  soar 

Above  the  wheeling  poles,  and  at  heaven's  door 

Look  in,  and  see  each  blissful  deity. 

How  he  before  the  thunderous  throne  doth  lie, 

Listening  to  what  unshorn  Apollo  *  sings 

To  the  touch  of  golden  wires,  while  Hebe  brings 

Immortal  nectar  to  her  kingly  sire  : 

Then  passing  through  the  spheres  of  watchful  fire," 

And  misty  regions  of  wide  air  next  under. 

And  hills  of  snow,  and  lofts  of  piled  thunder, 

May  tell  at  length  how  green-eyed  Neptune '  raves, 

In  Heaven's  defiance  mustering  all  his  waves; 

Then  sing  of  secret  things  that  came  to  pass 

When  beldam  Nature  in  her  cradle  was ; 

And  last  of  kings,  and  queens,  and  heroes  old. 

Such  as  the  wise  Demodocus  once  told  s 

In  solemn  songs  at  king  Alcinous'  feast, 

While  sad  Ulysses'  soul,  and  all  the  rest, 

c  Yet  I  had  rather,  if  I  were  to  chuse, 
Thy  service  in  some  graver  subject  use,  Ac. 
It  appears,  by  this  address  of  Milton  to  his  native  language,  that  even  in  these  green 
years  he  had  the  ambition  to  think  of  writing  an  epic  poem ;  and  it  is  worth  the  curious 
reader's  attention  to  observe  how  much  the  "  Paradise  Lost"  corresponds  in  its  circum- 
stances to  the  prophetic  wish  he  now  formed. — Thyer. 

Here  are  strong  indications  of  a  young  mind  anticipating  the  subject  of  the  "  Para- 
dise Lost,"  if  we  substitute  Christian  for  Pagan  ideas.  He  was  now  deep  in  the  Greek 
poets. — T.  Wartoit. 

d  Unshorn  Apollo. 
An  epithet,  by  which  he  is  distinguished  in  the  Greek  and  Latin  poets. — ^Newton. 

c  Watchful  fire. 
See  "  Ode,  Chr.  Nativity,"  v.  21 : — "  And  all  the  spangled  host  keep  watch  in  order 
bright." — HuRD. 

We  have  "  vigil  flamma"  in  Ovid,  "  Trist."  iii.  v.  4 :  and  "  vigiles  flammas,"  "  Art 
Am."  iii.  463.— T.  Wa-kton. 

f  Green-eyed  Neptune, 
Virgil  "  Georg."  iv.  451.     Of  Proteus  : 

Ardentes  oculos  intorsit  lumine  glauco.— T.  Wabton. 
E  Such  as  the  wise  Demodocus  once  told. 
He  now  little  thought  that  Homer's  beautiful  couplet  of  the  fate  of  Deaodocus  couli 
in  a  few  years,  with  so  much  propriety  be  applied  to  himself.    He  was  but  too  conscious 
of  his  resemblance  to  some  other  Greek  bards  of  antiquity  when  he  wrote  the  "Para- 
dise Lost.'     Soe  b.  iii.  33  seq. — T.  Warton. 


MISCELLANIES.  777 


Are  held,  with  his  melodious  harmony, 

In  willing  chains  and  sweet  captivity. 

But  fie,  my  wandering  Muse,  how  thou  dost  stray  I 

Expectance  calls  thee  now  another  way : 

Thou  know'st  it  must  be  now  thy  only  bent 

To  keep  in  compass  of  thy  predicament ; 

Then  quick  about  thy  purposed  business  come. 

That  to  the  next  I  may  resign  my  room. 

Then  Ens  is  represented  as  father  of  the  Predicaments,  his  ten  sons,  whereof  the 
eldest  stood  for  Substance  with  his  canons,  which  Ens,  thus  speaking,  explains  :— 

Good  luck  befriend  thee,  son ;  "•  for,  at  thy  birth. 

The  faery  ladies  danced  upon  the  hearth ; ' 

Thy  drowsy  nurse  hath  sworn  she  did  them  spie 

Come  tripping  to  the  room  where  thou  didst  lie; 

And,  sweetly  singing  round  about  thy  bed, 

Strow  all  their  blessings  ou  thy  sleeping  head. 

She  heard  them  give  thee  this,  that  thou  shouldst  still 

From  eyes  of  mortals  walk  invisible  : 

Yet  there  is  something  that  doth  force  my  fear; 

For  once  it  was  my  dismal  hap  to  hear 

A  sibyl  old,  bow-bent  with  crooked  age. 

That  far  events  full  wisely  could  presage. 

And  in  time's  loag  and  dark  prospective  glass 

Foresaw  what  future  days  should  bring  to  pass ; 

Your  son,  said  she,  nor  can  you  it  prevent. 

Shall  subject  be  to  many  an  Accident :  J 

O'er  all  his  brethren  he  shall  reign  as  king," 

Yet  every  one  shall  make  him  underling ; 

And' those,  that  cannot  live  from  him  asunder. 

Ungratefully  shall  strive  to  keep  him  under :' 

In  worth  and  excellence  he  shall  outgo  them ; 

Yet,  being  above  them,  he  shall  be  below  them  j 

!>  Good  luck  befriend  thee,  son,  &c. 
Here  the  metaphysical  or  logical  Ens  is  introduced  as  a  person,  and  addressing  his 
eldest  son  Substance;  afterwards  the  logical  Quantity,  Quality,  and  Relation,  are  per- 
8onifi3d,  and  speak.  This  affectation  will  appear  more  excusable  in  Milton,  if  we  recol- 
lect that  everything,  in  the  masks  of  this  age,  appeared  in  a  bodily  shape.  "Airy 
Nothing"  had  not  only  a  "  local  habitation  and  a  name,"  but  a  visible  figure. — T.  Warton. 

'  For,  at  thy  birth, 
The/aery  ladies  danced  upon  the  hearth. 

This  is  the  first  and  last  time  that  the  system  of  the  fairies  was  ever  introduced  to 
illuBtrato  the  doctrine  of  Aristotle's  ten  categories.  It  may  be  remarked  that  they  both 
were  in  fashion,  and  both  exploded,  at  the  same  time. — T.  Wabton. 

J  Shall  subject  be  to  many  an  Accident, 

A  pun  on  the  logical  Accidens. — T.  AVarton. 

k  O'er  all  his  brethren  he  shall  reign  as  king. 

The  Predicaments  are  his  brethren ;  of  or  to  which  he  is  the  Subjectum,  although 
first  in  excellence  and  order. — T.  Warton, 

1  Ungratefully  shall  strive  to  keep  him  under. 
They  cannot  exist,  but  as  inherent  in  Substance. — T.  Warton. 

98 


118  MISCELLANIES. 


From  others  he  shall  stand  in  need  of  nothing,™ 

Yet  on  his  brothers  shall  depend  for  clothing :" 

To  find  a  foe  it  shall  not  be  his  hap," 

And  Peace  shall  lull  him  in  her  flowery  lap  j 

Yet  shall  he  live  in  strife,  and  at  his  door 

Devouring  War  shall  never  cease  to  roar; 

Yea,  it  shall  be  his  natural  property 

To  harbour  those  that  are  at  enmity,  p 

What  power,  what  force,  what  mighty  spell,  if  not 

Your  learned  hands,  can  loose  this  Gordian  knot  ? 

The  next,  Quantity  and  Qualitt,  spake  in  prose ;  then  Relation  waa  called  by 
his  name. 

Rivers,  arise ;  ■>  whether  thou  be  the  son 

Of  utmost  Tweed,  or  Oose,  or  gulphy  Dun, 

Or  Trent,  who,  like  some  Earth-born  giant,  spreads 

His  thirty  arms  along  the  indented  meads  ;  ' 

Or  sullen  Mole,  that  runneth  underneath  j  • 

Or  Severn  swift,  guilty  of  maiden's  death ;  * 

Or  rocky  Avon,  or  of  sedgy  Lee, 

Or  coaly  Tine,  or  ancient  hallow'd  Dee;" 

m  From  others  he  shall  stand  in  need  of  nothing. 
He  is  still  Substance,  with  or  without  Accident. — T.  Warton. 

n  Yet  on  Ms  brothers  shall  depend  /or  clothing. 

By  whom  he  is  clothed,  superinduced,  modified,  &c. :  but  he  is  still  the  same. — ^T. 
Warton. 

«  "Substantia  substantiae  nov£B  contrariatur,"  is  a  school  maxim. — T.  Wabton. 

p  To  harbour  those  that  are  at  enmity. 
His  Accidents. — T.  Warton. 

q  Rivers,  arise,  Ac. 
Milton  is  supposed,  in  the  invocation  and  assemblage  of  these  rivers,  to  have  had  an 
eye  on  Spenser's  episode  of  the  nuptials  of  Thames  and  Medway,  "  Faerie  Queene,"  ir. 
xi.  I  rather  think  he  consulted  Drayton's  "  Polyolbion."  It  is  hard  to  say,  in  what 
sense,  or  in  what  manner,  this  introduction  of  the  rivers  was  to  be  applied  to  the  sub- 
ject— T.  Warton. 

»■  Or  Trent,  who,  like  some  Earth-born  giant,  spreads 
His  thirty  arms  along  the  indented  meads. 
It  is  said  that  there  were  thirty  sorts  of  fish  in  this  river,  and  thirty  religious  houses 
on  its  banks.     These  traditions,  on  which  Milton  has  raised  a  noble  image,  are  a  rebus 
on  the  name  Trent — T.  Warton. 

»  Or  sullen  Mole,  that  rimneth  underneath. 
At  Mickleham,  near  Dorking  in  Surrey,  the  river  Mole,  during  the  summer,  except 
In  heavy  rains,  sinks  through  its  sandy  bed  into  a  subterraneous  and  invisible  channel. 
In  winter  it  constantly  keeps  its  current — T.  Warton. 

<  Or  Severn  swift,  guilty  of  maiden's  death. 
The  maiden  is  Sabrina.    See  "  Comus,"  v.  827. — T.  Warton. 

»  Ancient  halloic'd  Dee. 
Dee's  divinity  was  Druidical.     From  the  same  superstition,  some  rivers  in  Wales  are 
still  held  to  have  the  gift  or  virtue  of  prophecy.    See  note  on  "  Lycidas,"  ver.  56. — T. 
Wabton. 


MISCELLANIES.  '779 


Or  Humber  loud,  that  keeps  the  Scythian's  name;'' 
Or  Medway  smooth,  or  royal-tower'd  Thame.*^ 
[The  rest  was  prose.] 


AN  EPITAPH  ON  THE  ADMIRABLE  DRAMATIC  POET  WILLIAM 
SHAKSPEARE.x 

What  needs  my  Shakspeare,  for  his  honour'd  bones, 

The  labour  of  an  age  in  piled  stones  ? 

Or  that  his  hallow'd  reliques  should  be  hid 

Under  a  star-y pointing  pyramid  ? 

Dear  son  of  Memory,y  great  heir  of  fame. 

What  need'st  thou  such  weak  witness  of  thy  name  ? 

Thou,  in  our  wonder  and  astonishment, 

Hast  built  thyself  a  live-long  monument. 

For  whilst,  to  the  shame  of  slow-endeavouring  art, 

Thy  easy  numbers  flow ;  and  that  each  heart 

Hath,  from  the  leaves  of  thy  unvalued  book,* 

Those  Delphick  lines  with  deep  impression  took : 

Then  thou,  our  fancy  of  itself  bereaving, 

Dost  make  us  marble  with  too  much  conceiving ; 

And,  so  sepulchred,  in  such  pomp  dost  lie, 

That  kings,  for  such  a  tomb,  would  wish  to  die. 


ON  THE  UNIVERSITY  CARRIER, 

Who  sickened  in  the  time  of  his  vacancy,  being  forbid  to  go  to  London  by  reason 
of  the  plague. 

Here  lies  old  Hobson ;  Death  hath  broke  his  girt. 
And  here,  alas !  hath  laid  him  in  the  dirt ; 

V  Or  Humber  loud,  that  keeps  the  Scythian's  name. 

Humber,  a  Scythian  kin^,  landed  in  Britain  three  hundred  years  before  the  Roman 
invasion,  and  was  drowned  in  this  river  by  Locrine,  after  conquering  king  Albanact. 
— T.  Wabton. 

w  Or  Medway  smooth,  or  royal-towered  Thame. 

The  smoothness  of  the  Medway  is  characterized  in  the  "  Mourning  Muse  of  Thcs- 
tylis."  The  royal  towers  of  Thames  imply  Windsor  castle,  familiar  to  Milton's  view, 
and  to  which  I  have  already  remarked  his  allusions.— T.  Warton. 

^  This  is  but  an  ordinary  poem  to  come  from  Milton,  on  such  a  subject :  but  he  did 
not  yet  know  his  own  strenjifth,  or  was  content  to  dissemble  it,  out  of  deference  to 
the  false  taste  of  his  tiiiie.  The  conceit  of  Shakspeare's  "  lying  sepulchred  in  a  tomb 
of  his  own  making,"  is  in  Waller's  manner,  not  nis  own.  But  he  made  Shakspeare 
amends  in  his  "L^AUegro,"  v.  133. — Hued.  , 

Birch,  and  from  him  Dr.  Newton,  asserts,  that  this  copy  of  verses  was  written  in 
the  twenty-second  year  of  Milton's  age,  and  printed  with  the  Poems  of  Shakspeare 
at  London  in  1640.  This  therefore  is  the  first  of  Milton's  pieces  that  was  published. 
We  have  here  restored  the  title  from  the  second  folio  of  Shakspeare,  printed  1632. — 
T.  Wakton. 

This  epitaph  is  dated  1630,  in  Milton's  own  edition  of  his  poems  in  1673.— Todd 

y  Dear  son  of  Memory. 
He  honours  his  favourite  Shakspeare  with  the  same  relation  as  the  Muses  them- 
selves, for  the  Muses  are  called  by  the  old  poets,  "  the  daughters  of  Memory."    See 
Hesiod.  "Theog."  v.  53. — Newton. 

z  The  leaves  of  thy  unvalued  looh. 
"  Thy  invaluable  book."     So  in  Shakspeare,  "  Rich.  III."  a.  i.  s.  4  :— 
Inestimable  stones,  unvalued  jewels.— Todd. 


780  MISCELLANIES. 


Or  else,  the  ways  being  foul,  twenty  to  one, 

He 's  here  stuck  in  a  slough,  and  overthrown. 

'Twas  such  a  shifter,  that,  if  truth  were  known, 

Death  was  half  glad  when  he  had  got  him  down : 

For  he  had,  any  time  this  ten  years  full. 

Dodged  with  him  betwixt  Cambridge  and  the  Bull : 

And  surely  Death  could  never  have  prevail'd, 

Had  not  his  weekly  course  of  carriage  fail'd; 

But  lately  finding  him  so  long  at  home, 

And  thinidng  how  his  journey's  end  was  come. 

And  that  he  had  ta'en  up  his  latest  inn ; 

In  the  kind  office  of  a  chamberlin  " 

Show'd  him  his  room  where  he  must  lodge  that  night, 

Pull'd  off  his  boots,  and  took  away  the  light : 

If  any  ask  for  him,  it  shall  be  sed, 

Hobson  has  supp'd,  and 's  newly  gone  to  bed. 


ANOTHER  ON  THE  SAME.b 
Here  lieth  one,  who  did  most  truly  prove 
That  he  could  never  die  while  he  could  move ; 
So  hung  his  destiny,  never  to  rot 
While  he  might  still  jog  on  and  keep  his  trot, 
Made  of  sphere-metal,  never  to  decay 
Until  his  revolution  was  at  stay. 
Time  numbers  motion ;  yet,  without  a  crime 
'Gainst  old  truth,  motion  numbered  out  his  time; 
And,  like  an  engine  moved  with  wheel  and  weight, 
His  principles  being  ceased,  he  ended  straight. 
Rest  that  gives  all  men  life,  gave  him  his  death, 
And  too  much  breathing  put  him  out  of  breath ; 
Nor  were  it  contradiction  to  affirm. 
Too  long  vocation  hasten'd  on  his  term. 
Merely  to  drive  the  time  away,  he  sicken'd, 
Fainted,  and  died,  nor  would  with  ale  be  quicken'd ; 
Nay,  quoth  he,  on  his  swooning  bed  outstretch'd, 
If  I  mayn't  carry,  sure  I'll  ne'er  be  fetch'd; 
But  vow,  though  the  cross  doctors  all  stood  hearers, 
For  one  carrier  put  down  to  make  six  bearers. 
EasQiwas  his  chief  disease ;  and,  to  judge  right, 
He  died  for  heaviness  that  his  cart  went  light : 
His  leisure  told  him  that  his  time  was  come, 
And  lack  of  load  made  his  life  burdensome, 
That  e'en  to  his  last  breath,  there  be  that  say't, 
As  he  were  press'd  to  death,  he  cried.  More  weight  I 

»  In  the  kind  office  of  a  chamberlin,  &c, 
I  believe  the  chamDerlain  is  an  ofBcer  not  yet  discontinued  in  some  of  the  old  innS 
in  the  city.— T.  Wartok. 

_b  Hobson's  inn  at  London  was  the  Bull  in  Bishopsgate-street,  where  his  figure  in  fresco, 
•witli  an  inscription,  was  lately  to  be  seen.  Peck,  at  the  end  of  his  "Memoirs  of  Cromwell," 
has  printed  Hobson's  will,  which  is  dated  at  the  close  of  the  year  1630.  He  dic«l  Jan.  1, 
1630,  while  the  plague  was  in  London.    This  piece  was  written  that  year T.  Warton. 


MISCELLANIES.  781 


But,  had  his  doings  lasted  as  they  were, 

He  had  been  an  immortal  carrier. 

Obedient  to  the  moon,  he  spent  his  date 

In  course  reciprocal,  and  had  his  fate 

Link'd  to  the  mutual  flowing  of  the  seas ; 

Yet,  strange  to  think,  his  wain  was  his  increase  ? 

His  letters  are  deliver'd  all  and  gone ; 

Only  remains  this  superscription. 


ON  THE  NEW  FORCERS  OF  CONSCIENCE  UNDER  THE  LONG 
PARLIAMENT. 
Because  you  have  thrown  off  your  prelate  lord,' 
And  with  stiff  vows  renounced  his  liturgy,'' 
To  seize  the  widow'd  whore  Plurality 
From  them  whose  sin  ye  envied,  not  abhorr'd; 
Dare  ye  for  this  adjure  the  civil  sword 

To  force  our  consciences  that  Christ  set  free, 
And  ride  us  with  a  classic  hierarchy* 
Taught  ye  by  mere  A.  S.'  and  Rotherfordfs 

c  Because  you  have  throicn  off  your  prelate  lord,  Ac. 
In  railing  at  establishments,  Milton  condemned  not  episcopacy  only:  lie  thonght 
even  the  simple  institutions  of  the  new  reformation  too  rigid  and  arbitrary  for  the 
natural  freedom  of  conscience  j*  he  contended  for  that  sort  of  individual  or  personal 
religion,  by  which  every  man  is  to  be  his  own  priest.  When  these  verses  were  written, 
which  form  an  irregular  sonnet,  presbyterianism  was  triumphant :  and  the  independents 
and  the  churchmen  joined  in  one  common  complaint  against  a  want  of  toleration.  The 
church  of  Calvin  had  now  its  heretics.  Milton's  haughty  temper  brooked  no  human 
control:  even  the  parliamentary  hierarchy  was  too  coercive  for  one  who  acknowledged 
only  King  Jesus.  His  froward  and  refining  philosophy  was  contented  with  no  species 
of  carnal  policy  :  conformity  of  all  sorts  was  slavery.  He  was  persuaded  that  the 
modern  presbyter  was  as  much  calculated  for  persecution  and  oppression  as  the 
ancient  bishop. — T.  AVarton. 

d  And  with  stiff  vows  renounced  his  liturgy. 
The  Directory  was  enforced  under  severe  penalties  in  1644.    The  legislature  pro- 
hibited the  use  of  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer,  not  only  in  places  of  public  worship, 
but  in  private  families. — T.  Warton. 

e  And  ride  us  with  a  classic  hierarchy. 
In  the  presbyterian  church  now  established  by  law,  there  were,  among  others, 
classical  assemblies :  the  kingdom  of  England,  instead  of  so  many  dioceses,  was  now 
divided  into  a  certain  number  of  provinces,  made  up  of  representatives  from  the 
goveral  classes  within  their  respective  boundaries  :  every  parish  had  a  congregational 
or  parochial  presbytery  for  the  att'airs  of  its  own  circle ;  these  parochial  presbyteries 
were  combined  into  classes,  which  chose  representatives  for  the  provincial  assembly,  as 
did  the  provincial  for  the  national.  Thus,  the  city  of  London  being  distributed  into 
twelve  classes,  each  class  chose  two  ministers  and  four  lay-elders  to  represent  them  in  a 
provincial  assembly,  which  received  appeals  from  the  parochial  and  classical  presby- 
teries, Ac.  These  ordinances,  which  ascertain  the  age  of  the  piece  b(  fore  us,  took  place 
in  1646  and  1647.     See  Scobell,  "  Col."  P.  i.  p.  99,  150.— T.  Warton, 

f  Taught  ye  by  mere  A.  S. 
Tho  independents  were  now  contending  for  toleration.  In  1643  their  principal 
leaders  published  a  pamphlet  with  this  title,  "An  Apologeticall  Narration  of  some 
Ministers  formerly  exiles  in  the  Netherlands,  now  members  of  the  Assembly  of  Divines. 
Humbly  submitted  to  the  honourable  Houses  of  Parliament"  This  piece  was  answered 
by  one  A.  S.,  the  person  intended  by  Milton. — T.  Warton. 

K  Rotherford. 
Samuel  Rutherford,  or  Ratherfoord.  was  one  of  the  chief  commissioners  of  the  church 


782  MISCELLANIES. 


Men,  whose  life,  learning,  faith,  and  pure  intent 

Would  have  been  held  in  high  esteem  with  Paul, 
Must  now  be  named  and  printed  hereticks 

By  shallow  Edwards "  and  Scotch  what  d'ye  call : ' 
But  we  do  hope  to  find  out  all  your  tricks, 
Your  plots  and  packing,  worse  than  those  of  Trent  j^ 
That  so  the  parliament 

May,  with  their  wholesome  and  preventive  shears, 

Clip  your  phylacteries,  though  bank  your  ears," 
And  succour  our  just  fears, 

When  they  shall  read  this  clearly  in  your  charge ; 

New  Presbyter  is  but  Old  Priest  writ  large. ^ 

of  Scotland,  who  sat  with  the  Assembly  at  Westminster,  and  who  concurred  in  settling 
the  grand  points  of  presbyterian  discipline.  He  was  professor  of  divinity  in  the  uni- 
Tersity  of  St.  Andrew's,  and  has  left  a  great  variety  of  Calvinistic  tracts.  He  was  an 
avowed  enemy  to  the  independents,  as  appears  from  his  "  Disputation  on  pretended 
Liberty  of  Conscience,  1649."  It  is  hence  easy  to  see,  why  Rotherford  was  an 
obnoxious  character  to  Milton. — T.  Warton. 

•>  By  shalloio  Edwards. 
It  is  not  the  "  Gangrena"  of  Thomas  Edwards  that  is  here  the  object  of  Milton's 
resentment,  as  Dr.  Newton  and  Mr.  Thyer  have  supposed.  Edwards  had  attacked 
Milton's  favourite  plan  of  independency,  in  two  pamphlets  full  of  miserable  invectives, 
immediately  and  professedly  levelled  against  the  "  Apologeticall  Narration"  above- 
mentioned,  "  Antapologia,  or  a  full  Answer  to  the  Apologeticall  Narration,  Ac,  wherein 
is  handled  many  of  the  controversies  of  these  Times.  By  T.  Edwards,  minister  of  the 
gospel.  Lond.  1644."  However,  in  the  "  Gangrena,"  not  less  than  in  these  two  tracts, 
it  had  been  his  business  to  blacken  the  opponents  of  presbyterian  uniformity,  that  the 
parliament  might  check  their  growth  by  penal  statutes. — T.  Warton. 

'  And  Scotch  what  d'ye  call. 

Perhaps  Henderson,  or  George  Gillespie,  another  Scotch  minister  with  a  harder  name, 
and  one  of  the  ecclesiastical  commissioners  at  Westminster. — T.  Warton. 

J  Your  plots  and  packing,  tcorse  than  those  of  Trent. 
The  famous  couacil  of  Trent. — T.  Warton. 

^  Clip  1/ovr  phylacteries,  though  hauk  your  ears. 

That  is,  although  your  ears  cry  out  that  they  need  clipping,  yet  the  mild  and  gentle 
parliament  will  content  iteelf  with  only  clipping  away  your  Jewish  and  persecuting 
principles. — Warburton. 

The  meaning  of  the  present  context  is,  "  Check  your  insolence  ■without  proceeding 
to  cruel  punishments."    To  "balk,"  is  to  spare. — T.  Wabton. 

•  Writ  large. 
That  is,  more  domineering  and  tyrannical. — WAEEUKXca'. 


TEANSLATIONS. 


THE  FIFTH  ODE  OF  HORACE,  Lib.  i. 

What  slender  youth  bedew' d  with  liquid  odours, 
Courts  thee  on  roses  in  sotoe  pleasant  cave, 

Pyrrha  ?  For  whom  bind'st  thou 

In  wreaths  thy  golden  hair, 
Plain  in  thy  neatness  ?     0,  how  oft  shall  he 
On  faith  and  changed  gods  complain,  and  seas 

Rough  with  black  winds,  and  storms 

Unwonted  shall  admire ! 
Who  now  enjoys  thee  credulous,  all  gold, 
Who  always  vacant,  always  amiable 

Hopes  thee,  of  flattering  gales 

Unmindful.     Hapless  they. 
To  whom  thou  untried  seem'st  fair !  Me,  in  my  vow'd 
Picture,  the  sacred  wall  declares  to  have  hung 

My  dank  and  dropping  weeds 

To  the  stern  god  of  sea. 

FROM  GEOFFREY  OF  MONMOUTH. 

Bktttus  thus  addresses  Diana  in  the  country  of  Leogecia : 

Goddess  of  shades,  and  huntress,  who  at  will 
Walk'st  on  the  rowling  spheres,  and  through  the  deep : 
On  thy  third  reign,  the  earth,  look  now  and  tell 
What  land,  what  seat  of  rest,  thou  bidd'st  me  seek, 
What  certain  seat,  where  I  may  worship  thee 
For  aye,  with  temples  vow'd  and  virgin  quires. 

To  whom,  sleeping  before  the  altar,  Diana  answers  in  a  vision  the  same  night j 
Brutus,  far  to  the  west,  in  the  ocean  wide, 
Beyond  the  realm  of  Gaul,  a  land  there  lies, 
Sea-girt  it  lies,  where  giants  dwelt  of  old ; 
Now  void,  it  fits  thy  people :  thither  bend 
Thy  course;  there  shalt  thou  find  a  lasting  seat; 
There  to  thy  sons  another  Troy  shall  rise. 
And  kings  be  born  of  thee,  whose  dreadful  mighl 
Shall  awe  the  world,  and  conquer  nations  bold. 

FROM  DANTE. 

Ah,  Constantine  !  of  how  much  ill  was  cause, 
Not  thy  conversion,  but  those  rich  domains 
That  the  first  wealthy  pope  recfeived  of  thee  ! 

(783) 


T84  TRANSLATIONS. 


PROM  DANTE. 


Founded  in  chaste  and  humble  poverty, 

'Gainst  them  that  raised  thee  dost  thou  lift  thy  horn, 

Impudent  whore  ?  where  hast  thou  placed  thy  hope  ? 

In  thy  adulterers,  or  thy  ill-got  wealth  ? 

Another  Constantino  comes  not  in  haste. 


FROM  ARIOSTO. 

Then  pass'd  he  to  a  flowery  mountain  green. 
Which  once  smelt  sweet,  now  stinks  as  odiously : 
This  was  the  gift,  if  you  the  truth  will  have, 
That  Constantine  to  good  Sylvester  gave. 

FROM  HORACE. 

Whom  do  we  count  a  good  man  ?    Whom  but  he 
Who  keeps  the  laws  and  statutes  of  the  senate, 
Who  judges  in  great  suits  and  controversies, 
Whose  witness  and  opinion  wins  the  cause  ? 
But  his  own  house,  and  the  whole  neighbourhood, 
Sees  his  foul  inside  through  his  whited  skin. 

FROM  EURIPIDES. 

This  is  true  liberty  when  freeborn  men, 
Having  to  advise  the  publick,  may  speak  free  j 
Which  he  who  can  and  will  deserves  high  praise: 
Who  neither  can,  nor  will,  may  hold  his  peace : 
What  can  be  juster  in  a  state  than  this  ? 

FROM  HORACE. 
Laughing,  to  teach  the  truth. 


What  hinders  ?  as  some  teachers  give  to  boys 
Junkets  and  knacks  that  they  may  learn  apace. 


FROM  HORACE. 


Joking  decides  great  things. 


Stronger  and  better  oft  than  earnest  can. 

FROM  SOPHOCLES. 

'Tis  you  that  say  it,  not  I.     You  do  the  deeds, 
And  your  ungodly  deeds  find  me  the  words. 

FROM  SENECA. 
There  can  be  slain 


No  sacrifice  to  God  more  acceptable, 
Than  an  unjust  and  wicked  king. 


TRANSLATIONS.  "785 


PSALM  La 
Done  into  verse,  1653. 

Bless'd  is  the  man  who  hath  not  walk'd  astray 
In  counsel  of  the  wicked,  and  in  the  way 
Of  sinners  hath  not  stood  and  in  the  seat 
Of  scorners  hath  not  sat.     But  in  the  great 
Jehovah's  law  is  ever  his  delight, 
And  in  his  law  he  studies  day  and  night. 
He  shall  be  as  a  tree,  which  planted  grows 
By  watery  streams,  and  in  his  season  knows 
To  yield  his  fruit,  and  his  leaf  shall  not  fall; 
And  what  he  takes  in  hand  shall  prosper  all. 
Not  so  the  wicked ;  but  as  chaff  which  fann'd 
The  wind  drives,  so  the  wicked  shall  not  stand 
In  judgement,  or  abide  their  trial  then, 
Nor  sinners  in  the  assembly  of  just  men. 
For  the  Lord  knows  the  upright  way  of  the  just, 
And  the  way  of  bad  men  to  ruin  must. 

PSALM  IL 
Done  August  8, 1653.     Terzette. 

Why  do  the  Gentiles  tumult,  and  the  nations 

Muse  a  vain  thing,  the  kings  of  the  earth  upstand 

With  power,  and  princes  in  their  congregations 
Lay  deep  their  plots  together  through  each  land 

Against  the  Lord  and  his  Messiah  dear  ? 

Let  us  break  off,  say  they,  by  strength  of  hand 
Their  bonds,  and  cast  from  us,  no  more  to  wear. 

Their  twisted  cords :  He,  who  in  heaven  doth  dwell, ; 

Shall  laugh;  the  Lord  shall  scoff  them;  then,  severe, 
Speak  to  them  in  his  wrath,  and  in  his  fell 

And  fierce  ire  trouble  them ;  but  I,  saith  he, 

Anointed  have  my  king  (though  ye  rebel) 
On  Sion,  my  holy  hill.     A  firm  decree 

I  will  declare :  the  Lord  to  me  hath  said, 

Thou  art  my  son,  I  have  begotten  thee 
This  day :  ask  of  me,  and  the  grant  is  made ; 

As  Thy  possession  I  on  thee  bestow 

The  heathen;  and  as  thy  conquest  to  be  sway'd, 
Earth's  utmost  bounds,  them  shalt  thou  bring  full  lew 

With  iron  sceptre  bruised,  and  them  disperse 

Like  to  a  potter's  vessel  shiver'^d  so. 

»  Metrical  psalmody  was  much  cultivated  in  this  age  of  fanaticism.    Milton's  father 
is  a  composer  of  some  of  the  tunes  in  Ravencroft's  Psalms. — T.  Warton. 

"  A  literal  version  of  the  Psalms  may  boldly  be  asserted  impracticable ;  for,  if  it  were 
not,  a  poet  so  great  as  Milton  would  not,  even  in  his  earliest  youth,  have  proved  him- 
self so  very  little  of  a  formidable  rival,  as  he  "has  done,  to  Thomas  Stemhold."  Mason'e 
"Essays  on  English  Church  Music,"  1795,  p.  177.  In  the  last  of  these  translations, 
however,  as  Mr.  Warton  observes,  are  some  very  poetical  expressions. — Todd. 
99 


786  TRANSLATIONS. 


And  now  be  wise  at  length,  ye  kings  averse ; 

Be  taught,  ye  judges  of  the  earth;  with  fear 

Jehovah  serve  and  let  your  joy  converse 
With  trembling :  kiss  the  Son,  lest  he  appear 

In  anger,  and  ye  perish  in  the  way. 

If  once  his  wrath  take  fire  like  fuel  sere, 
Happy  all  those  who  have  in  him  their  stay. 


PSALM  III.    August  9,  1653.— When  he  fled  from  Abaalom. 

Lord,  how  many  are  my  foes ! 
How  many  those, 
That  in  arms  against  me  rise  ! 
Many  are  they, 
That  of  my  life  distrustfully  thus  say; 
No  help  for  him  in  God  there  lies. 
But  thou.  Lord,  art  my  shield,  my  glory, 
Thee,  through  my  story. 
The  exalter  of  my  head  I  count : 
Aloud  I  cried 
Unto  Jehovah  :  He  full  soon  replied. 
And  heard  me  from  His  holy  mount. 
I  lay  and  slept ;  I  waked  again ; 
For  my  sustain* 
Was  the  Lord.     Of  many  millions 
The  populous  rout 
I  fear  not,  though,  encamping  round  about, 
They  pitch  against  me  their  pavilions. 
Rise,  Lord ;  save  me,  my  God ;  for  Thou 
Hast  smote  ere  now 
On  the  cheek-bone  all  my  foes ; 
Of  men  abhorr'd 
Hast  broke  the  teeth.     This  help  was  from  the  Lord 
Thy  blessing  on  thy  people  flows. 


PSALM  rV.    AueusT  10, 1653. 

Answer  me  when  I  call, 
God  of  my  righteousness ; 
In  straits,  and  in  distress, 
Thou  didst  me  disenthrall 
And  set  at  large ;  now  spare. 

Now  pity  me,  and  hear  my  earnest  prayer. 
Great  ones,  how  long  will  ye 

My  glory  have  in  scorn  ? 

How  long  be  thus  forlorn 

Still  io  love  vanity  ? 

''  My  suMain. 
The  verb  converted  into  a  sitbstantive. — Todd. 


TEANSLATIONS.  181 


To  lovo,  to  seek,  to  prize, 

Things  false  and  vain,  and  nothing  else  but  lies  ? 
Yet  know,  the  Lord  hath  chose, 
Chose  to  himself  apart. 
The  good  and  meek  of  heart ; 
(For  whom  to  choose  He  knows) 
J  ehovah  from  on  high 

Will  hear  my  voice,  what  time  to  him  I  cry. 
Be  awed  and  do  not  sin ; 
Speak  to  your  hearts  alone, 
Upon  your  beds  each  one, 
And  be  at  peace  within. 
Offer  the  offerings  just 

Of  righteousness,  and  in  Jehovah  trust. 
Many  there  be  that  say. 
Who  yet  will  show  us  good  ? 
Talking  like  this  world's  brood : 
But,  Lord,  thus  let  me  pray  ', 
On  us  lift  up  the  light. 

Lift  up  the  favour  of  thy  countenance  bright. 
Into  my  heart  more  joy 
And  gladness  thou  hast  put, 
Than  when  a  year  of  glut 
Their  stores  dotb  overcloy. 
And  from  their  plenteous  grounds 

With  vast  increase  their  com  and  wine  aboudns. 
In  peace  at  once  will  I 
Both  lay  me  down  and  sleep ; 
For  thou  alone  dost  keep 
Me  safe  where'er  I  lie ; 
As  in  a  rocky  cell, 

Thou,  Lord,  alone,  in  safety  inakest  me  dwell. 

PSALM  V.    August  12, 1653. 

Jehovah,  to  my  words  give  ear, 
My  meditation  weigh; 

The  voice  -of  my  complaining  hear, 
My  King  and  God  ;  for  unto  thee  I  pray. 

Jehovah,  thou  my  early  voice 
Shalt  in  the  morning  hear; 

In  the  morning  I  to  thee  with  choice 
Will  rank  my  prayers,  and  watch  till  thou  appear. 
For  thou  art  not  a  God  that  takes 
In  wickedness  delight  j 

Evil  with  thee  no  biding  makes ; 
Fools  or  mad  men,  stand  not  within  thy  sight. 

All  workers  of  iniquity 

Thou  hatest,  and  them  unblest 

Thou  wilt  destroy  that  speak  a  lie; 
The  bloody  and  guileful  man  God  doth  detest. 


^88  TRANSLATIONS. 


But  I  will,  in  thy  mercies  dear, 

Thy  numerous  mercies,  go 
Into  thy  house ;  I,  in  thy  fear, 
Will  towards  thy  holy  temple  worship  low. 
Lord,  lead  me  in  thy  righteousness, 

Lead  me,  because  of  those 
That  do  observe  if  I  transgress; 
Set  thy  ways  right  before,  where  my  step  goes. 
For,  in  his  faltering  mouth  unstable, 

No  word  is  firm  or  sooth ; ' 
Their  inside,  troubles  miserable ; 
An  open  grave  their  throat,  their  tongue  they  smoothe, 
God,  find  them  guilty^  let  them  fall, 

By  their  own  counsels  quell'd; 
Push  them  m  their  rebellions  all 
Still  on ;  for  against  thee  they  have  rebell'd. 
Then  all  who  trust  in  thee,  shall  bring 

Their  joy  ;  while  thou  from  blame 
Befcnd'st  them,  they  shall  ever  sing 
And  shall  triumph  in  thee,  who  love  thy  name. 
For  thou,  Jehovah,  wilt  be  found  . 

To  bless  the  just  man  still ; 
As  with  a  shield,  thou  wilt  surround 
Him  with  thy  lasting  favour  and  goodwill. 

PSALM  VL    August  13, 1653. 

Lord,  in  thine  anger  do  not  reprehend  me. 

Nor  in  thy  hot  displeasure  me  correct ; 

Pity  me,  Lord,  for  I  am  much  deject,^ 

And  very  weak  and  faint ;  heal  and  amend  me : 

For  all  my  bones,  that  ev'n  with  anguish  ake. 

Are  troubled ;  yea,  my  soul  is  troubled  sore ; 

And  thou,  0  Lord,  how  long  ?   Turn,  Lord  ;  restore 
My  soul ;  0,  save  me  for  thy  goodness  sake : 
For  in  death  no  remembrance  is  of  thee ; 

Who  in  the  grave  can  celebrate  thy  praise  ? 

Wearied  I  am  with  sighing  out  my  days  j 
Nightly  my  couch  I  make  a  kind  of  sea ; 

My  bed  I  water  with  my  tears ;  mine  eye 

Through  grief  consumes,  is  waxen  old  and  dark 

In  the  midst  of  all  mine  enemies  that  mark.   . 
Depart,  all  ye  that  work  iniquity. 
Depart  from  me;  for  the  voice  of  my  weeping 

The  Lord  hath  heard;  the  Lord  hath  heard  my  prayer; 

My  supplication  with  acceptance  fair 
The  Lord  will  own,  and  have  me  in  his  keeping. 

e  Sooth  is  true. — T.  Wabtoit. 

<J  Deject, 
Dejected. — Todd. 


TRANSLATIONS.                                            789 

Mine  enemies  shall  all  be  blank  and  dash'd 

With  much  confusion;  then,  grown  red  with  shame, 
They  shall  return  in  haste  the  way  they  came, 

And  in  a  moment  shall  be  quite  abash'd. 

PSALM  VIL    AuorsT  14,  1653. 

Upon  the  words  of  Chush  the  Benjamite  against  him. 

Lord,  my  God,  to  thee  I  fly ; 
Save  me  and  secure  me  under 
Thy  protection,  while  I  cry ; 
Lest,  as  a  lion,  and  no  wonder, 
He  haste  to  tear  my  soul  asunder, 
Tearing  and  no  rescue  nigh. 

Lord,  ray  GTod,  if  I  have  thought 
Or  done  this ;  if  wickedness 
Be  in  my  hands;  if  I  have  wrought 
111  to  him  that  meant  me  peace ; 
Or  to  him  have  render'd  less. 
And  not  freed  my  foe  for  naught ; 

Let  the  enemy  pursue  my  soul, 
And  overtake  it ;  let  him  tread 
My  life  down  to  the  earth,  and  roll 
In  the  dust  my  glory -dead, 
In  the  dust ;  and  there,  outspread, 
Lodge  it  with  dishonour  foul. 

Rise,  Jehovah,  in  thine  ire, 

Rouse  thyself,  amidst  the  rage 

Of  my  foes,  that  urge  like  fire; 

And  wake  for  me,  their  fury  assuage : 

Judgement  here  thou  didst  engage 

And  command,  which  I  desire. 

So  the  assemblies  of  each  nation 
Will  surround  thee,  seeking  right ; 
Thence  to  thy  glorious  habitation 
Return  on  high,  and  in  their  sight. 
Jehovah  judgeth  most  upright 
All  people  from  the  world's  foundation. 

Judge  me,  Lord ;  be  judge  in  this 
According  to  my  righteousness, 
And  the  innocence,  which  is 
Upon  me  :  cause  at  length  to  cease 
Of  evil  men  the  wickedness, 
And  their  power  that  do  amiss : 

But  the  just  establish  fast, 

Since  thou  art  the  just  God  that  tries 

790  TRANSLATIONS. 


Hearts  and  reins.     On  God  is  cast 
My  defence,  and  in  him  lies, 
In  him,  who,  both  just  and  wise, 
Saves  the  upright  of  heart  at  last. 

God  is  a  just  judge  and  severe, 

And  God  is  every  day  oiFended  j 

If  the  unjust  will  not  forbear, 

His  sword  he  whets,  his  bow  hath  bended 

Already,  and  for  him  intended 

The  tools  of  death,  that  waits  him  near. 

His  arrows  purposely  made  he 
For  them  that  persecute.     Behold, 
He  travels  big  with  vanity; 
Trouble  he  hath  conceived  of  old. 
As  in  a  womb ;  and  from  that  mould 
Hath  at  length  brought  forth  a  lie. 

He  digg'd  a  pit,  and  delved  it  deep, 

And  fell  into  the  pit  he  made : 

His  mischief,  that  due  course  doth  keep, 

Turns  on  his  head ;  and  his  ill  trade 

Of  violence  will,  undelay'd, 

Fall  on  his  crown  with  ruin  steep. 

Then  will  I  Jehovah's  praise 
According  to  his  justice  raise, 
And  sing  the  name  and  deity 
Of  Jehovah,  the  Most  High. 

PSALM  VIIL    August  14,  1653. 

O  Jehovah,  our  Lord,  how  wondrous  great 

And  glorious  is  thy  name  through  all  the  earth ! 

So  as  above  the  heavens  thy  praise  to  set 
Out  of  the  tender  mouths  of  latest  birth. 

Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings  thou 
Hast  founded  strength  because  of  all  thy  foes. 

To  stint  the  enemy,  and  slack  the  avenger's  brow, 
That  bends  his  rage  thy  providence  to  oppose. 

When  I  behold  thy  heavens,  thy  fingers'  art; 

The  moon  and  stars  which  thou  so  bright  hast  set 
In  the  pure  firmament ;  then  saith  my  heart, 

0,  what  is  man,  that  thou  remember' st  yet, 

And  think' st  upon  him;  or  of  man  begot. 
That  him  thou  visit' st,  and  of  him  art  found  ? 

Scarce  to  be  less  than  gods,  thou  madest  his  lot ; 
With  honour  and  with  state  thou  hast  him  crown'd. 


O'er  the  works  of  thy  hand  thou  madest  him  lordj 

Thou  hast  put  all  under  his  lordly  feet  j 
All  flocks  and  herds,  by  thy  commanding  word ; 

All  beasts,  that  in  the  field  or  forest  meet; 

Fowl  of  the  heavens,  and  fish  that  through  the  wet 
Sea-paths  in  shoals  do  slide,  and  know  no  dearth 

0  Jehovah,  our  Lord,  how  wonderous  great 

And  glorious  is  thy  name  through  all  the  earth  I 

April,  1648.    J.  M. 

Nine  of  the  Psalms  done  into  metre,  wherein  all,  but  what  is  in  a  different  charactei 
are  the  very  words  of  the  text,  translated  from  the  origina' 

PSALM  LXXX. 

1 .  Thou,  Shepherd,  that  dost  Israel  keep. 

Give  ear  in  time  of  need  ; 
Who  leadest  like  a  flock  of  sheep 

Thy  loved  Joseph's  seed ; 
That  sitt'st  between  the  cherubs  bright, 

Between  tlieir  wings  outspread  ; 
Shine  forth,  and  from  thy  cloud  give  light. 

And  on  our  foes  thy  dread. 

2.  In  Ephraim's  view  and  Benjamin's, 

And  in  Manasses'  sight. 
Awake  thy  strength,  come,  and  he  seen 
To  save  us  by  thy  might. 

3.  Turn  us  again ;  thy  grace  divine 

To  us,  0  Grod,  vouchsafe; 
Cause  thou  thy  face  on  us  to  shine, 
And  then  we  shall  be  safe. 

4.  Lord  God  of  Hosts,  how  long  wilt  thou, 

How  long  wilt  thou  declare 
Thy  smoking  wrath  and  angry  brow 
Against  thy  people's  prayer? 

5.  Thou  feed'st  them  with  the  bread  of  tears; 

Their  bread  with  tears  they  eat ; 
And  makest  them  largely  drink  the  tears 
Wherewith  their  cheeks  are  wet. 

6.  A  strife  thou  makest  us  and  a  prey 

To  every  neighbour  foe ; 
Among  themselves  they  laugh,  they  play, 
And  flouts  at  us  they  throw. 

7.  Return  us,  and  thy  grace  divine, 

0  God  of  Hosts,  vouchsafe  ; 
Cause  thou  thy  face  on  us  to  shine, 
And  then  we  shall  be  safe. 

8.  A  vine  from  Egypt  thou  hast  brought, 

Thy  free  love  made  it  thine  ; 
And  drovest  out  nations,  proud  and  hautj 
To  plant  this  lovely  vine. 


'i'92  TRANSLATIONS. 


9.  Thou  didst  prepare  for  it  a  place, 
And  root  it  deep  and  fast ; 
That  it  began  tx)  grow  apo,ce, 
And  filPd  the  land  at  last. 

10.  With  her  green  shade  that  cover'd  aC, 

The  hills  were  overspread ; 
Her  boughs  as  high  as  cedars  tall 
Advanced  their  lofty  head. 

11.  Her  branches  on  the  western  side 

Down  to  the  sea  she  sent, 

And  upward  to  that  river  wide 

Her  other  branches  went. 

12.  Why  hast  thou  laid  her  hedges  low, 

And  brolien  down  her  fence ; 
That  all  may  pluck  her,  as  they  go, 
With  'rudest  violence  ? 

13.  The  tusked  boar  out  of  the  wood 

Up  turns  it  by  the  roots ; 
While  beasts  there  brouze,  and  make  their  food 
Her  grapes  and  tender  shoots. 

14.  Eeturn  now,  God  of  Hosts ;  look  down 

From  heaven,  thy  seat  divine ; 
Behold  uSf  but  without  a  frown; 
And  visit  this  thy  vine. 

15.  Visit  this  vine,  which  thy  right  hand 

Hath  set,  and  planted  long; 
And  the  young  branch,  that  for  thyself 
Thou  hast  made  firm  and  strong. 

16.  But  now  it  is  consumed  with  fire, 

And  cut  with  axes  down ; 

They  perish  at  thy  dreadful  ire. 

At  thy  rebuke  and  frown. 

17.  Upon  the  man  of  thy  right  hand 

Let  thy  good  hand  be  laid; 

Upon  the  son  of  man,  whom  thou 

Strong  for  thyself  bast  made. 

18.  So  shall  we  not  go  back  from  thee 

To  ways  of  sin  and  shame  : 
Quicken  us  thou ;  then  gladly  we 
Shall  call  upon  thy  name. 

19.  Return  us,  and  thy  grace  divine, 

Lord  God  of  Hosts,  vouchsafe; 
Cause  thou  thy  face  on  us  to  shine. 
And  then  we  shall  be  safe. 

PSALM  LXXXI. 


I.  To  God  our  strength  sing  loud  and  clear 
Sing  loud  to  God  our  King; 
To  Jacob's  God,  that  all  may  hear. 
Loud  acclamations  ring. 


TRANSLATIONS.  193 


2.  Prepare  a  hymn,  prepare  a  song, 

The  timbrel  hither  bring ; 
The  cheerful  psaltry  bring  along, 
And  harp  with  pleasant  string. 

3.  Blow,  as  is  wont,  in  the  new  moon, 

With  trumpets'  Iqfti/  sound, 
The  appointed  time,  the  day  whereon 
Our  solemn  feast  comes  round. 

4.  This  was  a  statute  given  of  old 

For  Israel  to  observe; 
A  law  of  Jacob's  God,  to  hold, 

From  whence  they  might  not  swerve. 
6.  This  he  a  testimony  ordain'd 

In  Joseph,  not  to  change, 
When  as  he  pass'd  through  Egypt  land ', 

The  tongue  I  heard  was  strange. 

6.  From  burden,  and  from,  slavish  toil, 

I  set  his  shoulde»free  : 
His  hands  from  pots,  and  miry  soil. 
Deliver' d  were  hy  me. 

7.  When  trouble  did  thee  sore  assail, 

On  me  then  didst  thou  call ; 
And  I  to  free  thee  did  not  fail 

And  led  time  out  of  thrall. 
I  answer' d  thee  in  thunder  deep. 

With  clouds  encompass'd  round ; 
I  tried  thee  at  the  water  steep 

Of  Meriba  renown' d. 

8.  Hear,  0  my  people,  hearhen  well; 

I  testify  to  thee, 
Thou  ancient  stoch  of  Israel, 
If  thou  wilt  list  to  me  : 

9.  Throughout  the  land  of  thy  abode 

No  alien  god  shall  be ; 
Nor  shalt  thou  to  a  foreign  god 
In  honour  bend  thy  knee. 

10.  I  am  the  Lord  thy  God  which  brought 

Thee  out  of  Egypt  land  ; 
Ask  large  enough,  and  I,  besought. 
Will  grant  thy  full  demand. 

11.  And  yet  my  people  would  not  hear, 

Nor  hearken  to  my  voice ; 
And  Israel,  whom  I  loved  so  dear, 
Misliked  me  for  his  choice. 

12.  Then  did  I  leave  them  to  their  will. 

And  to  their  wandering  mind ; 
Their  own  conceits  they  foUow'd  still- 
Their  own  devices  blind, 

13.  0,  that  my  people  would  be  wisCf 

To  serve  me  all  their  days  I 
100 


•794  TRANSLATIONS. 


And,  0,  that  Israel  would  advise 
To  walk  my  righteous  ways ! 

14.  Then  would  I  soon  bring  down  their  foes 

That  now  so  proudly  rise  ; 
And  turn  my  hand  against  all  those 
That  are  their  enemies. 

15.  Who  hate  the  Lord  should  then  be  fain 

To  bow  to  him  and  bend; 
But  the^,  his  peoj>le,  should  remain ; 
Their  time  should  have  no  end : 

16.  And  he  would  feed  them  from  the  shock 

With  flour  of  finest  wheat, 

And  satisfy  them  from  the  rock 

With  honey  for  their  meat. 

PSALM  LXXXIL 

1.  God  in  the  great  assembly  stands 

0/  kings  and  lordly  states; 
Among  the  gods,  on  both  his  hands, 
He  judges  and  debates. 

2.  How  long  will  ye  pervert  the  right 

With  judgment  false  and  wrong, 
Favouring  the  wicked  biy  your  might. 
Who  thence  grow  bold  and  strong  ? 

3.  Regard  the  weak  and  fatherless ; 

Despatch  the  poor  man's  cause ; 
And  raise  the  man  in  deep  distress 
By  just  and  equal  laws. 

4.  Defend  the  poor  and  desolate, 

And  rescue  from  the  hands 

Of  wicked  men  the  low  estate 

Of  him  that  help  demands. 

5.  They  kuow  not,  nor  will  understand; 

In  darkness  they  walk  on ; 
The  earth's  foundations  all  are  moved, 
And  out  of  order  gone. 

6.  I  said  that  ye  were  gods,  yea,  all 

The  sons  of  God  Most  High ; 

7.  But  ye  shall  die  like  men,  and  fall, 

As  other  princes  die. 

8.  Rise,  God  :  judge  thou  the  earth  in  mighty 

This  wicked  earth  redress ; 
For  Thou  art  He  who  shall  by  right 
The  nations  all  possess. 

PSALM  LXXXIIL 
1.  Be  not  thou  silent  now  at  length, 
0  God ;  hold  not  thy  peace ; 
Sit  thou  not  still,  0  God  of  strength, 
We  cry,  and  do  not  cease. 


2.  For,  lo,  thy  furious  foes  now  swell, 

And  storm  outrageously ; 
And  they  that  hate  thee,  proud  andfeJL' 
Exalt  their  heads  full  high. 

3.  Against  thy  people  they  contrive 

Their  plots  and  counsels  deep ; 

Them  to  ensnare  they  chiefly  strive. 

Whom  thou  dost  hide  and  keep. 

4.  Come,  let  us  cut  them  ofi",  say  they, 

Till  they  no  nation  be; 
That  Israel's  name  for  ever  may 
Be  lost  in  memory. 

5.  For  they  consult  with  all  their  might  j 

And  all,  as  one  in  mind, 
Themselves  against  thee  they  unite, 
And  in  firm  union  bind. 

6.  The  tents  of  Edom,  and  the  brood 

Of  scornful  Ishmael, 
Moab,  with  them  of  Hagar's  blood. 

That  in  the  desert  dwell } 
V.  Gebal  and  Ammon  there  conspire, 

And  hateful  Amalek ; 
The  Philistines,  and  they  of  Tyre, 

Whose  hounds  the  sea  doth  check. 

8.  With  them  great  Ashur  also  bands. 

And  doth  confirm  the  knot  : 
All  these  have  lent  their  armed  hands 
To  aid  the  sons  of  Lot. 

9.  Do  to  them  as  to  Midian  bold, 

That  wasted  all  the  coast; 
To  Sisera ;  and,  as  is  told, 

Thou  didst  to  Jabin's  host, 
When,  at  the  brook  of  Kishon  old, 

They  were  repulsed  and  slain, 

10.  At  Endor  quite  cut  off,  and  roU'd 

As  dung  upon  the  plain. 

11.  As  Zeb  and  Oreb  evil  sped, 

So  let  their  princes  speed ; 
As  Zeba  and.Zalmunna  bled. 
So  let  their  princes  bleed. 

12.  J'or  they  amidst  their  pride  have  said 

By  right  now  shall  we  seize 
Grod's  houses,  and  will  now  invade 
Their  stately  palaces. 

13.  My  God,  0  make  them  as  a  wheel; 

iVb  quiet  let  them  find  ; 
Giddy  and  restless  let  them  reel, 
Like  stubble  from  the  wind. 

14.  As  whe7i  an  aged  wood  takes  fire, 

Which  on  a  sudden  strays  j 


'796  TRANSLATIONS. 


The  areedy  flame  runs  higher  and  higher, 
Till  all  the  mountains  blaze; 

15.  So  with  thy  whirlwind  them  pursue, 

And  with  thy  tempest  chase; 

16.  And,  till  they  yield  thee  honour  due, 

Lord,  fill  with  shame  their  face. 

17.  Ashamed  and  troubled  let  them  be, 

Troubled  and  shamed  for  ever ; 
Ever  confounded,  and  so  die 

With  shame,  and  'scape  it  never. 

18.  Then  shall  they  know,  that  Thou,  whose  name 

Jehovah  is  alone, 
Art  the  Most  High,  and  Thou  the  same 
O'er  all  the  earth  art  One. 


PSALM  LXXXIV. 

1.  How  lovely  are  thy  dwellings  fair ! 

0  Lord  of  Hosts,  how  dear 
The  pleasant  tabernacles  are, 
Where  thou  dost  dwell  so  near  I 

2.  My  soul  doth  long,  and  almost  die, 

Thy  courts,  0  Lord,  to  see ; 
My  heart  and  flesh  aloud  do  cry, 
0  living  God,  for  thee. 

3.  There  ev'n  the  sparrow, /reec?  from  wrong, 

Hath  found  a  house  of  rest ; 
The  swallow  there,  to  lay  her  young, 

Hath  built  her  brooding  nest; 
Ev'n  by  thy  altars,  Lord  of  Hosts, 

Tliey  find  their  safe  abode  ; 
And  home  they  fly  from  round  the  coastSj 

Toward  thee,  my  King,  my  God. 

4.  Happy,  who  in  thy  house  reside, 

Where  thee  they  ever  praise  ! 

5.  Happy,  whose  strength  in  thee  doth  bide 

And  in  their  hearts  thy  ways ! 

6.  They  pass  through  Baca's  thirsty  vale. 

That  dry  and  barren  ground  ; 
As  through  a  fruitful,  watery  dale. 
Where  springs  and  showers  abound. 

7.  They  journey  on  from  strength  to  strength 

With  Joy  and  gladsome  cheer, 
Till  all  before  our  God  at  length 
In  Sion  do  appear. 

8.  Lord  God  of  Hosts,  hear  now  my  prayer  j 

0  Jacob's  God,  give  ear; 

9.  Thou  God,  our  shield,  look  on  the  face 

Of  thy  anointed  dear  : 
10.  For  one  day  in  thy  courts  to  be, 
Is  better,  and  more  blest^ 


TRANSLATIONS.  T97 


Than  in  the  joys  of  vanity 

A  thousand  days  at  best. 
I,  in  the  temple  of  my  God, 

Had  rather  keep  a  door ; 
Than  dwell  in  tents,  and  rich  abode, 

With  sin  /or  evermore. 

11.  For  God  the  Lord,  both  sun  and  shield, 

Gives  grace  and  glory  bright ; 
No  good  from  them  shall  be  withheld 
Whose  ways  are  just  and  right. 

12.  Lord  God  of  Hosts,  that  reign' st  on  high  ; 

That  man  is  truly  blest, 
Who  only  on  thee  doth  rely. 
And  in  thee  only  rest. 

PSALM  LXXXV. 

1.  Thy  land  to  favour  graciously 

Thou  hast  not,  Lord,  been  slack  ; 
Thou  hast  from  hard  captivity 
Keturned  Jacob  back : 

2.  The  iniquity  thou  didst  forgive 

That  wrought  thy  people  woe ; 
And  all  their' sin,  that  did  thee  grieve  ; 

Hast  hid  where  none  shall  know. 
8.  Thine  anger  all  thou  hadst  removed, 

And  calmly  didst  return 
From  thy  fierce  wrath,  which  we  had  proved 

Far  worse  than  fire  to  burn. 

4.  God  of  our  saving  health  and  peace, 

Turn  us,  and  us  restore ; 
Thine  indignation  cause  to  cease 
Toward  us,  and  chide  no  more. 

5.  Wilt  thou  be  angry  without  end. 

For  ever  angry  thus  ? 
Wilt  thou  thy  frowning  ire  extend 
From  age  to  age  on  us  ? 

6.  Wilt  thou  not  turn,  and  hear  our  voice, 

And  us  again  revive ; 
That  so  thy  people  may  rejoice. 
By  thee  preserved  alive  ? 

7.  Cause  us  to  see  thy  goodness,  Lord ; 

To  us  thy  mercy  shew ; 
Thy  saving  health  to  us  afibrd. 
And  life  in  us  renew, 

8.  And  now,  what  God  the  Lord  will  speak 

I  will  go  straight  and  hear ; 
For  to  his  people  he  speaks  peace, 

And  to  his  saints  full  dear, 
To  his  dear  saints,  he  will  speak  peace; 

But  let  them  never  more 


798  TRANSLATIONS. 


Return  to  folly,  hut  surcease 

To  trespass  as  be/ore. 
9.  Surely,  to  such  as  do  him  fear, 

Salvation  is  at  hand ; 
And  glory  shall  ere  long  appear 

To  dwell  within  our  land. 

10.  Mercy  and  Truth,  that  long  were  miss'd, 

Now  joyfully  are  met ; 
Sweet  Peace  and  Righteousness  have  kiss'd, 
And  hand  in  hand  are  set. 

11.  Truth  from  the  earth,  like  to  a  flmoer^ 

Shall  bud  and  blossom  then; 
And  Justice,  from  her  heavenly  bower, 
Look  down  on  mortal  men. 

12.  The  Lord  will  also  then  bestow 

Whatever  thing  is  good ; 
Our  land  shall  forth  in  plenty  throw 
Her  fruits  to  he  our  food. 

13.  Before  him  Righteousness  shall  go, 

His  royal  harhinger : 
Then  will  he  come,  and  not  be  slow; 
His  footsteps  cannot  err. 

PSALM  LXXXVL 

1.  Thy  gracious  ear,  0  Lord,  incline  j 

0  hear  me,  /  thee  pray  ; 
For  I  am  poor,  and  almost  pine 

With  need,  and  sad  decay. 

2.  Preserve  my  soul ;  for  I  have  trod 

Thy  ways,  and  love  the  just : 
Save  thou  thy  servant,  0  my  God, 
Who  still  in  thee  doth  trust. 
8.  Pity  me.  Lord,  for  daily  thee 

1  call;  4.  0,  make  rejoice 

Thy  servant's  soul ;  for.  Lord,  to  thee 
I  lift  my  soul  and  voice  : 

5.  For  thou  art  good ;  thou.  Lord,  art  prone 

To  pardon ;  thou  to  all 
Art  full  of  mercy,  thou  alone 
To  them  that  on  thee  call. 

6.  Unto  my  supplication,  Lord, 
*         Give  ear,  and  to  the  cry 

Of  my  incessant  prayers  afford 
Thy  hearing  graciously. 

7.  I,  in  the  day  of  my  distress, 

Will  call  on  thee /or  aid; 
For  thou  wilt  grant  me  free  access, 
And  answer  what  Ipray'd. 

8.  Like  thee  among  the  gods  is  none, 

0  Lord ;  nor  any  works 


TRANSLATIONS.  799 


Of  all  that  other  gods  have  donej 
Like  to  thy  glorious  works. 
9.  The  nations  all  whom  thou  hast  made 
Shall  come,  and  all  shall  frame 
To  bow  them  low  before  thee,  Lord, 
And  glorify  thy  name : 

10.  For  great  thou  art,  and  wonders  great 

By  thy  strong  hand  are  done  j 
Thou,  in  thy  everlasting  seat, 
Remainest  God  alone. 

11.  Teach  me,  0  Lord,  thy  way  most  right-, 

I  in  thy  truth  will  bide; 
To  fear  thy  name  my  heart  unite; 
So  shall  it  never  slide. 

12.  Thee  will  I  praise,  0  Lord  my  God, 

Thee  honour  and  adore 
With  my  whole  heart,  and  blaze  abroad 
Thy  name  for  evermore. 

13.  For  great  thy  mercy  is  toward  me. 

And  thou  hast  freed  my  soul, 
Ev'n  from  the  lowest  hell  set  free, 
From  deepest  darkness  foul. 

14.  0  God,  the  proud  against  me  rise, 

And  violenf  men  are  met 
To  seek  my  life,  and  in  their  eyes 
No  fear  of  thee  have  set. 

15.  But  thou.  Lord,  art  the  God  most  mild. 

Readiest  thy  grace  to  shew. 
Slow  to  be  angry,  and  art  styled 
Most  merciful,  most  true. 

16.  0,  turn  to  me  thy  face  at  length, 

And  me  have  mercy  on  ; 
Unto  thy  servant  give  thy  strength, 
And  save  thy  handmaid's  son. 

17.  Some  sign  of  good  to  me  afford, 

And  let  my  foes  then  see. 
And  be  ashamed ;  because  thou.  Lord, 
Dost  help  and  comfort  me. 

PSALM  LZXXVn. 

1.  Among  the  holy  mountains  high 

Is  his  foundation  fast ; 
There  seated  is  his  sanctuary ; 
His  temple  there  is  placed. 

2.  Sion'sy«tV  gates  the  Lord  loves  more 

Than  all  the  dwellings /atV 
Of  Jacob's  land,  though  there  he  store, 
And  all  within  his  care. 

3.  City  of  God,  most  glorious  thingp 

Of  thee  abroad  are  spoke ; 


800  TRANSLATIONS. 


4.  I  mention  Egypt,  where  proud  kings 

Did  our  forefathers  yoke. 
I  mention  Babel  to  my  friends, 

Philistia  full  of  scorn  ; 
And  Tyre,  with  Ethiop's  utmost  end»: 

Lo,  this  man  there  was  born : 

5.  But  twice  that  praise  shall  in  our  ear 

Be  said  of  Sion  last ; 
This  and  this  man  was  born  in  her  j 
High  God  shall  fix  her  fast. 

6.  The  Lord  shall  write  it  in  a  scroll 

That  ne'er  shall  be  outworn, 

When  he  the  nations  doth  inroll; 

That  this  man  there  was  born. 

7.  Both  they  who  sing,  and  they  who  dance, 

With  sacred  songs  are  there  ; 
In  th6e  fresh  brooks  and  soft  streams  glanct^ 
And  all  my  fountains  clear. 

PSALM  LXXXVHL 


1.  Lord  God,  that  dost  me  save  and  keep, 

All  day  to  thee,  .1  cry ; 
And  all  night  long  before  thee  wecp^ 
Before  thee  prostrate  lie. 

2.  Into  thy  presence  let  my  prayer, 

With  sighs  devout  ascend ; 
And  to  my  cries,  that  ceaseless  are, 
Thine  ear  with  favour  bend. 

3.  For,  cloy'd  with  woes  and  trouble  store, 

Surcharged  my  soul  doth  lie ; 
My  life,  at  Death's  uncheerful  door, 
Unto  the  grave  draws  nigh. 

4.  Beckon'd  I  am  with  them  that  pass 

Down  to  the  dismal  pit : 

I  am  a  man  ;  but  weak,  alas ! 

And  for  that  name  unfit. 

5.  From  life  discharged,  and  parted  quite 

Among  the  dead  to  sleep; 
And  like  the  slain  in  bloody  fight, 

That  in  the  grave  lie  deep. 
Whom  thou  rememberest  no  more, 

Dost  never  more  regard ; 
Them,  from  thy  hand  deliver'd  o'er, 

Death's  hideous  house  hath  barr'd. 

6.  Thou  in  the  lowest  pit  profound 

Hast  set  me  all  forlorn, 
Where  thickest  darkness  hovers  round, 
In  horrid  deeps  to  mourn. 

7.  Thy  wrath,  from  which  no  shelter  saves^ 

Full  sore  doth  press  on  me ; 


TRANSLATIONS.  801 


Thou  break' st  upon  me  all  thy  waves, 

And  all  thy  waves  break  me. 
8.  Thou  dost  my  friends  from  me  estrange; 

And  raakest  me  odious, 
Me  to  them  odious,  for  they  change^ 

And  I  here  pent  up  thus. 
9.  Through  sorrow  and  affliction  great, 

Mine  eye  grows  dim  and  dead : 
Lord,  all  the  day  I  thee  entreat. 

My  hands  to  thee  I  spread. 

10.  Wilt  thou  do  wonders  on  the  dead? 

Shall  the  deceased  arise, 
And  praise  thee  from  their  loathsome  bea 
With  pale  and  hollow  eyes? 

11.  Shall  they  thy  loving-kindness  tell, 

On  whom  the  grave  hath  hold? 
Or  they,  who  in  perdition  dwell, 
Thy  faithfulness  unfold? 

12.  In  darkness  can  thy  mighty  hand 

Or  wondrous  acts  be  known  'i 
Thy  justice  in  the  gloomy  land 
Of  dark  oblivion  ? 

13.  But  I  to  thee^  0  Lord,  do  cry, 

Ere  yet  my  life  he  spent; 
And  up  to  thee  my  prayer  doth  hie, 
Each  morn,  and  thee  prevent. 

14.  Why  wilt  thou.  Lord,  my  soul  forsakfc; 

And  hid  thy  face  from  me, 

15.  That  am  already  bruised,  and  shake 

With  terrour  sent  from  thee  ? 
Bruised,  and  afflicted,  and  so  low 

As  ready  to  expire ; 
While  I  thy  terrours  andergo, 

Astonish'd  with  thine  ire. 

16.  Thy  fierce  wrath  over  me  doth  flow ; 

Thy  threatenings  cut  me  through  • 

17.  All  day  they  round  about  me  go ; 

Like  waves  they  me  pursue. 

18.  Lover  and  friend  thou  hast  removed, 

And  sever'd  from  me  far  : 
Thy  fly  me  now  whom  I  have  loved, 
And  as  in  darkness  are. 


A  PARAPHRASE  ON  PSALM  CXIV.e 
This  and  the  following  Psalm  were  done  by  the  author  at  fifteen  years  old. 

When  the  blest  seed  of  Terah's  faithful  son, 
After  long  toil  their  liberty  had  won  j 

•  This  and  the  following  Psalm  are  Milton's  earliest  performances.    The  first  ho 
afterwards  translated  into  Greek. — T.  Wartok. 
101 


802  TRANSLATIONS. 


And  past  from  Pharian  fields  to  Canaan  land, 

Led  by  the  strength  of  the  Almighty's  hand ; 

Jehovah's  wonders  were  in  Israel  shown, 

His  praise  and  glory  was  in  Israel  known. 

That  saw  the  troubled  sea,  and  shivering  fled, 

And  sought  to  hide  his  froth-becurled  head 

Low  in  the  earth ;  Jordan's  clear  streams  recoil, 

As  a  faint  host  that  hath  received  the  foil/ 

The  high,  huge-bellied  mountains  skip,  like  rams  * 

Amongst  their  ewes :  the  little  hills,  like  lambs. 

Why  fled  the  ocean  ?     And  why  skipt  the  mountains  ? 

Why  turned  Jordan  toward  his  crystal  fountains  ? 

Shake,  Earth ;  and  at  the  presence  be  aghast 

Of  Him  that  ever  was,  and  aye  shall  last ; 

That  glassy  floods  from  rugged  rocks  can  crush, 

And  make  soft  rills  from  fiery  flint-stones  gush  I 

PSALM  CXXXVI. 

Let  us,  with  a  gladsome  mind. 
Praise  the  Lord,  for  he  is  kind : 

For  his  mercies  aye  endure. 

Ever  faithful,  ever  sure. 
Let  us  blaze  his  name  abroad. 
For  of  gods  he  is  the  God : 

For  his,  &c. 
0,  let  us  his  praises  tell. 
Who  doth  the  wrathful  tyrants  quell: 

For  his,  &c. 
Who,  with  his  miracles,  doth  make 
Amazed  heaven  and  earth  to  shake  : 

For  his,  &c. 
Who,  by  his  Wisdom,  did  create 
The  painted  heavens,  so  full  of  state : 

For  his,  &c. 
Who  did  the  solid  earth  ordain 
To  rise  above  the  watery  plain : 

For  his,  &c. 
Who,  by  his  all-commanding  might. 
Did  fill  the  new-made  world  with  light : 

For  his,  &c. 
And  caused  the  golden-tressed  sun 
All  the  day  long  his  course  to  run : 

For  his,  &c. 
The  horned  moon  to  shine  by  night, 
Amongst  her  spangled  sisters  bright : ' 

For  his,  &c. 

f  As  a  faint  ho»t  that  hath  received  the  foil. 
'Foil"  ia  defeat .  a  substantive  used  in  the  same  sense  by  Harrington  in  his  "Orlandc 
Funoso,"  and  by  Shakspeare  repeatedly. — Todd. 


TRANSLATIONS.                                              803 

He,  with  his  thunder-clasping  hand, 

Smote  the  first-born  of  Egypt-land : 

For  his,  &e. 

And,  in  despite  of  Pharaoh  fell, 

He  brought  from  thence  his  Israel : 

For  his,  &c. 

The  ruddy  waves  he  cleft  in  twain 

Of  the  Erythraean  main  : 

For  his,  &c. 

The  floods  stood  still,  like  walls  of  glass, 

While  the  Hebrew  bands  did  pass : 

For  his,  &c. 

But  full  soon,  they  did  devour 

The  tawny  king  with  all  his  power : 

For  his,  &c. 

His  chosen  people  he  did  bless 

In  the  wasteful  wilderness : 

For  his,  &c. 

In  bloody  battle  he  brought  down 

Kings  of  prowess  and  renown : 

For  his,  &c. 

He  foil'd  bold  Seon  and  his  host, 

That  ruled  the  Amorrean  coast : 

For  his,  &c. 

And  large-limb'd  Og  he  did  subdue, 

With  all  his  over-hardy  crew : 

For  his,  &c. 

And,  to  his  servant  Israel, 

He  gave  their  land  therein  to  dwell : 

For  his,  &c. 

He  hath,  with  a  piteous  eye, 

Beheld  us  in  our  misery  : 

For  his,  &G. 

And  freed  us  from  the  slavery 

Of  the  invading  enemy : 

For  his,  &c. 

All  living  creatures  he  doth  feed. 

And  with  full  hands  supplies  their  need  ■ 

For,  his,  &c. 

Let  us  therefore  warble  forth 

His  mighty  majesty  and  worth :                                  . 

For  his,  &c. 

That  his  mansion  hath  on  high 

Above  the  reach  of  mortal  eye : 

For  his  mercies  aye  endure. 

Ever  faithful,  ever  sure. 

JOANNIS    MILTONI 

LONDINENSIS 

POEMAT  A; 

QUORUM  PLERAQUE  INTRA  ANNUM  ^TATIS  VIGESIMUK   CONSCRIPSIT. 


HiEC  quae  sequuntur  do  Auctore  testimonia,  tametsi  ipse  intelligebat  non  tarn  de  se 
quam  supra  se  esse  dicta,  eo  quod  praclaro  ingenio  viri,  necnon  amici,  ita'fere  soleiit 
laudare,  ut  omnia  suis  potius  virtutibus,  quam  veritati  congruentia,  oimis  cupide  affin- 
gant;  noluit  tamen  horum  egregiam  in  se  voluntatem  non  esse  notam;  cum  alii  prse- 
sertim  ut  id  faceret  magnopere  suaderent.  Dum  enim  nimisB  laudis  invidiam  totis  an 
86  viribus  amolitur,  sibique  quod  plus  sequo  est  non  attributum  esse  mavult,  judicium 
interim  bominum  cordatorum  atque  illustrium  quin  summo  sibi  honori  ducat,  negare 
non  potest. 

JOANNES  BAPTISTA  MANSUS,  MARCHIO  VILLENSIS,  NEAPOLITANUS, 
AD  JOANNEM  MILTONIUM,  ANGLUM. 
Ut  mens,  forma,  decor,  facies,  mos,  si  pietas  sic, 
Non  Anglus,  verum  hercle  Angelus,  ipse  fores. 


AD  JOANNEM  MILTONEM,  ANGLUM,  TRIPLICI  POESEOS  LAUREA 
CORONANDUM, 

Oraca  nimirum,  Latina,  atque  Hetrusca,  Epigramma  Joannia  SahiUi^  Bomani. 
Cede,  Meles;  cedat  depressa  Mincius  urna; 

Sebetus  Tassum  desinat  usque  loqui : 
At  Thamesis  victor  cunetis  ferat  altior  undas, 

Nam  per  te,  Milto  par  tribus  unus  erit 


AD  JOANNEM  MILTONUM. 
Gr^CIA  Maeonidem,  jactet  sibi  Roma  MaroBcm; 
Anglia  Miltonum  jactat  utrique  parem. — Seltaooi. 


AL  SIGNOR  GIO.  MILTONI,  NOBILB  XNGLESE. 
ODE. 

Eroiui  air  Etra  6  Clio 

Percbe  di  stelle  intrecciero  corona 

Noa  piu  del  Biondo  Dio 

La  fronde  etema  in  Pindo,  e  in  Elieona, 

Diensi  a  merto  maggior,  maggiori  1  fregi, 

A'  celeste  virtu  celesti  pregi. 


POEMATA.  805 


Non  pao  del  tempo  edace 
Rimaner  preda,  eterno  alto  valore 
Non  puo  1'  oblio  rapace, 
Furar  dalle  memorie  eecelso  onore, 
Su  r  arco  di  mia  cetra  un  dardo  forte 
Virtu  m'  adatti,  e  feriro  la  morte. 

Del  ocean  profondo 

Cinta  dagli  ampi  gorgbi  Anglia  resiede 

Separata  dal  mondo, 

Pero  che  il  sue  valor  1'  umana  eccedo : 

Questa  feconda  sa  produrre  Eroi, 

Ch'  hanno  a  ragion  del  sovruman  tra  noL 

Alia  virtu  sbandita 

Danno  ne  i  petti  lor  fido  ricetto, 

Quella  gll  e  sol  gradita, 

Perche  in  lei  san  trovar  gioia,  e  diletto : 

Kidillo  tu,  Giovanni,  e  mostra  in  tanto 

Con  tua  vera  virtu,  vero  il  mio  Canto. 

Lungi  dal  patrio  lido 

Spinse  Zeusi  1'  industre  ardente  brama: 

Ch'  udio  d'  Helena  il  grido 

Con  aurea  tromba  rimbombar  la  fama, 

E  per  poterla  efiBgiare  al  paro 

Dalle  piu  belle  Idee  traase  il  piu  raro. 

Cosi  r  ape  ingegnosa 

Trae  con  industria  il  suo  liquor  pregiato 

Dal  giglio  e  dalla  rosa, 

E  quanti  vaghi  fiori  ornano  il  prato ; 

Formano  un  dolce  suon  diverse  chorde. 

Fan  varie  voci  melodia  concorde. 

Di  bella  gloria  amante 

Milton  dal  ciel  natio  per  varie  parti 

Le  peregrine  piante 

Volgesti  a  ricercar  scienze,  ed  arti ; 

Del  Gallo  regnator  vedesti  i  regni, 

E  deir  Italia  ancor  gl'  Eroi  piu  degnL 

Fabro  quasi  divino 

Sol  virtii  rintracciando  il  tuo  pensiero 

Vide  in  ogni  confino 

Chi,di  nobil  valor  calca  U  sentiero ; 

L*  ottimo  dal  miglior  dopo  scegleia 

Per  fabbiicar  d'  ogni  virtii  1'  idea. 

Quanti  nacquero  in  Flora 

0  in  lei  del  parlar  Tosco  appreser  1'  arte, 

La  cui  memoria  onora 

11  mondo  fatta  eterna  in  dotto  carte, 

Volesti  ricercar  per  tuo  tesoro, 

E  parlasti  con  lor  nell'  opre  loro. 

Neir  altera  Babelle 

Per  te  il  parlar  confuse  Giove  in  vano, 

Che  per  varie  favelle 

Di  se  stessa  trofeo  cadde  su  '1  piano : 

Ch'  Ode  oltr'  all'  Anglia  il  suo  piu  degno  idioms 

gpagna,  Francia,  Toscana,  e  Grecia,  e  Roma. 


I  piu  profondi  arcani 

Ch'  occulta  la  natura  e  in  cielo  e  in  terra 

Ch'  a  ingegni  sovrumani 

Troppo  avaro  tal'  hor  gli  chiude,  e  Berra, 

Chiaromente  conosci,  o  giungi  al  fine 

Delia  moral  virtude  al  gran  confine. 

Non  batta  11  Tempo  1'  ale, 

Fermisi  immoto,  e  in  un  fermin  si  gl'  anni, 

Che  di  virtu  immortale 

Scorron  di  troppo  ingiuriosi  a  i  danni; 

Che  a'  opre  degne  di  poema  o  storia 

Furon  gia,  1'  hai  presenti  alia  memoria. 

Dammi  tua  dolco  cetra 

Se  vuoi  ch'  io  dica  del  tuo  dolce  canto, 

Ch'  inalzandoti  all'  Etra 

Di  farti  huomo  celeste  ottiene  il  vanto, 

H  Tamigi  il  dira  che  gl'  e  concesso 

Per  te  sue  cigno  pareggiar  Permesso. 

Io  che  in  riva  del  Arno 

Tento  spiegar  tuo  merto  alto  e  preclaro. 

So  che  fatico  indarno, 

£  ad  ammirar,  non  a  lodarlo  imparo; 

Freno  dunque  la  lingua,  e  ascolto  il  core 

Che  ti  prende  a  lodar  con  Io  stupore. 

Del  Sig.  Antonio  Fkancini, 

Gentilhuomo  Fiorentino. 


JOANNI  MILTONI  LONDINENSI:— 

JuTBni  patria  virtutibus  eximio; 

Viro,  ^m  multa  peregrinatione,  studio  cuncta  orbis  terrarum  loca  perspexit;  ut  novas 
Ulysses  omnia  ubique  ab  omnibus  apprehenderet: 

Polyglotto,  in  cujus  ore  linguaj  jam  deperditse  sic  revivisount,  ut  idiomata  omnia  sint 
In  ejus  laudibus  infacunda;  et  jure  ea  percallet,  ut  admirationes  et  plausus  populorum 
ab  propria  sapientia  escitatos  intelligat : 

Illi,  cujus  animi  dotes  corporisque  sensus  ad  admirationem  commovent,  et  per  ipsam 
motum  cuique  auferunt;  cujus  opera  ad  plausus  hortantur,  eed  venustate*  vocem 
laudatoribus  adimunt : 

Cui  in  memoria  totus  orbis ;  in  intellectu  sapientia ;  in  voluntate  ardor  glorias ;  in 
ore  eloquentia;  harmonicos  coelestium  sphserarum  sonitus,  astronomia  duce,  audienti; 
characteres  mirabilium  naturae,  per  quos  Dei  magnitude  describitur,  magistra  philoso- 
phia,  legenti;  antiquitatum  latebras,  vetustatis  excidia,  eruditionis  ambages,  oomitc 
assidua  auctorum  lectione, 

Exquirenti,  restauranti,  percurrenti : 
At  cur  nitor  in  arduum  ? 

nii,  in  cujus  virtutibus  evulgandis  ora  Fam»  non  sufflciant,  nee  hominam  stupor  in 
laudandis  satis  est;  reverentiae  et  amoris  ergo  hoc  ejus  meritis  debitum  admirationis 
tributum  ofifert  Caroltjs  DATCS,f  Patrieius  Florentinus, 
Tanto  bomini  servus,  tantae  virtutis  amator. 

"  In  the  edition  lfrl5,  it  stood  "  vastitate.'*  i 

t  Carlo  Dati,  one  of  Milton's  literary  friends  at  Florence.  See  "  Epitaph.  Damon."  v.  137. 
-T.  Wakton. 


POEMATA.  807 


PRELIMINARY  OBSERVATIONS  ON  THE  LATIN  VERSES. 

Milton  is  said  to  be  tne  lirst  Englishman,  who,  after  the  restoration  of  letters,  wrote 
Latin  verses  with  classic  elegance :  but  we  must  at  least  except  some  of  the  hendeca- 
syllables  and  epigrams  of  Leland,  one  of  our  first  literary  reformers,  from  this  hasty 
determination. 

In  the  Elegies,  Ovid  was  professedly  Milton's  model  for  language  and  versification; 
thoy  are  not,  however,  a  perpetual  and  uniform  tissue  of  Ovidian  phraseology.  With 
Ovid  in  view,  ho  has  an  original  manner  and  character  of  his  own,  which  exhibit  a 
remarkable  perspicuity  of  contexture,  a  native  facility  and  fluency.  Nor  does  hi,j 
observation  of  Roman  models  oppress  or  destroy  our  great  poet's  inherent  powers  of 
invention  and  sentiment :  I  value  these  pieces  as  much  for  their  fancy  and  genius,  aa 
for  their  style  and  expression. 

That  Ovid  among  the  Latin  poets  was  Milton's  favourite,  appears  not  only  from  hia  i 

elegiac,  but  his  hexametrio  poetry.     The  versification  of  our  author's  hexameters  haf  j 

yet  a  different  structure  from  that  of  the  "Metamorphoses:"  Milton's  is  more  cleai,  ' 

intelligible,  and  flowing;  less  desultory,  less  familiar,  and  less  embarrassed  with  a  i 

frequent  re.jurrence  of  periods.     Ovid  is  at  once  rapid  and  abrupt;  he  wants  dignity:  j 

he  has  too  )nuch  conversation  in  his  manner  of  telling  a  story.     Prolixity  of  paragraph,  i 

and  length  of  sentence,  are  peculiar  to  Milton :  this  is  seen,  not  only  in  some  of  his  i 

exordial  invocations  in  the  "  Paradise  Lost,"  and  in  many  of  the  religious  addresses  of  j 

a  like  cast  in  the  Prose  Works,  but  in  his  long  verse.  It  is  to  be  wished  that,  in  his 
Latin  compositions  of  all  sorts,  he  had  been  more  attentive  to  the  simplicity  of  Lucre- 
tius, Virgil,  and  Tibullus.       * 

Dr.  Johnson,  unjustly  I  think,  prefers  the  Latin  poetry  of  May  and  Cowley  to  that  of  } 

Milton,  and  thinks  May  to  be  the  first  of  the  three.     May  is  certainly  a  sonorous  versi-  j 

fier,  and  was  suflSciently  accomplished  in  poetical  declamation  for  the  continuation  of  ! 

Lucan's  "  Pharsalia :"  but  May  is  scarcely  an  author  in  point :  his  skill  is  in  parody ;  \ 

and  he  was  confined  to  the  peculiarities  of  an  archetype,  which,  it  may  bo  presumed, 
he  thought  excellent.     As  to   Cowley  when  compared  with  Milton,  the  same  critic  { 

observes,  "  Milton  is  generally  content  to  express  the  thoughts  of  the  ancients  in  their  j 

language :  Cowley,  without  much  loss  of  purity  or  elegance,  accommodates  the  diction  i 

of  Rome  to  his  own  conceptions.     The  advantage  seems  to  lie  on  the  side  of  Cowley."  i 

But  what  are  these  conceptions  ?    Metaphysical  conceits ;  all  the  unnatural  extrava-  ' 

gances  of  his  English  poetry ;  such  as  will  not  bear  to  be  clothed  in  the  Latin  language,  | 

much  less  are  capable  of  admitting  any  degree  of  pure  Latinity. 

Milton's  Latin  poems  may  be  justly  considered  as  legitimate  classical  compositions,  J 

and  are  never  disgraced  with  such  language  and  such  imagery :  Cowley's  Latinity, 
dictated  by  an  irregular  and  unrestrained  imagination,  presents  a  mode  of  diction  half 
Latin  and  half  English.  .  It  is  not  so  much  that  Cowley  wanted  a  knowledge  of  the 
Latin  style,  but  that  he  suffered  that  knowledge  to  be  perverted  and  corrupted  by  false 
and  extravagant  thoughts.  Milton  was  a  more  perfect  scholar  than  Cowley,  and  his 
mind  was  more  deeply  tinctured  with  the  excellences  of  ancient  literature :  he  was  a 
more  just  thinker,  and  therefore  a  more  just  writer ;  in  a  word  he  had  more  taste,  and 
m>re  poetry,  and  consequently  more  propriety.  If  a  fondness  for  the  Italian  writers 
has  sometimes  infected  his  English  poetry  with  false  ornaments ;  his  Latin  verses,  both 
in  diction  and  sentiment,  are  at  least  free  from  those  depravations. 

Some  of  Milton's  Latin  poems  were  written  in  his  first  year  at  Cambridge,  when  ho 
was  only  seventeen  :  they  must  bo  allowed  to  be  very  correct  and  manly  performances 
for  a  youth  of  that  age ;  and,  considered  in  that  view,  they  discover  an  extraordinary 
copiousness  and  command  of  ancient  fable  and  history.  I  cannot  but  add,  that  Gray 
resembles  Milton  in  many  instances :  among  others,  in  their  youth  they  were  both 
strongly  attached  to  the  cultivation  of  Latin  poetry. — T.  Wabton. 


ELEGIARUM  LIBER. 


ELEG.  I. 
Ad  Caroltjm  Deodatum.* 

Tandem,  care,  tuae  mihi  pervenere  tabellaB, 

Pertulit,  et  voces  nuucia  charta  tuas : 
Pertulit,  occidua  Devae  Cestrensis  ab  ora 

Vergivium''  prono  qua  petit  amne  salum. 
Multum,  crede,  juvat  terras  aluisse  remotas 

Pectus  amans  nostri,  tamque  fidele  caput,  ♦ 

Quodque  mihi  lepidum  tellus  longinqua  sodalem 

Debet,  at  unde  brevi  reddere  jussa  velit. 
Me  tenet  urbs  reflua  quam  Tharaesis  alluit  unda,' 

Meque  nee  invitum  patria  dulcis  habet. 
fam  nee  arundiferum  mihi  cura  revisere  Camum, 

Nee  dudum  vetiti  me  laris  angit  amor. 
Nuda  nee  arva  placent,  umbrasque  negantia  molles : 

Quam  male  Phoebicolis  convenit  ille  locus ! 
N'ec  duri  libet  usque  minas  perferre  magistri, 

Caeteraque  ingenio  non  subeunda  meo.  , 

Si  sit  hoc  exilium  patrios  adiisse  penates, 

Et  vacuum  curis  otia  grata  sequi, 
Non  ego  vel  profugi  nomen  sortemve  recuse, 

Laetus  et  exilii  conditione  fruor. 

»  Charles  Deodate  was  one  of  Milton's  most  intimate  friends :  he  was  an  excellent 
scholar,  and  practised  physic  in  Cheshire.  He  was  educated  with  our  author  at  SL 
Paul's  school,  and  from  thence  was  sent  to  Trinity  college,  Oxford,  where  he  was 
entered  February  7,  1621,  at  thirteen  years  of  age.  He  was  a  fellow-collegian  there 
with  Alexander  Gill,  another  of  Milton's  intimate  friends,  who  was  successively  usher 
and  master  of  St.  I*aul's  school.  Deodate  has  a  copy  of  Alcaics  extant  in  an  Oxford 
collection  on  the  death  of  Camden,  called  "  Camdeni  Insignia."  He  left  the  college, 
when  he  was  a  gentleman-commoner,  in  1628,  having  taken  the  degree  of  master 
of  arts.  Toland  says,  that  he  had  in  his  possession  two  Greek  letters,  very  well 
written,  from  Deodate  to  Milton.  Two  of  Milton's  familiar  Latin  letters,  in  the  utmost 
freedom  of  friendship,  are  to  Deodate:  both  dated  from  London,  1637.  But  the  best, 
certainly  the  most  pleasing  evidences  of  their  intimacy,  and  of  Deodate's  admirable 
character,  are  our  author's  first  and  sixth  Elegies,  the  fourth  Sonnet,  and  the  "  Epi- 
taphium  Damonis :"  and  it  is  highly  probable,  that  Deodate  is  the  "  simple  shepherd 
lad,"  in  "  Comus,"  who  is  skilled  in  plants,  and  loved  to  hear  Thyrsis  sing,  v.  619,  seq. 
He  died  in  the  year  1638.  This  Elegy  was  written  about  the  year  1627,  in  answer  to  a 
letter  out  of  Cheshire  from  Deodate. — T.  Warton. 

•>  Vergivium. 
The  Irish  Sea.— T.  Warton. 

<=  3fe  tenet  urba  reflua  quam  Vhameais  alluit  unda. 
To  have  pointed  out  London,  by  only  calling  it  the  city  washed  by  the  Thames, 
■would  have  been  a  general  and  a  trite  allusion  :  but  this  allusion  being  combined  witli 
the  peculiar  circumstance  of  the  reflux  of  the  tide,  becomes  new,  poetical,  and  appro- 
priate.  The  adjective  reflua  is  at  once  descriptive  and  distinctive.  Ovid  has  "refluum 
mare,"  "  Metam."  vii.  267. — T.  Warton. 

(808) 


ELEGIARUM  LIBER.  809 


0,  utinam  vates  nunquam  graviora  tulisset 

lUe  Tomitano  flebilis  exul  agro ; 
Non  tunc  lonio  quicquam  cessisset  Homero, 

Neve  foret  victo  laus  tibi  prima,  Maro. 
Tempora  nam  licet  hie  placidis  dare  libera  Musis, 

Et  totum  rapiunt  me,  mea  vita,  libri : 
Excipit  hinc  fessum  sinuosi  pompa  theatric* 

Et  vocat  ad  plausus  garrula  scena  suos. 
Seu  catus  auditur  senior,  seu  prodigus  ba?res, 

Seu  procus,  aut  posita  casside  miles  adest, 
Sive  decennali  foecundus  lite  patronus 

Detonat  inculto  barbara  verba  foro ;  * 
Saepe  vafer  gnato  succurrit  servus  araanti, 

Et  nasum  rigidi  fallit  ubique  patris; 
Saepe  novos  illic  virgo  mirata  caloreo, 

Quid  sit  amor  nescit;  dum  quoque  nescit,  amat. 
Sive  cruentatum  furiosa  Tragocdia  sceptrum 

Quassat,  et  effusis  crinibus  ora  rotat, 
Et  dolet,  et  specto,  juvat  et  spectasse  dolendo ; 

Interdum  et  lacrymis  dulcis  amaror  inest : 
Seu  puer  infelix  indelibata  reliquit 

Gaudia,  et  abrupto  flendus  amore  cadit ; 
Seu  ferus  e  tenebris  iterat  Styga  crimiuis  ultor 

Conscia  funereo*  pectora  torre  movens  : ' 
Seu  mceret  Pelopeia  domus,  seu  nobilis  Hi, 

Aut  luit  incestos  aula  Creontis  avos, 
Sed  neque  sub  tecto  semper,  nee  in  urbe,  latemus} 

Irrita  nee  nobis  tempora  veris  eunt. 
Nos  quoque  lucus  habet  vicina  consitus  ulmo, 

Atque  suburbani  nobilis  umbra  loci.s 
Saepius  hie,  blandas  spirantia  sidera  flammas, 

Virgineos  videas  prseteriisse  chores. 
Ah,  quoties  dignae  stupui  miracula  formae. 

Quae  possit  senium  vel  reparare  Jovis ! 
Ah,  quoties  vidi  superantia  lumina  gemmas, 

Atque  faces,  quotquot  volvit  uterque  polus ! 

d  Excipit  hinc  fessum  sinuosi  pompa  iheatri,  &o. 
The  theatre,  as  Mr.  Warton  observes,  seems  to  have  been  a  favourite  amusement  of 
Milton's  youth.     See  "  L' Allegro,"  v.  131.— Todd. 

e  Sive  decennali  foecundus  lite  patronm 
Detonat  inctdto  barbara  verba  foro. 
He  probably  means  the  play  of  "  Ignoramus."— T.  Warton. 

f  By  the  youth  in  the  first  couplet,  he  perhaps  intends  Shakspeare's  "  Romeo ;"  in  the 
second,  either  "  Hamlet,"  or  "  Richard  III."  He  then  draws  his  illustrations  from  the 
ancient  tragedians.  The  allusions,  however,  to  Shakspcare's  incidents  do  not  exactly 
correspond.  In  the  first  instance,  Romeo  was  not  torn  from  joys  "  untasted :"  although 
"puer"  and  "abrupto  amore"  are  much  in  point.  The  allusions  are  loose,  or  resulting 
from  memory,  or  not  intended  to  tally  minutely.- T.  Wauton, 

s  Atque  subttrbani  nobilis  umbra  loci. 
Some  country-house  of  Milton's  father  very  near  London  is  here  intended,  of  which 
we  have  now  no  notices  — T.  Waeton. 
102 


810  POEM  ATA. 


Collaqae  bis  vivi  l*elopis  qua5  brachia  vincant, 

Quaeque  fluit  puro  nectare  tincta  via  ! 
Et  decus  eximium  frontis,  tremulosque  capillos, 

Aurea  quae  fallax  retia  tendit  Amor  I 
Pellacesque  geuas,  ad  quas  hyacinthina  sordet 

Purpura,  et  ipse  tui  floris,  Adoni,  rubor  ! 
Cedite,  laudatge  toties  Heroides  olini, 

Et  quaecunque  vagum  cepit  arnica  Jovem. 
Cedite,  Achsemeniae  turrita  fronte  puellas, 

Et  quot  Susa  colunt,  Memnoniamque  Ninon ;  •" 
Vos  etiam,  Danaae  fasces  submittite  nymphae, 

Et  vos,  Iliacas,  Romuleaeque  nurus  : 
Nee  Pompeianas  Tarpeia  Musa'  coluranas 

Jactet,  et  Ausoniis  plena  theatra  stolis. 
Gloria  virginibus  debetur  prima  Britannis  ; 

Extera,  sat  tibi  sit,  foemina,  posse  sequi. 
Tuque  urbs  Dardaniis,  Londinum,  structa  colonis, 

Turrigerum  late  conspicienda  caput, 
Tu  niraium  felix  intra  tua  moenia  claudis 

Quicquid  formosi  pendulus  orbis  habet. 
Non  tibi  tot  ccelo  scintillant  astra  sereno, 

Endymioneae  turba  rainistra  deae, 
Quot  tibi,  conspicuse  formaque  auroque,  puellae 

Per  medias  radiant  turba  videnda  vias. 
Creditur  hue  geminis  venisse  invecta  columbis 

Alma  pharetrigero  milite  cincta  Venus  j 
Huic  Cnidon,  et  riguas  Simoentis  flumine  vallcs, 

Huic  Paphon,  et  roseam  posthabitura  Cypron. 
Ast  ego,  dura  pueri  sinit  indulgentia  caeci, 

Moenia  quam  subito  linquere  fausta  paro  j 
Et  vitare  proeul  malefidae  infamia  Circes 

Atria,  divini  Molyos  usus  ope. 
Stat  quoque  juncosas  Cami  remeare  paludes, 

Atque  iterum  raucse  murmur  adiro  scholae. 
Interea  fidi  parvum  cape  munus  amici, 

Paucaque  in  alternos  verba  coacta  modes. 

h  Et  quot  Susa  colunt,  Memnoniamque  Ninon. 
Susa,  anciently  a  capital  city  of  Susiana  in  Persia,  conquered  bj  Cyrus.  Xerxes 
marched  from  this  city,  to  enslave  Greece.  It  is  now  called  Soust^.  Ninos  is  a  city 
of  Assyria,  built  by  Ninus ;  Memnon,  a  hero  of  the  Iliad,  had  a  5)lace  there,  and  was 
the  builder  of  Susa.  Milton  is  alluding  to  oriental  beauty.  In  the  next  couplet,  ho 
challenges  the  ladies  of  ancient  Greece,  Troy,  and  Rome. — T.  Warton. 

'  Nee  Pompeianas  Tarpeia  Musa,  Ac. 
The  poet  has  a  retrospect  to  a  long  passage  in  Ovid,  who  is  here  called  "  Tarpeia 
Musa,"  either  because  he  had  a  house  adjoining  to  the  Capitol,  or  by  way  of  distinc- 
tion, that  he  was  the  Tarpeian,  the  general  Roman  Muse. — T.  Waeton. 

The  learned  Lord  Monboddo  pronounces  this  Elegy  to  be  equal  to  anything  of  the 
"  elegiac  kind,  to  be  found  in  Ovid,  or  even  in  TibuUus." — T.  Wabton. 


ELEGIARUM  LIBER.  811 


ELEG.  n. 
In  Obitum  Proeconis  Academioi  Cantabrigiensis.] 

Anno  iExATis  17. 

Te,  qui,  conspicuus  baculo,  fulgente,  solebas 

Palladium  toties  ore  ciere  gregem ;  "^ 
Ultima  praeconum,  prseconum  te  quoque  saeva 

Mors  rapit,  officio  nee  favet  ipsa  suo. 
Candidiora  licet  fuerint  tibi  tempora  plumis, 

Sub  quibus  accipimus  delituisse  Jovem ; 
0  dignus  tamen  Haemonio  juvenescere  succo, 

Dignus  in  ^sonios  vivere  posse  dies ; 
Dignus,  quem  Stygiis  medica  revocaret  ab  undis 

Arte  Coronides,  sa3pe  rogante  dea. 
Tu  si  jussus  eras  acies  accire  togatas, 

Et  celer  a  Phoebo  nuntius  ire  tuo ; 
Talis '  in  Iliaca  stabat  Cyllenius  aula 

Alipes,  aetherea  missus  ab  arce  Patris  : 
Talis  et  Eurybates  ante  ora  furentis  Achillei 

Rettulit  Atridae  jussa  severa  ducis. 
Magna  sepulcrorum  regina,"  satelles  Averni, 

Saeva  nimis  Musis,  Palladi  saeva  nimis, 
Quin  illos  rapias  qui  pondus  inutile  terras  ; " 

Turba  quidem  est  telis  ista  petenda  tuis  : 
Vestibus  hunc  igitur  pullis,  Academia,  luge, 

Et  madeant  lacrymis  nigra  feretra  tuis." 
Fundat  et  ipsa  modos  querebunda  Elegeia  trisfces, 

Personet  et  totis  naenia  mcesta  scholia. 

J  The  person  here  commemorated  is  Richard  Ridding,  one  of  the  university-beadles, 
and  a  master  of  arts  of  St.  John's  college,  Cambridge.  He  signed  a  testamentary 
codicil,  September  23,  1626,  proved  the  eighth  of  November  following. — T.  Warton. 

k  It  was  a  custom  at  Cambridge,  lately  disused,  for  one  of  the  beadles  to  make  pro- 
clamation of  convocations  in  every  college.     This  is  still  in  use  at  Oxford. — T.  Wauton. 

'  Tali 8,  Ac. 

These  allnsions  are  proofs  of  our  author's  early  familiarity  with  Homer. — T.  Wahton. 

•  ni  Magna  sepulcrorum  regina, 

A  sublime  poetical  appellation  for  Death ;  and  much  in  the  manner  of  his  English 
poetry. — T.  Warton. 

n  Pondua  inutile  terrce. 
Homer, "  Ti."  xviii.  104. — Jos.  Warton. 

0  Et  madeant  lacrymis  nigra  feretra  tuis. , 
Here  seems  to  bo  an  allusion  to  the  custom  of  aflBxing  verses  on  the  pall,  formerly 
perhaps  more  generally  observed  at  Cambridge.     "Lacrymis  tuis"  are  the  funeral 
poems,  as  "  tea?'  is  in  "  Lycidas,"  v.  14 — Todd. 

This  Elegy,  with  the  next  on  the  death  of  bishop  Andrewes,  the  Odes  on  the  death 
of  professor  Goslyn  and  bishop  Felton,  and  the  poem  on  the  fifth  of  November,  are 
very  correct  and  manly  performances  for  a  boy  of  seventeen.  This  was  our  author's 
first  year  at  Cambridge.  They  discover  a  great  fund  and  command  of  ancient  litera- 
ture.— T.  T^'arton. 


812  POEM  ATA. 

ELEG.  IIL 

In  Obitum  Praesulis  Wintoniensis.  p— Anno  ^Etatis  17. 

McESTUS  eram,  et  tacitus,  nullo  comitante,  sedebam; 

Hcerebantque  animo  tristia  plura  meo  : 
Protinus,  en  !  subiit  funestae  cladis  imago, 

Fecit  in  Angliaco  quam  Libitina  solo ;  ■» 
Dum  procerum  ingressa  est  splendentes  marmore  turres 

Dira  sepulcrali  Mors  metuenda  face ; 
Pulsavitque  auro  gravidos  et  jaspide  muros, 

Nee  metuit  satrapum  sternere  falce  greges 
Tunc  memini  clarique  ducis/  fratrisque  verendi 

Intempestivis  ossa  cremata  rogis  : 
Et  memini  heroum,  quos  vidit  ad  asthera  raptos, 

Flevit  et  amissos  Belgia  tota  duces. 
At  te  praocipue  luxi,  dignissime  Praesul, 

Wintoniaeque  olim  gloria  magna  tuae; 
Delicui  fletu,  et  tristi  sic  ore  querebar : — 

"  Mors  fera,  Tartareo  diva  secunda  Jovi, 
Nonne  satis  quod  sylva  tuas  persentiat  iras, 

Et  quod  in  berbosos  jus  tibi  detur  agros  ? 
Quodque  afflata  tuo  marcescant  lilia  tabo, 

Et  crocus,  et  pulchrae  Cypridi  sacra  rosa  ? 
Nee  sinis,  ut  semper  fluvio  contermina  quercus 

Mirctur  lapsus  praetereuntis  aquae  ? 
Et  tibi  succumbit,  liquido  quae  plurima  coelo 

Evehitur  pennis,  quamlibet  augur,  avis; 
Et  quas  mille  nigris  errant  animalia  sylvis ; 

Et  quot  alunt  mutum  Proteos  antra  pecus. 
Invida,  tanta  tibi  cum  sit  concessa  potestas. 

Quid  juvat  bumana  tingere  caede  manus ; 
Nobileque  in  pectos  certas  acuisse  sagittas, 

Semideamque  animam  sede  fugasse  sua?" 
Talia  dum  lacrymans  alto  sub  pectore  volvo, 

Roscidus  occiduis  Hesperus  exit  aquis, 
Et  Tartessiaco"  submerserat  aequore  currum 

Pboebus,  ab  Eoo  littore  mensus  iter : 

p  Lancelot  Andrewes,  bishop  of  Winchester,  had  been  originally  master  of  Pembroke- 
hall  in  Cambridge ;  but  long  before  Milton's  time.  He  died  at  Winchester-house  in 
Southwark,  Sept.  21,  1626.— T.  Wauton. 

1  Fecit  in  Angliaco  quam  Libitina  solo. 
A  very  severe  plague  now  raged  in  London  and  the  neighbourhood,  of  which  35,417 
persons  arc  said  to  have  died. — T.  Wabton. 

«■  Tunc  memini  clarique  ducis,  Ac. 
I  am  kindly  informed  by  Sir  David  Dalrymple, — "  The  two  generals  here  mentioned, 
who  died  in  1626,  were  the  two  champions  of  the  Queen  of  Bohemia;  the  Duke  of 
Brunswick,  and  Count  Mansfelt :  '  Frater'  means  a  sworn  brother  in  arms,  according  to 
the  military  cant  of  those  days.  The  next  couplet  respects  the  death  of  Henry  Earl 
of  Oxford,  who  died  not  long  before."  Henry,  Earl  of  Oxford,  Shakspeare'a  patron, 
died  at  the  siege  of  Breda  in  1626. — T.  Warton. 

»  Et  Tarteseiaco,  Ac. 
0\'id,  "  MetB,m."  xiv.  416 :— "  Presserat  occiduus  Tartessia  littora  Phoebus."    "Tar- 


ELEGIARUM  LIBER.  813 


Nec  mora,  membra  cavo  posui  refovenda  cubili, 

Condiderant  oculos  noxque  soporque  meos : 
Cum  mihi  visus  eram  lato  spatiarier  agro ; 

Heu  !  nequit  ingenium  visa  referre  meum. 
Ulic  punicea  radiabant  omnia  luce, 

Ut  matutino  cum  juga  sole  rubent. 
Ac  veluti  cum  pandit  opes  Thaumantia  proles, 

Vestitu  nituit  raulticolore  solum. 
Non  dea  tam  variis  ornavit  floribus  hortos 

Alcinoi,  Zephyro  Chloris  amata  levi.* 
Flumina  vernantes  larabunt  argentea  campos, 

Ditior  Hesperio  flavet  arena  Tago. 
Serpit  odoriferas  per  opes  levis  aura  Favoni, 

Aura  sub  innumeris  humida  nata  rosis. 
Talis  in  extremis  terras  Gangetidis  oris 

Luciferi  regis  fingitur  esse  domus. 
Ipse  racemiferis  dum  densas  vitibus  umbras, 

Et  pellucentes  miror  ubique  locos, 
Ecce  !  mihi  subito  Praesul  Wintonius  astat ; 

Sidereum  nitido  fulsit  in  ore  jubar; 
Vestis  ad  auratos  defluxit  Candida  talos ; 

Infula  divinum  cinxerat  alba  caput : 
Dumque  senex  tali  incedit  venerandus  amictu, 

Intremuit  laeto  florea  terra  sono. 
Agmina  gemmatis  plaudunt  ccelestia  pennis, 

Pura  triumphali  personat  aethra  tuba. 
Quisque  novum  amplexu  comitem  cantuque  salutat, 

Hosque  aliquis  placido  misit  ab  ore  sonos  : — 
**  Nate,  veni,  et  patrii  felix  cape  gaudia  regni ; 

Semper  abhinc  duro,  nate,  labore  vaca."  " 
Dixit,  et  aligerae  tetigerunt  nablia  turmae; 

At  mihi  cum  teuebris  aurea  pulsa  quies. 
Flebam  turbatos  Cephaleia  pellice  somnos : 

Talia  contingant  somnia  saepe  mihi ! 

tessiacus"  occurs  in  Martial,  "Epigr."  ix.  46.    We  are  to  understand  the  straits  of  Her- 
cules, or  the  Atlantic  Ocean. — T.  Wauton. 

'  Non  dea  tam  variis  ornavit  florihua  hortos 
Alcinoi,  Zephyro  Chloris  amata  levi. 
Eden  is  compared  to  the  Homeric  garden  of  Alcinous,  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  v.  341 ;  b. 
ix.  439.     Chloris  is  Flora,  who,  according  to  ancient  fable,  was  beloved  by  Zephyr. 
Hence  our  author  is  to  be  explained,  "  Paradise  Lost,"  b.  v.  16  : — 

Mild  as  when  Zephyrus  on  Flora  breathes.— T.  Wauton. 

n  Semper  abhinc  duro,  nate,  labore  vaca. 

Rev  xiv.  18  : — "Blessed  are  the  dead  which  die  in  the  Lord  from  henceforth :  Yes, 
saith  the  Spirit;  for  they  rest  from  their  labours." — Jos.  Wauton. 

Milton,  as  he  grew  old  in  puritanism,  must  have  looked  back  with  disgust  and 
remorse  on  the  panegyric  of  this  performance,  as  on  one  of  the  sins  of  his  youth,  inex- 
perience, and  orthodoxy;  for  he  had  here  celebrated,  not  only  a  bishop,  but  a  bishop 
who  supported  the  dignity  and  constitution  of  the  Church  of  England  in  their  most 
extensive  latitude ;  the  distinguished  favourite  of  Elizabeth  and  James,  and  tho 
defender  of  regal  prerogative. — T.  Warton. 


814  POEMATA. 


ELEG.  IV. 

Ad  TnouAU  Junium,  preceptorem  suum,  apud  mercatores  Anglicos,  Hamburgse 
agentes,  pastoris  munere  fungentem.' 

Anno  ^tatis  18. 

CuRRE  per  immensum  subito,  mea  litera,  pontum  ^ 

I,  pete  Teutonicos  Iseve  per  sequor  agros ; 
Segues  rumpe  moras,  et  nil,  precor,  obstet  eunti, 

Et  festinantis  nil  remoretur  iter. 
Ipse  ego  Sicanio  frsenantem  carcere  ventos 

^olon,  et  virides  sollicitabo  deos, 
Caeruleamque  suis  comitatam  Dorida  nymphis, 

Ut  tibi  dent  placidam  per  sua  regna  viam. 
At  tu,  si  poteris,  celeres  tibi  sume  jugales, 

Vecta  quibus  Colchis  fugit  ab  ore  viri;'^ 
Aut  queis  Triptolemus  ^  Scythicas  devenit  in  eras. 

Gratus  Eleusina  missus  ab  urbe  puer. 
Atque  ubi  Germanas  flavere  videbis  arenas, 

Ditis  ad  Hamburgae  mcenia  flecte  gradum, 
Dicitur  occiso  quae  ducere  nomen  ab  Hama/ 

Cimbrica  quern  fertur  clava  dedisse  neci. 
Vivit  ibi  antiquse  clarus  pietatis  honore 

Praesul,  Cristicolas  pascere  doctus  oves : 
nie  quidem  est  animae  plusquam  pars  altera  nostras ; 

Dimidio  vitae  vivere  cogor  ego. 
Hei  mihi  !  quot  pelagi,  quot  montes  interjecti, 

Me  faciunt  alia  parte  carere  mei ! 
Carior  ille  mihi,  quam  tu,  doctissime  Graium, 

Cliniadi,  pronepos  qui  Telamonis  erat;" 

T  Thomas  Young,  now  pastor  of  the  church  of  English  merchants  at  Hamburg,  was 
Milton's  private  preceptor,  before  he  was  sent  to  St.  Paul's  school.  Aubrey,  in  his 
manuscript  Life,  calls  him,  "a  puritan  in  Essex,  who  cutt  his  haire  short."  Under 
such  an  instructor,  Milton  probably  first  imbibed  the  principles  of  puritanism:  but 
whatever  were  Young's  religious  instructions,  our  author  professes  to  have  received 
from  this  learned  master  his  first  introduction  to  the  study  of  poetry,  v.  29. 

This  Thomas  Young,  who  appears  to  have  returned  to  England  in  or  before  the  year 
1628,  was  Dr.  Thomas  Young,  a  member  of  the  Assembly  of  Divines,  where  he  was  a 
constant  attendant,  and  one  of  the  authors  of  the  book  called  "  Smectymnuus,"  defended 
by  Milton ;  and  who,  from  a  London  preachership  in  Dake's-place,  was  preferred  by  the 
paiiliament  to  the  mastership  of  Jesus  College  in  Cambridge :  Neal's  "  Hist.  Pur."  iii. 
122,  59.  Clarke,  a  calvinistic  biographer,  attests  that  he  was  "a  man  of  great  learning, 
of  much  prudence  and  piety,  and  of  great  ability  and  fidelity  in  the  work  of  the 
ministry." — "Lives,"  p.  194. — T.  Warton. 

w  "  Take  the  swift  car  of  Medea,  in  which  she  fled  from  her  husband." — T.  Wabton. 
»  Aut  queia  Triptolemus,  &c. 

Triptolemus  was  carried  from  Eleusis  in  Greece,  into  Scythia,  and  the  most  unculti- 
vated regions  of  the  globe,  on  winged  serpents,  to  teach  mankind  the  use  of  wheat — 
T.  Warton. 

y  Dicitur  occiso  qu(e  ducere  nomen  ab  Hama. 
Krantzius,  a  Gothic  geographer,  says,  that  the  city  of  Hamburg  in  Saxouy  took  its 
name  from  Hama,  a  puissant  Saxon  champion,  who  was  killed  on  the  spot  where  that 
city  stands  by  Starchater,  a  Danish  giant.  The  "  Cimbrica  clava"  is  the  club  of  the 
Dane.  In  describing  Hamburg,  this  romantic  tale  could  not  escape  Milton. — T. 
Warton. 

^  Dearer  than  Socrates  to  Alcibiades.  who  was  the  son  of  CliniaB,  and  has  tliiB  appel- 


ELGIARUM  LIBER.  815 


Quamque  Stagyrites*  generoso  magnus  alurano, 

Quern  peperit  Libyco  Ohaonis  alma  Jovi. 
Qualis  Amyntorides,  qualis  Philyreius  heros"" 

Myrmidonum  regi,  talis  et  ille  mihi. 
Primus  ego  Aonios,  illo  praeeunte,  recessua 

Lustrabam,  et  bifidi  sacra  vireta  jugi ; 
Pieriosque  hausi  latices,  Clioque  favente, 

Castalio  sparsi  Iseta  ter  ora  mero. 
Flammeus  at  signum  ter  viderat  arietis  iEthon," 

Indusitque  auro  lanea  terga  novo; 
Bisque  novo  terram  sparsisti,  Chlori,  senilem 

Gramine,  bisque  tuas  abstulit  Auster  opes : 
Needum  ejus  licuit  mihi  lumina  pascere  vultu, 

Aut  linguae  dulcis  aure  bibisse  sonos. 
Vade  igitur,  cursuque  Eurum  praeverte  sonorumj 

Quam  sit  opus  monitis,  res  docet,  ipsa  vides. 
Invenies  dulci  cum  conjuge  forte  sedentem, 

Mulcentem  gremio  pignora  cara  suo  : 
Forsitan  aut  veterum  praelarga  volumina  patrum 

Versantem,  aut  veri  Biblia  sacra  Dei; 
Coelestive  animas  saturantem  rore  tenellas, 

Grande  salutiferae  religionis  opus. 
Utque  solet,  multam  sit  dicere  cura  salutem, 

Dicere  quam  decuit,  si  modo  adesset,  herum. 
Haec  quoque,  paulum  oculos  in  huraum  defixa  modestos, 

Verba  verecundo  sis  memor  ore  loqui : — 
Haec  tibi,  si  teneris  vacat  inter  praelia  Musis, 

Mittit  ab  Angliaco  littore  fida  manus. 
Accipe  sinceram,  quamvis  sit  sera,  salutem ; 

Fiat  et  hoc  ipso  gratior  ilia  tibi. 
Sera  quidem,  sed  vera  fuit,  quam  casta  recepit 

Icaris  a  lento  Penelopeia  viro. 
Ast  ego  quid  volui  manifestum  tollere  crimen, 

Ipse  quod  ex  omni  parte  levare  nequit? 
Arguitur  tardus  merito,  noxamque  fatetur, 

Et  pudet  officium  deseruisse  suum. 
Tu  modo  da  veniam  fasso,  veniamque  roganti ; 

Crimina  dimi'nui,  quae  patuere,  solent. 
Non  ferus  in  pavidos  rictus  diducit  hiantes, 

Vulnifico  pronos  nee  rapit  ungue  leo. 

lation  in  Ovid's  "IbiB," — "  Cliniadaeque  modo,"  Ac.  v.  635.  Alcibiades,  the  son  of 
Clinias,  was  anciently  descended  from  Eurysaces,  a  son  of  the  Telamonian  Ajax. — 
T.  Waston. 

»  Aristotle,  preceptor  to  Alexander  the  Great. — T.  Wartoh. 

b  Qualis  Amyntorides,  qnalia  Philyreius  heros. 
Phoenix,  the  son  of  Amyntor,  and  Chiron,  both  instructors  of  AchilleR.    The  instances 
are,  of  the  love  of  scholars  to  their  masters,  in  ancient  history. — T.  "Wahton. 

e  Two  years  and  one  month  ;  in  which  had  passed  three  vernal  equinoxes,  two  springs 
and  two  winters.  Young,  we  may  then  suppose,  went  abroad  in  February,  1623,  when 
Milton  was  about  fifteen.  But  compare  their  prose  correspondence,  where  Milton  aays, 
"  qaod  autem  plusquam  triennio  nunquam  ad  te  seripserim." — T.  Warton. 


816  POEMATA. 


Saepe  sarlssiferi  •■  crudelia  pectora  Thracis 

Supplicis  ad  moestas  delicuere  preces  : 
Extensasque  manus  avertunt  fuliuinis  ictus, 

Placat  et  iratos  hostia  parva  Deos. 
Jamque  diu  scripsisse  tibi  fuit  impetus  illi, 

Neve  moras  ultra  ducere  passus  Amor ; 
Nam  vaga  Fama  refert,  (lieu,  nuntia  vera  malorum  I) 

In  tibi  finitimis  bella  tumere  locis ; 
Toque  tuamque  urbem  truculento  milite  cingi, 

Et  jam  Saxonicos  arma  parasse  duces.* 
Te  circum  late  campos  populatur  Enyo, 

Et  sata  carne  virum  jam  cruor  arva  rigat; 
Germanisque  suum  concessit  Thracia  Martem 

Illuc  Odrysios  Mars  pater  egit  equos ; 
Perpetuoque  comans  jam  deflorescit  oliva, 

Fugit  et  aerisonam  diva  perosa  tubam, 
Fugit,  io !  terris,  et  jam  non  ultima  virgo 

Creditur  ad  superas  justa  volasse  domos 
Te  tamen  interea  belli  circumsonat  borror, 

Vivis  et  ignoto  solus  inopsque  solo;' 
Et,  tibi  quam  patrii  non  exbibuere  penates, 

Sede  peregrina  quasris  egenus  opem.s 
Patria,  dura  parens,  et  saxis  saevior  albis, 

Spumea  quae  pulsat  littoris  unda  tui ; 
Siccine  te  decet  innocuos  exponere  foetus, 

Siccine  in  externam  ferrea  cogis  humum  ? 
Et  sinis,  ut  terris  quaerant  alimenta  remotis 

Quos  tibi  prospiciens  miserat  ipse  Deus, 
Et  qui  Ijeta  ferunt  de  coelo  nuntia,  quique. 

Quae  via  post  cineres  ducat  ad  astra,  decent  ? 
Digna  quidem,  Stygiis  quae  vivas  clausa  tenebris 

jEternaque  animae  digna  perire  fame  ! 

<l  Soepe  sarisniferi. 
From  the  Macedonian  "sarissa,"  or  "pike j"  whence  soldiers  were  called  " sarisso- 
phori."     See  Liv.  ix.  19.     And  Ovid,  "  Met."  xii.  466.— Todd. 

e  Et  jam  Saxonicos  arma  parasse  duces. 
About  the  year  1626,  when  this  Elegy  was  written,  the  imperialists,  under  General 
Tilly,  were  often  encountered  by  Christian,  Duke  of  Brunswick,  and  the  Dukes  of 
Saxony,  particularly  Duke  William  of  Saxe  Weimar,  and  the  Duke  of  Saxe  Lauenberg, 
in  Lower  Saxony,  of  which  Hamburg,  where  Young  resided,  is  the  capital.  See  v.  77. 
Germany  in  general,  either  by  invasion  or  interior  commotions,  was  a  scene  of  the  most 
bloody  war,  from  the  year  1618  till  later  than  1640.  Gustavus  Adolphus  conquered  the 
greater  part  of  Germany  about  1631.— T.  Wahton. 

f  Vivis  et  ignoto  solus  inopsque  solo. 
These  circumstances,  added  to  others,  leave  us  strongly  to  suspect  that  Young  was  a 
non-conformist,  and  probably  compelled  to  quit  England  on  account  of  his  religious 
opinions  and  practice.     He  seems  to  have  been  driven  back  to  England,  by  the  war  in 
the  Netherlands,  not  long  after  this  Elegy  was  written.— T.  Warton. 

s  Sede  peregrina  quceris  egenus  openi. 
Before  and  after  1630,  many  English  ministers,  puritanically  affected,  left  their  cures 
and  settled  in  Holland,  where  they  became  pastors  of  separate  congregations :  when 
matters  took  another  turn  in  England,  they  returned,  and  were  rewarded  for  their 
unconforming  obstinacy  in  the  new  presbyterian  establishment. — T.  Waeton. 


ELEGIARUM  LIBER. 


811 


Haud  aliter  vates  terrae  Thesbitidis  olim 

Pressit  inassueto  devia  tesqua  pede, 
Desertasque  Arabum  salebras,  dum  regis  Achabi 

Effugit,  atque  tuas,  Sidoni  dira,"  manus : 
Talis  et,  horrisono  laceratus  membra  flagello,* 

Paulus  ab  JEmathia  pellitur  urbe  Cilix. 
Piscosjeque  ipsum  Gergessae  civis  lesum 

Finibus  ingratus  jussit  abire  suis. 
At  tu  surae  animos ;  nee  spes  cadat  anxia  curis; 

Nee  tua  concutiat  decolor  ossa  metus. 
Sis  etenim  quamvis  fulgentibus  obsitus  armis, 

Intententque  tibi  millia  tela  necem ; 
At  nullis  vel  inerme  latus  violabitur  armis, 

Deque  tuo  cuspis  nulla  cruore  bibet. 
Namque  eris  ipse  Dei  radiante  sub  asgide  tutus  j 

Ille  tibi  custos,  et  pugil  ille  tibi : 
Ille,  Sionseae  qui  tot  sub  moenibus  arcis 

Assyrios  fudit  nocte  silente  viros; 
Inque  fugam  vertit  quos  in  Samaritadas  eras 

Misit  ab  antiquis  prisca  Damascus  agrisj 
Terruit  et  densas  pavido  cum  rege  cobortes, 

Acre  dum  vacuo  buccina  clara  sonat, 
Cornea  pulvereum  dum  verberat  ungula  campum, 

Currus  arenosam  dum  quatit  actus  humum, 
Auditurque  hinnitus  equorum  ad  bella  ruentum, 

Et  strepitus  ferri,  murmuraque  alta  virum. 
Et  tuJ  (quod  superest  miseris)  sperare  memento, 

Et  tua  magnanimo  pectore  vince  mala; 
Nee  dubites  quandoque  frui  melioribus  annis,* 

Atque  iterum  patrios  posse  videre  lares. 


ELEG.  V. 
In  Adventum  Veris. 
Anno  ^tatis  20. i 

In  se  perpetuo  Tempus  revolubile  gyro 
Jam  revocat  Zephyros  vere  tepente  novos ; 

h  Sidoni  dira. 
Jezebel,  the  wife  of  Ahab,  was  the  daughter  of  Ethbaal,  king  of  the  iSidonians. 
"  Sidoni"  is  a  vocative,  from  Sidonis,  often  applied  by  Ovid  to  Europa,  the  daughter  of 
Agenor,  king  of  Syria. — T.  Warton. 

'  Talis  et,  horrisono  laceratus  menibra  flagello,  Ac. 
Whipping  and  imprisonment  were  among  the  punishments  of  the  arbitrary  Star- 
chamber,  the  threats  "  regis  Achabi,"  which  Young  fled  to  avoid. — T.  Warton. 

J  Et  tu  [quod  superest),  <fec. 
From  mafcy  obvious  reasons.  At  tu  is  likely  to  be  the  true  reading. — T.  Warton. 

k  This  wish,  as  we  have  seen,  came  to  pass.  He  returned;  and,  when  at  length  his 
party  b«!came  superior,  he  was  rewarded  with  appointments  of  opulence  and  honour. — 
T.  Warton. 

1  In  point  of  poetry,  sentiment,  selection  of  imagery,  facility  of  versification,  and 
Latinity,  this  Elegy,  written  by  a  boy,  is  far  superior  to  one  of  Buchanan's  on  the  same 
subject,  entitled  "Maiae  Calendse." — T.  Warton. 
103 


818 


POEMATA. 


Induiturque  brevem  Tellus  reparata  juventum, 

Jamque  soluta  gelu  dulce  virescit  humus. 
Fallor  ?  an  et  nobis  redeunt  in  carmina  vires, 

Ingeniumque  mihi  munere  veris  adest  ?  "» 
Munere  veris  adest,  iterumque  vigescit  ab  illo, 

(Quis  putet?)  atque  aliquod  jam  sibi  poscit  opus. 
Dastalis  ante  oculos,  bifidumquc  cacumen  oberrat, 

Et  mihi  Pyrenen  somnia  nocte  ferunt ; 
C/oncitaque  arcano  fervent  mihi  pectora  motu, 

Et  furor,  et  sonitus  me  sacer  intus  agit. 
Delius  ipse  venit,  video  Peneide  lauro 

Implicitos  crines;  Delius  ipse  venit. 
Jam  mihi  mens  liquidi  raptatur  in  ardua  coeli, 

Perque  vagas  nubes  corpore  liber  eo ; 
Perque  umbras,  perque  antra  feror,  penetralia  vatum, 

Et  mihi  fana  patent  interiora  deum  ; 
Lntuiturque  animus  toto  quid  agatur  Olympo, 

Nee  fugiunt  oculos  Tartara  cseca  meos. 
Quid  tam  grande  sonat  distento  spiritus  ore  ? 

Quid  parit  base  rabies,  quid  sacer  iste  furor  ? 
V^er  mihi,  quod  dedit  ingenium,  cantabitur  illo; 

Profuerint  isto  reddita  dona  modo. 
Tam,  Philomela,  tuos,  foliis  adoperta  novellis, 

Instituis  modulos,  dum  silet  omne  nemus : 
Urbe  ego,  tu  sylva,  simul  incipiamus  utrique, 

Et  simul  adventum  veris  uterque  canat. 
Veris,  io  !  rediere  vices ;  celebremus  honores 

Veris,  et  hoc  subeat  Musa  perennis  opus. 
Jam  sol,  ^thiopas  fugiens  Tithoniaque  arva, 

Flectit  ad  Arctoas  aurea  lora  plagas. 
Est  breve  noctis  iter,  brevis  est  mora  noctis  opacae, 

Horrida  cum  tenebris  exulat  ilia  suis  : 
Jamque  Lycaonius,  plaustrum  cceleste,  Bootes 

Non  longa  sequitur  fessus  ut  ante  via ; 
Nunc  etiam  solitas  circum  Jovis  atria  toto 

Excubias  agitant  sidera  rara  polo  : 
Nam  dolus,  et  caedes,  et  vis  cum  nocte  recessit, 

Neve  Giganteum  Di  timuere  scelus. 
Forte  aliquis  scopuli  recubans  in  vertice  pastor, 

Roscida  cum  primo  sole  rubescit  humus, 
Hac,  ait,  hac  certe  caruisti  nocte  puella, 

Phoebe,  tua,  celeres  quae  retineret  equos. 
Lseta  suas  repetit  silvas,  pharetramque  resumit 

Cynthia,  luciferas  ut  videt  alta  rotas ; 


>»  Ingeniumque  mihi  munere  veris  adest? 

See  V.  23.  There  is  a  notion  that  Milton  could  write  verses  only  in  the  spring  or 
summer,  which  perhaps  is  countenanced  by  these  passages :  but  what  poetical  mind 
does  not  feel  an  expansion  or  invigoration  at  the  return  of  the  spring  ; — at  that  reno- 
vation of  the  face  of  natiire,  with  which  every  mind  is  in  some  degree  affected? — T. 
Warton. 


ELEGIARUM  LIBER.  819 


Et,  tenues  ponens  radios,  gaudere  videtur 

Officium  fieri  tarn  breve  fratris  ope. 
"Desere,"  Phoebus  ait,  "thalamos,  Aurora,  seniles; 

Quid  juvat  effoeto  procubuisse  toro  ? 
Te  manet  bolides  °  viridi  venator  in  herba ; 

Surge,  tuos  ignes  altus  Hymettus  habet." 
Flava  verecundo  dea  crimen  in  ore  fatetur, 

Et  matutinos  ocyus  urget  equos. 
Exuit  invisam  Tellus  rediviva  senectam, 

Et  cupit  amplexus,  Phoebe,  subire  tuos ; 
Et  cupit,  et  digna  est :  quid  enira  formosius  ilia, 

Pandit  ul  omniferos  luxuriosa  sinus, 
Atque  Arabum  spirat  messes,  et  ab  ore  venusto 

Mitia  cum  Paphiis  fundit  amoma  rosis ! 
Ecce  !  coronatur  sacro  frons  ardua  luco, 

Cingit  ut  Idaeam  pinea  turris  Opim  j 
Et  vario  madidos  intexit  flore  capillos, 

Floribus  et  visa  est  posse  placere  suis. 
Floribus  effusos  ut  erat  redimita  capillos, 

Tsenario  placuit  diva  Sicana  deo. 
Aspice,  Phoebe ;  tibi  faciles  bortantur  amores, 

Mellitasque  movent  flamina  verna  preees  : 
Cinnamea  ZephyruS  leve  plaudit  odorifer  ala, 

Blanditiasque  tibi  ferrc  videntur  aves. 
Nee  sine  dote  tuos  temeraria  quaerit  amores 

Terra,  nee  optatos  poscit  egena  toros ; 
Alma  salutiferum  medicos  tibi  gramen  in  usus 

Praebet,  et  bine  titulos  adjuvat  ipsa  tuos  : 
Quod,  si  te  pretium,  si  te  fulgentia  tangunt 

Munera,  (muneribus  saepe  coemptus  amor) 
Ilia  tibi  ostentat  quascunque  sub  aequore  vasto, 

Et  superinjectis  montibus,  abdit  opes. 
Ah,  quoties,  cum  tu  clivoso  fessus  Olympo 

In  vespertinas  praecipitaris  aquas, 
"  Cur  te,"  inquit,  "  cursu  languentem,  Phoebe,  diurno 

Hesperiis  recipit  caerula  mater  aquis  ? 
Quid  tibi  cum  Tethy  ?     Quid  cum  Tartesside  lympha  ? 

Dia  quid  immundo  perluis  ora  salo  ? 
Frigora,  Phoebe,  mea  melius  captabis  in  umbra ; 

Hue  ades,  ardentes  imbue  rore  comas. 
Mollior  egelida  veniet  tibi  stmnus  in  herba ; 

Hue  ades,  et  gremio  lamina  pone  meo  : 
Quaque  jaces,  circun  mulcebit  lene  susurrans 

Aura  per  humentes  corpora  fusa  rosas : 
Nee  me  (crede  mihi)  torrent  Semeleia  fata, 

Nee  Phaetonteo  fumidus  axis  equo  : 


"  Te  manet  bolides,  &c. 


Cephalus,  with  whom  Aurora  fell  in  love  as  she  saw  him  hunting  on  Mount  Hymet- 
tus. And  Cephalus  is  "  the  Attic  hoy,"  with  whom  Aurora  was  accustomed  to  hunt, 
"  II  Pens."  V.  124.— T.  Wakton.  ' 


820 


POEMATA. 


Cum  tu,  Phoebe,  tuo  sapientius  uteris  igni ;" 

Hue  ades,  et  gremio  lumina  pone  meo." 
Sic  Tellus  lasciva  suos  suspirat  amores ; 

Matris  in  exemplum  caetera  turba  ruunt : 
Nunc  etenira  toto  currit  vagus  orbe  Cupido, 

Languentesque  fovet  solis  ab  igne  faces  : 
Insonuere  novis  lethalia  cornua  nervis, 

Triste  micant  ferro  tela  corusca  novo : 
Jamque  vel  invictam  tentat  superasse  Dianam, 

Quaeque  sedet  sacro  Vesta  pudica  foco. 
Ipsa  senescentem  raparat  Venus  annua  fonnam, 

Atque  iterum  tepido  creditur  orta  mari. 
Marmoreas  juvenes  clamant  Hymenaee !  per  urbes; 

Littus,  lo  Hymen  !  et  cava  saxa  sonant. 
Cultior  ille  venit,  tunicaque  decentior  apta, 

Puniceum  redolet  vestis  odora  crocum. 
Egrediturque  frequens,  ad  amoeni  gaudia  veris, 

Virgineos  auro  cincta  puella  sinus  : 
Votum  est  cnique  suum,  votum  est  tamen  omnibus  unum, 

Ut  sibi,  quem  cupiat,  det  Cytherea  virum ; 
Nunc  quoque  septena  modulatur  arundine  pastor, 

Et  sua,  quae  jungat,  carmina  Phyllis  habet. 
Navita  nocturno  placat  sua  sidera  cantu, 

Delphinasque  leves  ad  vada  summa  vocat : 
Jupiter  ipse  alto  cum  conjuge  ludit  Olympo, 

Convocat  ct  famulos  ad  sua  festa  deos : 
Nunc  etiam  Satyri,  cum  sera  crepuscula  surgunt, 

Pervolitant  celeri  florea  rura  choro ; 
Sylvanusque  sua  cyparissi  fronde  revinctus, 

Semicaperque  deus,  seniideusque  caper  : 
Quaeque  sub  arboribus  Dryades  latuere  vetustis, 

Per  juga,  per  solos,  exspatiantur  agros. 
Per  sata  luxuriat  fruticetaque  Maenalius  Pan ; 

Vix  Cybele  mater,  vix  sibi  tuta  Ceres ; 
Atque  aliquam  cupidus  praedatur  Oreada  Faunus, 

Consulit  in  trepidos  dum  sibi  nympha  pedes ; 
Jamque  latet,  latitansque  cupit  male  tecta  videri; 

Et  fugit,  et  fugiens  pervelit  ipsa  capi. 
Di  quoque  non  dubitant  coelo  praeponere  sylvas, 

Et  sua  quisque  sibi  numina  lucus  habet : 
Et  sua  quisque  diu  sibi  numina  lucus  habeto, 

Nee  vos  arborea,  Di,  precor,  ite  domo. 
Te  referant  miseris,  te,  Jupiter,  aurea  terris 

Sa3cla ;  quid  ad  nimbos  aspera  tela  redis  ? 
Tu  saltern  lente  i-apidos  age,  Phoebe,  jugales, 

Qua  potes,  et  sensim  tempera  veris  eant; 
Brumaque  productas  tarde  ferat  hispida  noctes, 

lugruat  et  nostro  serior  umbra  polo. 

'I  More  wisely  than  when  you  lent  your  chariot  to  Phaeton,  and  when  I  was  consumed 
"by  the  excess  of  your  heat."  He  alludes  to  the  speech  or  complaint  of  Tellug, in  the 
story  of  Phaeton.    See  "  Metam."  ii.  272. — T.  Warton. 


ELEGIARUM  LIBER.  821 


ELEG.  VI. 

Ad  Cahohjm  Deodatum  ruri  commorantem,  qui  cum  Idibus  Deccmb.  scripsisset, 
et  sua  carmina  excusari  postulasset  si  solito  minus  essent  bona,  quod  inter 
lautitias,  quibus  erat  ab  amicis  exceptus,  baud  satis  felicem  operam  Musis  dare 
se  poBse  affirmabat,  hoc  habuit  responsum : — 

MiTTO  tibi  sanam  noa  pleao  ventre  salutem, 

Qua  tu,  distento,  forte  carere  potes. 
At  tua  quid  nostram  prolectat  Musa  Camoenam, 

Nee  sinit  optatas  posse  sequi  tenebras  ? 
Carmine  scire  velis  quam  te  redamemque  colamquej 

Crede  mihi,  vix  hoc  carmine  scire  queas : 
Nam  neque  noster  amor  modulis  includitur  arctis, 

Nee  venit  ad  claudos  integer  ipse  pedes. 
Quam  bene  solennes  epulas  hilaremque  Decembrem, 

Festaque  ccelifugam  quae  coluere  detim, 
Deliciasque  refers,  liiberni  gaudia  ruris, 

Haustaquc  per  lepidos  Gallica  musta  focos  !  p 
Quid  quereris  refugam  vino  dapibusque  poesin  ? 

Carmen  amat  Bacchum,  carmina  Bacchus  amat : 
Nee  puduit  Phoebum  virides  gestasse  corymbos, 

Atque  hederam  lauro  praeposuisse  suae. 
Saepius  Aoniis  clamavit  coUibus,  Euoe  ! 

Mista  Thyoneo  turba  novena  choro. 
Naso  Corallaeis  mala  carmina  misit  ab  agris; 

Non  illic  epulae,  non  sata  vitis  erat. 
Quid  nisi  vina,  rosasque,  racemiferumque  Lyaeum, 

Cantavit  brevibus  Teia  Musa  modis  ? 
Pindaricosque  inflat  numeros  Teumesius  Euan,i 

Et  redolet  sumtum  pagina  quaeque  merum ; 
Dum  gravis  everso  currus  crepat  axe  supinus, 

Et  volat  Eleo  pulvere  fuscus  eques. 
Quadrimoque  madens  lyricen  Bomanus  laccho, 

Dulce  canit  Glyceran,  flavicomamque  Chloen. 
Jam  quoque  lauta  tibi  generoso  mensa  paratu 

Mentis  alit  vires,  ingeniumque  fovet. 
Massica  foecundam  despumant  pocula  venam, 

Fundis  et  ex  ipso  condita  metra  cado. 
Addimus  his  artes,  fusumque  per  intima  Phoebum 

Corda ;  favent  uni  Bacchus,  Apollo,  Ceres. 
Scilicet  baud  mirum,  tam  dulcia  carmina  per  te, 

Numine  composite,  tres  peperisse  deos. 

p  Ilaustaque  per  lepidos  Gallica  musta  focos, 
Deodat«  had  sent  Milton  a  copy  of  verses,  in  which  ho  described  tho  festivities  of 
Christmas. — T.  Warto.v. 

q  Teumesius  Euan. 
Teumosus  is  a  mountain  of  Boeotia,  the  district  in  which  Thebes  was  situated  ;  and 
its  inhabitants  wero  called  Teumesii.     Milton  here  puzzles  his  readers  with  minute  and 
unnecessary  learning.     The  meaning  of  the  line  is  this: — "The  Theban  god  Bacchus 
inspires  the  numbers  of  his  congenial  Pindar,  the  Theban  poet." — T.  Wabton. 


822  POEMATA. 


Nunc  quoque  Thressa  tibi'  caelato  barbitos  auro 

Insonat,  arguta  mollitur  icta  manu; 
Auditurque  chelys  suspensa  tapetia  circum/ 

Virgineos  tremula  quae  regat  arte  pedes. 
Ilia  tuas  saltern  teneant  spectacula  Musas, 

Et  revocent,  quantum  crapula  pellit  iners. 
Crede  mihi,  dum  psallit  ebur,  comitataque  plectrum 

Implet  odoratos  festa  chorea  tholos, 
Percipies  taciturn  per  pectora  serpere  Phoebum, 

Quale  repentinus  permeat  ossa  calor ; 
Perque  puelleres  oculos,  digitumque  sonantem, 

Irruet  in  totos  lapsa  Thalia  sinus. 
Namque  Elegia  levis  multorum  cura  deorum  est, 

Et  vocat  ad  numeros  quemlibet  ilia  suos ; 
Liber  adest  elegis,  Eratoque,  Ceresque,  Venusque, 

Et  cum  purpurea  matre  tenellus  Amor. 
Talibus  inde  licent  convivia  larga  poetis, 

Saepius  et  veteri  commaduisse  mei'o. 
At  qui  bella  refert,*  et  adulto  sub  Jove  coelum, 

Heroasqu-e  pios,  semideosque  duces, 
Et  nunc  saneta  canit  superum  consulta  deorum, 

Nunc  latrata  fero  regna  profunda  cane ; 
Ille  quidem  parce,  Samii  pro  more  magistri, 

Vivat,  et  innocuos  praebeat  herba  cibos ; 
Stet  prope  fagineo  pellucida  lympha  catillo, 

Sobriaque  e  puro  pocula  fonte  bibat. 
Additur  huic  scelerisque  vacans,  et  casta  juventus, 

Et  rigidi  mores,  et  sine  labe  manus : 
Qualis,  veste  nitens  sacra,,  et  lustralibus  undis, 

Surgis  ad  infensos,  augur,  iture  deos. 
Hoc  ritu  vixisse  ferunt  post  rapta  sagacem 

Lumina  Tiresian,  Ogygiumque  Linon, 
Et  lare  devoto  profugum  Calchanta,  senemque 

Orpheon,  edomitis  sola  per  antra  feris ; 
Sic  dapis  exiguus,  sic  rivi  potor  Homerus 

Dulichium  vexit  per  freta  ionga  virum, 
Et  per  monstrificam  Perseiae  Phoebados  aulum,' 

Et  vada  foemineis  insidiosa  sonis ; 

r  Nimc  qutqtte  Thressa  tibi,  &c. 
The  Thracian  harp.     Orpheus  was  of  Thrace. — T.  Warton. 

»  Auditurque  chelys  suspensa  tapetia  circum,  &c. 
Mr.  Warton  has  observed,  that  here  is  a  reference  to  the  mode  of  furnishing  halls  or 
state-apartments  with  tapestry,  which  had  not  ceased  in  Milton's  time.     Compare 
"Comus,"  V.  324.— Todd. 

t  At  qui  bella  re/ert,  Ac. 
Ovid,  Anacreon,  Pindar,  and  Horace  indulged  in  convivial  festivity;  and  this  also  is 
an  indulgence  which  must  be  allowed  to  the  professed  writer  of  elegies  and  odes:  but 
the  epic  poet,  who  has  a  more  serious  and  important  task,  must  live  sparingly,  accord- 
ing to  the  dictates  of  Pythagoras.  Milton's  panegyrics  on  temperance  both  in  eating 
and  drinking,  resulting  from  his  own  practice,  are  frequent. — T.  Warton. 

"  Et  per  monstrificam  Perseice  Phcebados  aulam. 
Circe  was  the  daughter  of  the  Sun.  and.  as  some  say,  of  Hecate. — T.  Warton. 


ELEGIARUM  LIBER.  823 


Perque  tuas,  rex  ime,  domos,  ubi  sanguine  nigro 

Dicitur  umbrarum  detinuisse  greges. 
Dis  etenim  sacer  est  vates,  divumque  sacerdos ; 

Spirat  et  occultum  pectus,  et  ora,  Jovem. 
At  tu,  siquid  agam,  scitabere,  (si  modo  saltern 

Esse  putas  tanti  noscere  siquid  aram) 
Paciferum  canimus  coelesti  semine  Kegem, 

Faustaque  sacratis  saecula  pacta  libris ; 
Vagitumque  Dei,  et  stabulantem  paupere  tecto, 

Qui  suprema  suo  cum  Patre  regna  colit ; 
Stelliparumque  polum,  modulantesque  aethere  turmas, 

Et  subito  elisos  ad  sua  fana  deos. 
Dona  quidem  dedimus  Christi  natalibus  ilia, 

Ilia  sub  auroram  lux  mihi  prima  tulit. 
Te  quoque  pressa  manent  patriis  meditata  cicutis ;  ^ 

Tu  mihi  cui  recitem,  judicis  instar  ens. 

ELEG.  VIL 
Anno  ^Etatis  19. 

NONDUM,  blanda,  tuas  leges,  Amathusia,  noram, 

Et  Paphio  vacuum  pectus  ab  igne  fuit. 
Ssepe  cupidineas,  puerilia  tela,  sagittas, 

Atque  tuum  sprevi,  maxime,  numen.  Amor. 
Tu,  puer,  imbelles,  dixi,  transfige  columbas; 

Conveniunt  tenero  mollia  bella  duci : 
Aut  de  passeribus  timidos  age,  parve,  triumphos ; 

Haec  sunt  militiae  digna  tropgea  tuao. 
In  genus  humanum  quid  inania  dirigis  arma  ? 

Non  valet  in  fortes  ista  pharetra  viros. 
Non  tulit  hoc  Cyprius,  neque  enim  deus  ullus  ad  iras 

Promptior,  et  duplici  jam  ferus  igne  calet. 
Ver  erat,  et  summae  radians  per  culmina  villae 

Attulerat  primam  lux  tibi,  Maie,  diem  : 
At  mihi  adhuc  refugam  quaarebant  lumina  noctem, 

Nee  matutinum  sustinuere  jubar.^ 
Astat  Amor  lecto,  pictis  Amor  impiger  alls ; 

Prodidit  astantem  mota  pharetra  deum : 
Prodidit  et  facies,  et  dulce  minantis  ocelli, 

Et  quicquid  puero  dignum  et  Amore  fuit. 

'  To  quoque  pressa  manent  patriis  meditata  cicutis. 
His  English  "  Ode  on  the  Nativity."     This  he  means  to  submit  to  Deodate's  inspec- 
tion.    "You  shall  next  have  some  of  my  English  poetry." 

The  transitions  and  connexions  of  this  Elegy  are  conducted  with  the  skill  and 
address  of  a  master,  and  form  a  train  of  allusions  and  digressions  productive  of  fine 
sentiment  and  poetry.  From  a  trifling  and  unimportant  circumstance,  the  reader  is 
gradually  led  to  great  and  lofty  imagery. — T.  Warton. 

w  At  mihi  adhuc  refugam  qucerahant  lumina  noctem, 
Nee  matutinum  sustinuere  jubar. 
Here  is  the  elegance  of  poetical  expression  :  but  he  really  complains  of  the  weakness 
of  his  eyes,  which  began  early.    He  has  "  light  unsufferable," — "  Ode  Nativ,"  v.  8. — 
T.  Wabtok, 


824  POEMATA. 


Talis  in  aeterno  juvenis  Sigeius  Olyrapo 

Miscet  amatori  pocula  plena  Jovi ; 
Aut,  qui  formosas  pellexit  ad  oscula  nymphas, 

Thiodamantaeus  Naide  raptus  Hylas. 
Addideratque  iras,  sed  et  has  decuisse  putares ; 

Addideratque  truces,  nee  sine  felle,  minas : 
Et, — "  Miser,  exemplo  sapuisses  tutius,"  inquit : 

"  Nunc,  mea  quid  possit  dextera,  testis  eris  : 
Inter  et  expertos  vires  numerabere  nostras, 

Et  faciam  vero  per  tua  damna  fidem. 
Ipse  ego,  si  nescis,  strato  Pythons  superbum 

Edomui  Phoebum,  cessit  et  ille  mihi; 
Et  quoties  meminit  Peneidos,  ipse  fatetur 

Certius  et  gravius  tela  nocere  mea. 
Me  nequit  adductum  curvare  peritius  arcum, 

Qui  post  terga  solet  vincere,  Parthus  eques : 
Cydoniusque  mihi='  cedit  venator,  et  illc 

Inscius  uxori  qui  necis  auctor  erat. 
Est  etiam  nobis  ingens  quoque  victus  Orion,  ■ 

Herculeaeque  manus,  Herculeusque  conies. 
Jupiter  ipse  licet  sua  fulmina  torqueat  in  me, 

Hserebunt  lateri  spicula  nostra  Jovis. 
Caetera,  quae  dubitas,  melius  mea  tela  docebunt, 

Et  tua  non  leviter  corda  petenda  mihi : 
Nee  te,  stulte,  tuse  poterunt  defendere  Musae, 

Nee  tibi  Phoebaeus  porriget  unguis  opem."  * 
Dixit;  et,  aurato  quatiens  mucrone  sagittam, 

Evolat  in  tepidos  Cypridos  ille  sinus. 
At  mihi  risuro  tonuit  ferus  ore  minaci, 

Et  mihi  de  puero  non  metus  ullus  erat : 
Et  modo  qua  nostri  spatiantur  in  urbe  Quirites, 

Et  modo  villarum  proxima  rura  placent. 
Turba*  frequens,  facieque  simillima  turba  dearum, 

Splendida  per  medias  itque  reditque  vias; 
Auctaque  luce  dies  gemino  fulgore  coruscat : 

Fallor  ?     An  et  radios  hinc  quoque  Phoebus  habet  ? 

«  Cydoniusque  mihi,  &C. 
Perhaps  indefinitely,  as  the  "  Parthus  eques,"  just  before.  The  Cydonians  were 
famous  for  hunting,  which  implies  archery.  If  a  person  is  here  intended,  he  is  most 
probably  Hippolytus.  Cydon  was  a  city  of  Crete.  But  then  he  is  mentioned  here  as 
an  archer.  Virgil  ranks  the  Cydonians  with  the  Parthians  for  their  skill  in  the  bow, 
"^n."  xii.  852.— T.  Warton. 

y  Et  ille,  &c. 

Cephalus,  who  unknowingly  shot  his  wife  Procris, — T.  Warton. 
«  Est  etiam  nohia  ingens  quoque  victus  Orion. 
Orion  was  also  a  famous  hunter. — T.  Warton. 

!i  Nee  tibi  Phoehceus  porriget  unguis  opem. 
"  No  medicine  will  avail  you  :  not  even  the  serpent,  which  Phoebus  sent  to  Rome  to 
cure  the  city  of  a  pestilence."     Ovid,  "  Metam."  xv.  742. — T.  Wakton. 

b  Turba,  Ac. 
In  Milton's  youth,  the  fashionable  places  of  walking  in  London  were  Hyde-Park,  and 

Gray's-Inn  walks. — T.  Warton. 


ELEGIARUM  LIBER.  825 


Haec  ego  non  fugi  spectacula  grata  scverus ; 

Impetus  et  quo  me  fert  juvenilis,  agor; 
Lumina  luminibus  male  providus  obvia  misi, 

Neve  oculos  potui  continuisse  meos. 
Unam  forte  aliis  supcreminuisse  notabam  : 

Principium  nostri  lux  erat  ilia  mali. 
Sic  Venus  optaret  mortalibus  ipsa  videri, 

Sic  regina  deura  conspicienda  fuit. 
Hanc  memor  objecit  nobis  malus  ille  Cupido, 

Solus  et  hos  nobis  texuit  ante  dolos : 
Nee  procul  ipse  vafer  latuit,  multajque  sagittae, 

Et  facis  a  tergo  grande  pependit  onus  : 
Nee  mora;  nunc  eiliis  ha3sit,  nunc  virginis  ori; 

Insilit  bine  labiis,  insidet  inde  genis : 
Et  quascunque  agilis  partes  jaculator  oberrat, 

Hei  mihi !  mille  locis  pectus  inerme  ferit. 
Protinus  insoliti  subierunt  corda  furores ; 

Uror  amans  intus,  flammaque  totus  eram, 
Interea,  misero  quae  jam  mihi  sola  placebat, 

Ablata  est  oculis,  non  reditura,<=  meis. 
Ast  ego  progredior  tacite  querebundus,  et  excors, 

Et  dubius  volui  saepe  referre  pedem. 
Findor,  et  haec  remanet :  sequitur  pars  altera  votum, 

Raptaque  tarn  silbito  gaudia  flere  juvat. 
Sic  dolet  araissum  proles  Junonia  coelum, 

Inter  Lemniacos  praecipitata  focos  : 
Talis  et  abreptum  solem  respexit,  ad  Orcum 

Vectus  ab  attonitis  Araphiaraus  equis. 
Quid  faciam  infelix,  et  luctu  victus  ?     Amores 

Nee  licet  inceptos  ponere,  neve  sequi. 
0,  utinam,  spectare  semel  mihi  detur  amatos 

Vultus,  et  coram  tristia  verba  loqui ! 
Forsitan  et  duro  non  est  adamante  creata, 

Forte  nee  ad  nostras  surdeat  ilia  preces  ! 
Crede  mihi,  nullus  sic  infeliciter  arsit; 

Ponar  in  exemplo  primus  et  unus  ego. 
Parce,  precor,  teneri  cum  sis  deus  ales  amoris, 

Pugnent  officio  nee  tua  facta  tuo. 
Jam  tuus,  0  I  certe  est  mihi  formidabilis  arcus, 

Nate  dea,  jaculis,  nee  minus  igne,  potens  : 
Et  tua  fumabunt  nostris  altaria  donisj 

Solus  et  in  superis  tu  mihi  summus  eris. 
I  eme  meos  tandem,  verum  nee  deme,  furores ; 

Nescio  cur,  miser  est  suaviter  omnis  amans :  ** 

c  Non  reditura. 

He  saw  the  unknown  lady,  who  had  thus  won  his  heart,  but  once.     The  fervour  of 
his  love  is  inimitably  expressed  in  the  following  lines. — Todd. 

d  Deme  meos  tandem,  verum  ncc  deme,  furoret ; 
Neacio  cur,  miser  eat  auav'.ter  omnia  amans. 

There  never  was  a  more  beautiful  description  of  the  irresolution  of  love.    He  wishes 
104 


826  POEMATA. 


Tu  modo  da  facilis,  posthsec  mea  siqua  futura  est, 
Cuspis  amaturos  figat  ut  una  duos. 


H-iEO  ego,"  mente  olim  laeva,  studioque  supino, 

Nequitiae  posui  vana  tropaea  mcae. 
Scilicet  abreptum  sic  me  malus  impulit  error, 

Indocilisque  aetas  prava  magistra  fuit ; 
Donee  Socraticos  umbrosa  Academia  rivos 

Praebuit,  admissum  dedocuitque  jugum. 
Protinus,  extinctis  ex  illo  tempore  flammis; 

Cincta  rigent  multo  pectora  nostra  gelu; 
Unde  suis  frigus  metuit  puer  ipse  sagittis, 

Et  Diomedeam  vim  timet  ipsa  Venus. 


EPIGRAMMATUM  LIBER. 


I.— IN  PRODITIONEM  BOMBARDICAM. 

Cum  simul  in  regem  nuper  satrapasque  Britannos 

Ausus  es  infandum,  perfide  Fauxe,  nefas, 
Fallor  ?     An  et  mitis  voluisti  ex  parte  videri, 

Et  pensare  mala  cum  pietate  scelus  ? 
Scilicet  hos  alti  missurus  ad  atria  coeli, 

Sulphureo  curru,  flammivolisque  rotis  : 
Qualiter  ille,  feris  caput  inviolabile  Parcis, 

Liquit  Ibrdanios  turbine  raptus  agros. 

II.— IN  EANDEM. 

SiCCiNE  tentasti  ccelo  donasse  lacobum, 

Quae  septemgemino,  Bellua,"  monte  lates  ? 
Ni  meliora  tuum  poterit  dare  munera  numen^ 

Parce,  precor,  donis  insidiosa  tuis. 
Ille  quidem  sine  te  consortia  serus  adivit 

Astra,  nee  inferni  pulveris  usus  ope. 
Sic  potius  fcedus  in  coelum  pelle  cucullos, 

Et  quot  habet  brutos  Roma  profana  decs : 

to  have  his  woe  removed,  but  recalls  his  wish ;  preferring  the  sweet  misery  of  those 
who  love.    Thus  Eloisa  wavers,  in  Pope's  fine  poem : — 

Unequal  task  !  a  passion  to  resign 

For  hearts  so  touch'd,  so  pierc'd,  so  lost,  as  mine.— Todd. 

e  Hcec  ego^  &c. 
These  lines  are  an  epilogistic  palinode  to  the  last  Elegy.    The  Socratic  doctrines 
of  the  shady  Academe  soon  broke  the  bonds  of  beauty  :  in  other  words,  his  return 
to  the  university.    They  were  probably  written  when  tne  Latin  poems  were  prepared 
for  the  press  in  1645.— T.  Warton. 

"  Qum  septemgemino,  Bellua,  &c. 
The  Pope,  called,  in  the  theological  language  of  the  tunes,  "The  Beast."— T.Waeton. 


EPIGRAMMATUM  LIBER.  827 

Namque  hac  aut  alia  nisi  quemque  adjuveris  arte, 
Crede  mihi,  cceli  vix  bene  scandet  iter. 

III.— IN  EANDEM. 

PuRGATOREM  animse  derisit  lacobus  ignem, 

Et  sine  quo  superum  non  adeunda  domus. 
Frenduit  hoc  trina  inonstrum  Latiale  corona, 

Movit  et  horrificum  cornua  dena  minax. 
"Et  nee  inultus,"  ait,  "temnes  mea  sacra,  Britanne: 

Supplicium,  spreta  relligione,  dabis  : 
Et,  si  stelligeras  unquam  penetraveris  arces, 

Non  nisi  pea-  flammas  triste  patebit  iter." 
0,  quam  funesto  cecinisti  proxima  vero, 

Verbaque  ponderibus  vix  caritura  suis  ! 
Nam  prope  Tartareo  sublime  rotatus  ab  igni, 

Ibat  ad  aethereas,  umbra  perusta,  plagas. 

IV.— IN  EANDEM, 

QuEM  modo  Roma  suis  devoverat  impia  diris, 

Et  Stjge  damnarat,  Taenarioque  sinu ; 
Hunc,  vice  mutata,  jam  tollere  gestit  ad  astra, 

Et  cupit  ad  superos  evehere  usque  deos. 

v.— IN  INVENTOREM  BOMBARDS. 

Iapetionidem  laudavit  caeca  vetustas. 

Qui  tulit  aetheream  solis  ab  axe  facem ; 
At  mihi  major  erit,  qui  lurida  creditur  arma, 

Et  trifidum  fulmen,  surripuisse  Jovi. 

VI.— AD  LEONORAM  ROM^  CANENTEM.b 

Angelus  unicuique  suus,  sic  credite  gentes, 

Obtigit  aethereis  ales  ab  ordinibus. 
Quid  mirum,  Leonora,  tibi  si  gloria  major  ? 

Nam  tua  praesentem  vox  sonat  ipsa  JDeum. 
Aut  Deus,  aut  vacui  certe  mens  tertia  cceli, 

Per  tua  secreto  guttura  serpit  agens ; 
Serpit  agens,  facilisque  docet  mortalia  corda 

Sensim  immortali  assuescere  posse  sono. 
Quod  si  cuncta  quidem  Deus  est,  per  cunctaque  fusus, 

In  te  una  loquitur,  caetera  mutus  habet. 

VII.— AD  EANDEM. 

Altera  Torquatum  cepit  Leonora''  poetam, 
Cujus  ab  insane  cessit  amore  furens. 

•>  Adriana  of  Mantua,  for  her  beauty  snmamed  the  Fair,  and  her  daughter  Leonora 
Baroni,  the  lady  whom  Milton  celebrates  in  these  three  Latin  Epigrams,  were  esteemed 
by  their  contemporaries  the  finest  singers  in  the  world.  When  Milton  was  at  Rome, 
he  was  introduced  to  the  concerts  of  Cardinal  Barberini,  where  he  heard  Leonora 
sing  and  her  mother  play.  It  was  the  fashion  for  all  the  ingenious  strangers,  who 
visited  Rome,  to  leave  some  verses  on  Leonora. — T.  Warton. 

"Altera  Twquatum  cepit  ZeoTwra. 
This  allusion  to  Tasso's  Leonora,  and  the  turn  which  it  takes,  are  inimitably  beau- 
tiful.—T.  Wabtok. 


828  POEM  AT  A. 


Ah  !  miser  ille  tuo  quanto  felicius  {evo 

Perditus,  at  propter  tc,  Leonora,  foret  I 
Et  te  Pieria  sensisset  voce  canentem 

Aurea  maternse  fila  movere  lyrse ! 
Quamis  Dircseo  torsisset  lumma  Pentheo* 

Seevior,  aut  totus  dcsipuisset  iners, 
Tu  tamen  errantes  caeca  vertigine  sensus 

Voce  eadem  poteras  composuisse  tua; 
Et  poteras,  segro  spirana  sub  corde,  quietem 

Flexanimo  cantu  restituisse  sibi. 

VIIL— AD  EANDEM. 

Credula  quid  liquidam  Sireaa,  Neapoli,  jactas, 

Claraque  Partlienopes "  faua  Achelbiados; 
Littoreamque  tua  defunctam  Naiada  ripa, 

Corpora  Chalcidico  sacra  dedissc  rogo  ? 
Ilia  quidem  vivitque,  et  amoena  Tibridis  unda 

Mutavit  rauci  murmura  Pausilipi.'' 
lUic,  Romuliduni  studiis  ornata  secuudis, 

Atque  homines  cantu  detinet  atque  decs. 

IX.— IN  SALMASII  HUNDREDAM.g 

Quis  expedivit  Salmasio  suam  Hundredam, 
Picamque  docuit  verba  nostra  conari  ? 
Magister  artis  venter,  et  Jacobaei 
Centum,  exulantis  viscera  marsupii  regis."" 
Quod  si  dolosi  spes  refulserit  nummi. 
Ipse,  Antichrist!  qui  modo  primatum  PapaD 

i  For  the  story  of  Pentheus,  a  king  of  Thebes,  see  Euripides's  "  Bacchae,"  where  he 
sees  two  suns,  &e.,  v.  916.  But  Milton,  in  "  torsisset  lumina,"  alludes  to  the  rage  of 
Pentheus  in  Ovid,  "  Metam."  iii.  557 : — 

Aspieit  hunc  oculis  Pentheus,  quos  ira  tremendos 
Fecerat. — T.  Wakton. 

e  Parthenope's  tomb  was  at  Naples:  she  was  one  of  the  sirens. — T.  Wartosi. 

f  Pausilipi. 
The  grotto  of  Pausilipo,  which  Milton  no  doubt  had  visited  with  delight. — Todd. 

g  This  Epigram  is  in  Milton's  "  Defensio"  against  Salmasius;  in  the  translation  of 
which  by  Richard  Washington,  published  in  1692,  the  Epigram  is  thus  anglicized. 

p.  187  :— 

Who  taught  Salmasius,  that  French  chattering  pye, 

To  aim  at  English,  and  Hundreda  cry  ? 

The  starving  rascal,  flusli'd  with  just  a  hundred 

English  Jacobiisses,  Hundreda  blunder'd  : 

An  outlaw'd  king's  last  stock. — A  hundred  more 

Would  make  him  pimp  for  the  antichristian  whore  ; 

And  in  Rome's  praise  employ  liis  poison'd  breath, 

Who  threaten'd  once  to  stink  the  pope  to  death. — T.  Wahton. 

h  King  Charles  II.,  now  in  exile,  and  sheltered  in  Holland,  gave  Salmasius,  who  was 
a  professor  at  Leyden,  one  hundred  Jacobuses  to  write'  his  defence;  1649.  Wood 
asserts  that  Salmasius  had  no  reward  for  his  book :  he  says,  that  in  Leyden,  the  king 
sent  Dr.  Morley,  afterwards  bishop,  to  the  apologist,  with  his  thanks,  "  but  not  with  a 
purse  of  gold,  as  John  Milton  the  impudent  Iyer  reported." — "Athen.  Oxon."  ii.  770. — 
T.  Waeton. 

This  Epigram,  as  Mr.  Warton  observes,  is  an  imitation  of  part  of  the  Prologue  to 
Persius's  Satires. — Todd. 


EPIGRAMMATUM  LIBER. 


829 


Minatiis  uno  est  dissipare  sufflatu, 
Cantabit  ultro  Cardinalitium  melos.' 


X.— IN  SALMASIUM.i 

Gaudete  scombri,  et  quicquid  est  pisciura  salo, 
Qui  frigida  hyeme  incolitis  algentes  freta ! 
Vestrum  misertus  ille  Salmasius,  eques 
Bonus,  amicirc  nuditatem  cogitat; 
ChartEeque  largus,  apparat  papyrinos 
Vobis  cucullos,  proeferentes  Claudii 
Insignia,  nomenque  et  decus,  Salmasii  :J 
Gestetis  ut  per  omne  setarium  forum 
Equitis  clientes,  scriniis  mungentium 
Cubito^  virorum,  et  capsulis,  gratissimos. 

XL— IN  MORUM.i 

Galli  ex  concubitu  gravidam  te,  Pontia,  Mori, 
Quis  bene  moratam,  morigeramque,  neget  ? 

XIL— APOLOGUS  DE  RUSTICO  ET  HERO." 

RuSTicus  ex  malo  sapidissima  poma  quotannis 

Legit,  et  urbano  lecta  dedit  domino  : 
Hinc,  inci-edibili  fructus  dulcedine  captus, 

Malum  ipsam  in  proprias  transtulit  areolas. 

'This  is  in  the  "Defensio  Secnnda."  It  is  introduced  with  the  following  ridicule 
of  Morus,  the  subject  of  the  next  Epigram,  for  having  predicted  the  wonders  tobe 
worked  by  Sahnasius's  new  edition,  or  rather  reply  : — ''  Tu  igitur,  ut  pisciculus  ille 
anteambulo,  prsecurris  balsenani  Salmasium."  Mr.  Steevens  observes,  that  this  is  an 
idea  analogous  to  Falstatfs — "  Here  do  I  walk  before  thee,"  &c.,  although  reversed  as 
to  the  imagery. — T.  Wabton. 

J  Mr.  Warton  observes,  that  Milton  here  sneers  at  a  circumstance  which  was  true : 
Salmasius  was  really  of  an  ancient  and  noble  family. — Todd. 

^  "  Cubito  mungentium,"  a  cant  appellation  among  the  Romans  for  fishmongers. — 
T.  Warton. 

Christina,  ciueen  of  Sweden,  among  other  learned  men  who  fed  her  vanity,  had  in- 
vited Salmasius  to  her  court,  where  he  wrote  his  "  Defensio."  She  had  pestered  him 
with  Latin  letters  seven  pages  long,  and  told  him  she  would  set  out  for  Holland  to 
fetch  him  if  he  did  not  come.  When  he  arrived,  he  was  often  indisposed  on  account 
of  the  coldness  of  the  climate;  and  on  these  occasions,  the  queen  would  herself  call 
on  him  in  a  morning :  and  locking  the  door  of  his  apartment,  used  to  light  his  fire, 
give  him  breakfast,  and  stay  with  him  some  hours.  This  behaviour  gave  rise  to  scan- 
dalous stories,  and  our  critic's  wife  grew  jealous. — It  is  seemingly  a  slander,  what 
was  first  thrown  out  in  the  "  Mercurms  Politicus,"  that  Christina!^  when  Salmasius 
had  published  this  work,  dismissed  him  with  contempt,  as  a  parasite  and  an  advocate 
of  tyranny  :  but  the  case  was,  to  say  nothing  that  Christina  loved  both  to  be  flattered 
and'to  tyrannize,  Salmasius  had  now  been  long  preparing  to  return  to  Holland,  to  ful- 
fil his  engagements  with  the  university  of  Leyden :  she  ottered  him  large  rewards 
and  appomtraents  to  remain  in  Sweden,  and  greatly  regretted  his  departure  ;  and  on 
his  death,  very  shortly  afterwards^  she  wrote  his  widow  a  letter  in  French,  full  of 
concern  for  his  loss,  and  respect  tor  his  memory.  Such,  however,  was  Christina's 
levity,  or  hypocrisy,  or  caprice,  that  it  is  possible  she  might  have  acted  inconsistently 
in  some  parts  of  this  business. — T.  Warton. 

From  Milton's  "  Defensio  Secunda,"  and  his  "  Responsio"  to  Morus's  Supplement. 
This  distich  was  occasioned  by  a  report,  that  Morus  had  debauched  a  favourite  wait- 
ing maid  of  the  wife  of  Salmasius,  Milton's  antagonist. — ^^T.  Warton. 

«"  This  piece  first  appeared  in  the  edition  1G73. — Todd. 


830  POEMATA. 


Hactenus  ilia  ferax,  sed  longo  debilis  aevo, 

Mota  solo  assueto,  protinus  aret  iners. 
Quod  tandem  ut  patuit  domino,  spe  lusus  inani, 

Damnavit  celeres  in  sua  damna  manus ; 
Atque  ait,  "  Heu  quanto  satius  fuit  ilia  coloni, 

Parva  licet,  grato  dona  tulisse  animo  ! 
Poasem  ego  avaritiara  frasnare,  gulamque  voracem  : 

Nunc  periere  mihi  et  foetus,  et  ipse   parens." 

XIIL— AD  CHRISTINAM  SUECORUM  REGINAM,  NOMINE  CROM'WilLU.ti 

Bellipotens  virgo,  septem  regina  trionum, 

Christina,  Arctoi  lucida  stella  poli ! 
Cernis,  quas  merui  dura  sub  casside  rugas, 

Utque  senex,  armis  impiger,  ora  tero : 
Invia  fatorum  dum  per  vestigia  nitor, 

Exequor  et  populi  fortia  jussa  manu. 
Ast  tibi  submittit  frontem  reverentior  umbra  j 

Nee  sunt  hi  vultus  regibus  usque  truces. 

n  These  lines  are  simple  and  sinewy.  They  present  Cromwell  in  a  new  and  pleas- 
ing light,  and  throw  an  air  of  amiable  dignity  on  his  rough  and  obstinate  character. 
They  are  too  great  a  compliment  to  Christina,  who  was  contemptible,  both  as  a  queen 
and  a  woman.  The  uncrowned  Cromwell  had  no  reason  to  approach  a  princess  with 
so  much  reverence,  who  had  renounced  her  crown.  The  frolics  of  other  whimsical 
modern  queens  have  been  often  only  romantic ;  the  pranks  of  Christina  had  neither 
elegance  nor  even  decenc;^  to  deserve  so  candid  an  appellation.  An  ample  and  lively 
picture  of  her  court,  politics,  religion,  intrigues,  rambles,  and  masquerades,  is  to  be 
gathered  from  Thurloe's  "State  Papers."— -T.  Wahton. 

I  have  quoted  the  English  version  of  Milton's  epigram  to  Christina :  it  appeared 
as  follows,  in  Toland's  life  of  the  poet,  fol.  1G98,  p.  39  :— 

Bright  martial  maid,  queen  of  the  frozen  zone ! 
The  northern  pole  supports  thy  shining  throne  : 
Behold  what  furrows  age  and  steel  can  plow  ; 
The  helmet's  weight  oppress'd  this  wrinkl'd  brow. 
Through  fate's  untrodden  paths  I  move  ;  my  hands 
Still  act  my  free-born  people's  bold  commands : 
Yet  this  stern  shade  to  you  submits  his  frowns, 
Nor  are  these  looks  always  severe  to  crowns.— Todb. 


SILYARUM  LIBER.  831 


SILVARUM    LIBER. 


PSALM  CXIV.» 

ISPAH'A  OTS  iraXSss,  or'  dyXaa  (puX'  *Iaxw/3ou 

Aig  TOTS  fi-oiJvov  £?)v  otfiov  ysvoj  uisg  'Ioij5a. 
'Ev  5s  0£6g  Xaorrfi  ftgya  xpei'wv  /HatfiXsusv. 
EfSe,  xai  ^vTpo*afr;v  (puya(J'  Jppwigo's  dakadtfa. 
KuaaTi  £jXu(ji,svti  podtw,  60'  ap'  i(fTycpe\'iX^r\ 
'IpOiJ  'Iop(5avr)g  *ot/  dpyuposiSsa  ifriyrjM. 
'Ex  5'  opsa  rfxap^aorCiv  affsips'tfia  xXoveovto 
'n^  xpiof  tfippjrowvTS?  £UTpa(pspcj  ^v  <iXw»). 
BatoTs'paj  5'  a(j.a  -ratfai  avarfxipTrirfav  Ipi'ifvai, 
OTa  ifapai  (fupiyyt  (pjXr)  u-ffo  firiTs'pi  apvej. 
TiTTTS  tfi;/',  aiva  daXatftfa,  crsXcop  (pu/aS'  ^ppuvitfaf 
KufAttTi  gjXufxiv*)  po^'w ;  Ti  5'  ap'  irfTuipsXlx^iig 
'Ipoff  'Iop5av>)  iroTj  dpyu^osiSia  if)]yriv  ; 
TiVt',  opsa,  rfxapflfjLorrfiv  aflreip^tfia  xXovsetf^s, 
'fiff  xpiof  rf^pjj'o' wvTSg  iuTpacpSpu  iv  <iXw>) ; 
BaioTs'pai  tj  5'  ap'  iJ(X(J.£c  dvao'xipTvjo'aT',  ^pjii^ai, 
Ofa  irapa/  rfiJpiyyi  91X71  uiro  f^igTspi  otpvE^ ; 
Ssiso,  yaTa,  Tpsoutfa  ©sov  ^syaV  hruifiovTU, 
TaTa,  Qsov  TpsiouC'  uiraTov  tfe/^ag  'Itftfaxiiao, 
"Off  TS  xa?  ^x  gtikaSuv  -jroTaixoiJS  ^e's  fAopfAupovTaff, 
Kp^vrjv  t'  ds'vaov  <:firpris  a^o  Saxpuos'tfrfiiff. 

Philosophus  ad  regem  quendam,  qui  eum  ignotum  et  insontem  later  reos  forte 
captum  inscius  damnaverat,  riiy  ittl  Oavarbyi  mpetS^svos,  haec  subito  misit:— 

"^0.  "ANA,  el  oXidris  (*£  tov  £Vvof/-ov,  ouSs  t»v'  dv5puv 
A£»vov  oXws  ^pdCavTa,  (J'o90JTaT0v  'id&t  xaprivov 
'P7]'i5i'wg  d(p£'Xoio,  TO  d'  urfTSpov  aiidi  voyjtfsiff, 
MaN|yi(Jiwff  5'  ap'  £*£iTa  t£ov  -rpoff  ^u|j-ov  iSvprj, 
Toiov  5'  Jx  *6X»os  -n-EpiwvufAov  dXxap  oXsrfrfas. 

IN  EFFIGIEI  EJUS  SCULPTOREM. 
'AMA0EI    y£7pa(p^ai  x^ipi  t'/jv^e  fisv  sixova 
*ai73ff  Ttt^'  ctv,  tfpoff  sf^off  auTO(pu£g  fSXeiruv. 
Tov  5'  £XTuirwTov  oux  iiayvovrss,  91X01, 
rsXaTS  9auXou  ^uCfAifAi^f^-a  ^w7pa9ou. 

.  Milton  sent  this  translation  to  his  friend  Alexander  Gill,  in  return  for  an  elegant 
copy  of  her  decasyllables.— T.  Warton. 


832 


POEMATA. 


IN  OBITUM  PROCANCELLARII,  MEDICLb 
Anno  ^Etatis  17. 

Parere  fati  discite  legibus, 
Manusque  Parcse  jam  date  suppliues 
Qui  pendulum  telluris  orbem 
lapeti  colitis  nepotes. 
Vos  si  relicto  mors  vaga  Tcenaro 
Semel  vocarit  flebilis,  heu  !  morae 
Tentantur  incassum,  dolique ; 
,  Per  tenebras  Stygis  ire  certum  est 
Si  destinatam  pellere  dextera 
Mortem  valeret,  non  ferus  Hercules, 
Nessi  venenatus  cruore, 
uEmathia  jacuisset  QCta : 
Nee  fraude  terpi  Palladis  invidae 
Vidisset  occisum  Ilion  Hectora,  aut 
Quern  larva  Pelidis  "=  peremit 
Ense  Locro,  Jove  lacrymante. 
Si  triste  fatum  '•  verba  Hecateia 
Fugare  possint,  Telegoni  parens 
Vixisset  infamis,  potentique 
jEgJali^  soror  usa  virga. 
Numenque  trinum  fallere  si  queant 
Artes  medentum,  ignotaque  graminaj 
Non  gnarus  herbarum  Machaon' 
Eurypyli  cecidisset  hasta : 
La3sisset  et  nee  te,  Philyreie,s 
Sagitta  Echidnge  perlita  sanguine ; 
Nee  tela  te ''  fulmenque  avitam, 
Caese  puer  genetricis  alvo : 

•>  This  Ode  is  on  the  death  of  Dr.  John  Goslyn,  master  of  Caius  college,  and  king's 
professor  of  medicine  at  Cambridge;  who  died  while  a  second  time  vice-chancellor  of 
that  university,  in  October,  1626.     Milton  was  now  seventeen. — T.  Warton. 

<:  Quem  larva  Pelidis,  Ac. 
Sarpedon,  who  was  slain  by  Patroclus,  disguised  in  the  armour  of  Achilles.     At  his 
death  his  father  wept  a  shower  of  blood.     See  Iliad,  xvi. — T.  Warton. 

<J  iS't  triste  fatum,  &c. 
"If  enchantments  could  have  stopped  death,  Circe,  the  mother  of  Telegonus  by 
Ulysses,  would  have  still  lived;  and  Medea,  the  sister  of  ^gialus  or  Absyrtus,  with  her 
magical  rod. '      Telegonus  killed  his  father  Ulysses,  and  is  the  same  who  is  called 
"  parricida"  by  Horace. — T.  AVarton. 

e  Absyrtus  is  called  "^gialius"  by  Justin,  Hist.  lib.  xliii.  cap.  3,  speaking  of  Jason 
and  ^etes : — "  Filiam  ejus  Medeam  abduxerat,  et  filium  ^gialium  interfeoerat." — Todd. 

t  Jfachaon. 
Machaon,  the  son  of  ^Esculapius,  one  of  the  Grecian  leaders  at  the  siege  of  Troy,  and 
a  physician,  was  killed  by  Eurypylus. — T.  Warton. 

g  PMlyreie,  Ac. 
Chiron,  the  son  of  Philyra,  a  preceptor  in  medicine,  was  incurably  wounded  by  Her- 
cules, with  a  dart  dipped  in  the  poisonous  blood  of  the  serpent  of  Lerna. — T.  Warton. 

h  Nee  tela  te,  Ac. 
^sculapius,  who  was  cut  out  of  his  mother's  womb  by  his  father  Apollo,     Jupiter 
struck  him  dead  with  lightning,  for  restoring  Hippolytus  to  life, — T.  Waeton- 


SILVARUM  LIBER.  833 


Tuque,  0,  alurano  major  Apolline, 
Grentis  togatae  cui  regimen  datum, 
Frondosa  quern  nunc  Cirrha  luget, 
Et  medlis  Helicon  in  undis, 
Jam  praefuisses  Palladio  gregi 
Laetus,  superstes,  nee  sine  gloria; 
Nee  puppe  lustrasses  Charon tis 
Horribiles  barathri  recessus. 
At  fila  rupit  Persephone  tua, 
Irata,  cum  te  viderit  artibus, 
Succoque  pollenti,  tot  atris 
Faucibus  eripuisse  mortis. 
Colende  Praeses,  membra,  precor,  tua 
Molli  quiescant  cespite,  et  ex  tuo 
Crescant  rosee  calthaeque  busto, 
Purpureoque  hyacinthus  ore. 
Sit  mite  de  te  judicium  JEnci, 
,  Subrideatque  ^tngea  Proserpina  j 

Interque  felices  perennis 
Elysio  spatiere  campo. 

IN  QUINTUM  NOVEMBRIS.i 
Anno  ^Etatis  17. 

Jam  plus  extrema  veniens  lacobus  ab  arcto, 
Teucrigenas  populos,  lateque  patentia  regna 
Albionum  tenuit;  jamque  inviolabile  fcedus 
Sceptra  Caledoniis  conjunxerat  Anglica  Scotis: 
Pacificusque  novo,  felix  divesque,  sedebat 
In  solio,  occultique  doli  securus  et  hostis : 
Cum  ferus  ignifluo  regnans  Acheronte  tyrannus, 
Eumenidum  pater,  aethereo  vagus  exul  Olympo^ 
Forte  per  immensum  terrai'um  erraverat  orbem, 
Dinumerans  sceleris  socios,  vernasque  fideles, 
Participes  regni  post  funera  moesta  futures : 
Hie  tempestates  medio  ciet  acre  diras, 
Hlic  unanimes  odium  struit  inter  amicos, 
Armat  et  invictas  in  mutua  viscera  gentes; 
Regnaque  olivifera  vertit  florentia  pace  : 
Et  quoscunque  videt  purae  virtutis  amantes, 
Hos  cupit  adjicere  imperio,  fraudumque  magister 
Tentat  inaccessum  sceleri  corrumpere  pectus ; 
Insidiasque  locat  tacitas,  cassesque  latentes 
Tendit,  ut  incautos  rapiat ;  ceu  Caspia  tigris 
Insequitur  trepidam  deserta  per  avia  praedam 
Nocte  sub  illuni,  et  somno  nictantibus  astris  : 

>  I  have  formerly  remarked,  that  this  little  poem,  as  containing  a  council,  conspiracy, 
and  expedition  of  Satan,  may  be  considered  as  an  early  and  promising  prolasion  of 
Milton's  genius  to  the  "Paradise  Lost" — T.  Warton. 
105 


834  POEMATA. 


Talibus  infestat  populos  SummanuS'*  et  urbes, 
Cinctus  caeruleae  fumanti  turbine  flammae. 
Jamque  fluentisonis  albentia  rupibus  arva 
Apparent,  et  terra  deo  dilecta  marino, 
Cui  nomen  dederat  quondam  Neptunia  proles  ; 
Amphitryoniaden  qui  non  dubitavit  atrocem, 
JEqnoTe  trauato,  furiali  poscere  bello, 
Ante  expugnatae  crudelia  saecula  Trojae. 

At  simul  banc,  opibusque  et  festa  pace  beatam, 
Aspicit,  et  pingues  donis  Cerealibus  agros, 
Quodque  magis  doluit,  venerantem  numina  veri 
Sancta  Dei  populum,  tandem  suspiria  rupit 
Tartareos  ignes  et  luridem  olentia  sulphur ; 
Qualia  Trinacria  trux  ab  Jove  clausus  in  ^tna 
Efflat  tabifico  monstrosus  ab  ore  Tiphoeus. 
Ignescunt  oculi,  stridetque  adamantinus  ordo 
Dentis,  ut  armorum  fragor,  ictaque  euspide  cuspis. 
Atque, — "  Pererrato  solum  hoc  lacrymabile  mundo 
Inveni/'  dixit;   "gens  haec  mihi  sola  rebellis, 
Contemtrixque  jugi,  nostraque  potentior  arte. 
Ilia  tamen,  mea  si  quicquam  tentamina  possunt, 
Non  feret  hoc  impune  diu,  non  ibit  inulta." 
Hactenus ;  et  piceis  liquido  natat  acre  pennis  : 
Qua  volat,  adversi  praecursant  agmine  venti, 
Densantur  nubes,  et  crebra  tonitrua  fulgent 

Jamque  pruinosas  velox  superaverat  Alpes, 
Et  tenet  Ausonise  fines ;  a  parte  sinistra 
Nimbifer  Apenninus  erat,  priscique  Sabini, 
Dextra  veneficiis  infamis  Hetruria,  necnon 
To  furtiva,  Tibris,  Thetidi  videt  oscula  dantem ; 
Hinc  Mavortigenae  consistit  in  arce  Quirini. 
Reddiderant  dubiam  jam  sera  crepuscula  lucerp, 
Cum  circumgreditur '^  totam  Tricoronifer  urbem, 
Panificosque  deos  portat,  scapulisque  virorum 
Evehitur ;  praeeunt  submisso  poplite  reges, 
Et  mendicantum  series  longiss-ima  fratrum  ;  ^ 
Cereaque  in  manibus  gestant  funalia  caeci, 
Cimmeriis  nati  in  tenebris,  vitamque  trahentes  : 
Templa  dein  multis  subeunt  lucentia  taedis, 
(Vesper  erat  sacer  iste  Petro)  fremitusque  canentum 
Saepe  tholos  implet  vacuos,  et  inane  locorum. 
Qualiter  esululat  Bromius,  Bromiique  caterva, 
Orgia  cantantes  in  Echionio  Aracyntho, 

j  Summanua, 
"  Sammanus"  is  an  obsolete  and  uncommon  name  for  Pluto,  or  the  god  of  ghosts  and 
night,  "  summus  Manium,"  which   Milton  most  probably  had  from  Ovid,  "  Fast."  vi. 
731.— T.  Wakton. 

^  Cum  circttmgreditur,  &c. 
He  describes  the  procession  of  thj  popo  to  St.  Peter's  church  at  Rome,  on  the  eye 
of  St.  Peter's  day.— T.  Warton. 

1  The  orders  of  mendicant  friars. — T.  Wabton. 


SILVARUM  LIBER.  835 


Dure  tremit  attonitus  vitreis  Asopus  in  undis, 
Et  procul  ipse  cava  responsat  rupe  Cithaeron. 

His  igitur  tandem  solenni  more  peractis, 
Nox  senis  am  plexus  Erebi  taciturna  reliquit, 
Praecipitesque  impellit  equos  stimulante  flagello, 
Captum  oculis  Typhlonta,  Melanchaetemque  ferocem, 
Atque  Acherontaeo  prognatam  patre  Siopen 
Torpidam,  et  hirsutis  liorrenteni  Phrica  capillis. 
Interea  reguni  domitor,  Phlegetontius  haeres, 
Ingreditur  thalamos,  neque  enim  secretus  adulter 
Producit  steriles  molli  sine  pellice  noctes ; 
At  vix  compositos  somnus  claudebat  ocellos, 
Cum  niger  umbrarum  dominus,  rectorque  silentum, 
Praedatorque  hominum,  falsa  sub  imagine  tectus 
Astitit ;  assumtis  micucrunt  tempera  canis ; 
Barba  sinus  promissa  tegit;  cineracea  longo 
Syrmate  verrit  humum  vestis,  pendetque  cucullus 
Vertice  de  raso ;  et,  ne  quicquam  desit  ad  artes, 
Cannabeo  lumbos  constrinxit  fune  salaces, 
Tarda  fenestratis  figens  vestigia  calceis. 
Talis,  uti  fama  est,  vasta  Franciscus  eremo" 
Tetra  vagabatur  solus  per  lustra  ferarum, 
Silvestrique  tulit  genti  pia  verba  salutis 
Impius,  atque  lupos  domuit,  Libycosque  leones. 

Subdolus  at  tali  Serpens  velatus  amictu, 
Solvit  in  has  fallax  ora  execrantia  voces : — 
"  Dormis,  nate  ?     Etiamne  tuos  sopor  opprimit  artus  ? 
Immemor,  0,  fidei,  pecorumque  oblite  tuorum  !  ■ 

Dum  cathedram,  venerande,  tuam,  diademaque  triplex, 
Ridet  Hyperboreo  gens  barbara  nata  sub  axe ; 
Dumque  pharetrati  spernunt  tua  jura  Britanni : 
Surge,  age ;  surge,  piger,  Latius  quern  Caesar  adorat, 
Cui  reserata  patet  convexi  janua  coeli, 
Turgentes  animos,  et  fastus  frange  procaces ; 
Sacrilegique  sciant,  tua  quid  maledictio  possit, 
Et  quid  Apostolicae  possit  custodia  clavis ; 
Et  memor  Hesperiai  disjectam  ulciscere  classem, 

ni  Cannabeo  lumhus  constrinxit  fune  salacee, 
Tarda  fenestratis  fir/ens  vestigia  calceis. 
Talis,  uti  fama  est,  vasta  Franciscrls  eremo,  &c. 

Francis  Xavier,  called  "  the  Apostle  of  the  Indians,"  whom  he  was  sent  to  convert, 
about  the  year  1542,  by  Ignatius  Loyola :  ho  encountered  a  variety  of  perils  in  the 
Eastern  deserts,  which  he  traversed  in  a  short  black  gown  of  canvas  or  sackcloth.  At 
Goa  the  people  observing  that  his  shoes  were  patched  or  worn  out,  offered,  him  new ; 
but  such  was  his  mortification,  that  he  could  not  be  persuaded  "ut  veteres  calceos  por- 
mutaret  novis,"  etc.  Here  we  have  Milton's  "  calcei  fenestrate"  Among  his  many 
pretended  miracles,  it  is  one,  that  during  this  extraordinary  progress,  he  preached  to 
the  lions  and  other  beasts  of  the  wilderness.  But  an  unknown  correspondent  has 
thrown  new  light  on  the  whole  of  the  context.  "  The  passage  has  properly  nothing  to 
do  with  the  Jesuit  S.  Francis  Xavier.  The  '  fenestrati  calcei'  are  the  sandals,  or  soles, 
tied  on  the  foot  by  straps,  or  thongs  of  leather,  crossed,  or  lattice-wise,  which  art 
asually  worn  by  the  Franciscan  friars." — T.  Wabton. 


836 


POEMATA. 


Mersaque  Iberorum  lato  vexilla  profundo, 
Sanctorumque  cruci  tot  corpora  fixa  probrosoe, 
Thennodoontea  nupar  regnaute  puella." 
At  tu  si  tenero  mavis  torpescere  lecto, 
Crescentesque  negas  bosti  contundere  vires; 
Tyrrhenum  implebit  numeroso  milite  pontum, 
Signaque  Aventino  ponei  fulgentia  colle : 
Relliquias  veterum  franget,  flammisque  cremabit; 
Sacraque  calcabit  pedibus  tua  colla  profauis, 
Cujus  gaudebant  soleis  dare  basia  reges. 
Nee  tamen  bunc  bellis  et  aperto  Marie  lacessesj 
Irritus  ille  labor  :  tu  callidus  utere  fraude  : 
Quaelibet  hjereticis  disponere  retia  fas  est. 
Jamque  ad  consilium  extremis  rex  magnus  ab  oris 
Patricios  vocat,  et  procerum  de  stirpe  creatos, 
Grandaevosque  patres,  trabea  canisque  verendos; 
Hos  tu  membratim  poteris  conspergere  in  auras, 
Atque  dare  in  cineres,  nitrati  pulvaris  igne 
^dibus  injecto,  qua  conveuere,  sub  imis. 
Protinus  ipse  igitur,  quoscunque  habet  Anglia  fidos, 
Propositi,  factique,  mono  :  quisquamne  tuorum 
Audebit  summi  non  jussa  facessere  Papge  ? 
Perculsosque  metu  subito,  casuque  stupentes, 
Invadat  vel  Gallus  atrox.  vel  ssevus  Iberus 
'  Saecula  sic  illic  tandem  Mariana  redibunt," 
Tuque  in  belligeros  iterum  dominaberis  Anglos. 
Et,  nequid  timeas,  divos  divasque  secundas 
Accipe,  quotque  tuis  celebrantur  numina  fastis." 
Dixit;  et,  adscitos  poaens  raalefidos  amictus, 
Fugit  ad  infandam,  regnum  illaetabile,  Lethen. 

Jam  rosea  Eoas  pandens  Tithonia  portas 
Vestit  inauratas  redeunti  lumine  terras ; 
Mcostaque,  adhuc  nigri  deplorans  funera  nati, 
Irrigat  ambrosiis  montana  cacumina  guttis : 
Cum  somnos  pepulit  stellatae  janitor  aulse, 
Nocturnos  visas  et  somnia  grata  revolvens. 

Est  locus  aeterna  septus  caligine  noctis, 
Vasta  ruinosi  quondam  fundaniina  tecti. 
Nunc  torvi  spelunca  Phoni,  Prodotgeque  bilinguis, 
EiFura  quos  uno  perperit  Discordia  partu. 
Hie  inter  csementa  jacent,  proeruptaque  saxa, 
Ossa  inhumata  virum,  et  trajecta  cadavera  ferro; 
Hie  Dolus  intortis  semper  sedet  atcr  ocellis, 
Jurgiaque,  et  stimulis  armata  Calumnia  fauces, 
Et  Furor,  atque  viae  moriendi  mille  videntur, 
Et  Timor,  exsanguisque  locum  circumvolat  Horror; 

n  Thermodoontea  nuper  regnante  puella. 

The  Amazon,  queen  Elizabeth.  She  is  admirably  characterized:  " Audetque  viris 
concurrere  virgo."  Ovid  has  "  Thermodontiacus,"  Metam.  ix.  1S9 ;  and  see  ibid.  xii. 
611.— T.  Warton. 

e  The  times  of  queen  Mary,  when  Popery  was  restored. — T.  Warton. 


SILYARUM  LIBER.  837 


Perpetuoque  leves  per  muta  silentia  Manes 

Exululant,  tellus  et  sanguine  conscia  stagnat. 

Ipsi  etiara  pavidi  latitant  penetralibus  antri 

Et  Phonos,  et  Prodotes;  nulloque  sequente  per  antrum, 

Antrum  horrens,  scopulosum,  atrum  feralibus  umbris, 

Diffugiunt  i"  sontes,  et  retro  luraina  vortunt : 

Hos  pugilcs  llomae  per  saecula  longa  fideles 

Evocat  antistes  Babylonius,i  atque  ita  fatur : — 

"  Finibus  occiduis  circumfusum  incoiit  aequor 
Gens  exosa  mihi :  prudens  Natura  negavit 
Indignam  penitus  nostro  conjungere  mundo : 
Illuc,  sic  jubeo,  celcri  contondite  gressu, 
Tartareoque  leves  difflentur  pulvere  in  auras 
Et  rex  et  pariter  satrapae,  scelerata  propago : 
Et,  quotquot  fidei  caluere  cupidine  verae, 
Consilii  socios  .adhibete,  operisquc  ministros." 
Finierat;  rigidi  cupide  paruere  gemelli. 

Interea  longo  flcctens  curvamine  ccelos 
Despicit  aetherea  Doniinus  qui  fulgurat  arce, 
Vanaque  perversae  ridet  conamina  turbae ; 
Atque  sui  causaui  populi  volet  ipse  tueri. 

Esse  ferunt  spatiura,  qua  distat  ab  Aside  terra 
Fertilis  Europe,  et  spectat  Mareotidas  undas'' 
Hie  turris  posita  est  Titanidos'  ardua  Famoe; 
^rea,  lata,  sonans,  rutilis  vicinior  astris 
Quam  superimpositum  vel  Atlios  vel  Pelion  Ossae. 
Mille  fores  aditusquc  patent,  totidcmque  fenestrse, 
Am  plaque  per  tenues  translucent  atria  muros : 
Excitat  hie  varies  plebs  agglomerata  susurros ; 
Qualiter  instrepitant  circum  mulctralia  bombis 
Agmina  muscarum,  aut  texto  per  ovilia  junco, 
Dum  Cauis  aestiyum  coeli  petit  ardua  culmen. 
Ipsa  quidem  summa  sedet  ultrix  matris  in  arce ; 
Auribus  innumeris  cinetum  caput  eminet  oUi, 
Quels  sonitum  exiguum  trahit,  atque  levissima  captat 
Murnnira,  ab  extremis  patuli  confiuibus  orbis. 
Nee  tot,  Aristoride,  servator  inique  juvencae 
Isidos,  immiti  volvebas  lumina  vultu, 
Lumina  non  unquam  tacito  nutantia  somno, 
Lumina  subjectas  late  spectantia  terras. 

P  Diffugiunt. 
There  is  great  poetry  and  strength  of  imagination  in  supposing  that  Murder  and  Trea- 
son often  fly  as  alarmed  from  the  inmost  recesses  of  their  own  horrid  cavern,  looking 
back,  and  thinking  themselves  pursued. — T.  Warton. 

q  Evocat  antistes  Dnhyloniua,  &C. 
The  pope,  the  "  whore  of  Bahylon."— T.  Wartox. 

p  Mareotidas  undas. 
Mareotis  is  a  large  lake  in  Egypt,  connected' by  many  small  channels  with  the  Nile. 
— T.  AYarton. 

»  Titanidos. 

Ovid  has  "  Titanida  Circen,"  Met  xiv.  376.     Fame  is  the  sister  of  Cacus  and  Ence 
ladus,  two  of  the  Titans,  "  Mn."  iv.  179.— T.  Warton. 


838  POEMATA. 


Istis  ilia  solet  loca  luce  carentia  ssepe 
Perlustrare,  etiam  radianti  impervia  soli : 
Millenisque  loquax  auditaque  visaque  linguis 
Cuilibet  cffundit  temeraria ;  veraque  mendax 
Nunc  minuit,  modo  confictis  sermonibus  auget. 

Sed  tamen  a  nostro  meruisti  carmine  laudes, 
Fama,  bonum  quo  nou  aliud  veracius  ullum, 
Nobis  digna  cani,  nee  te  memorasse  pigebit 
Carmine  tam  longo ;  servati  scilicet  Augli 
Officiis,  vaga  diva,  tuis,  tibi  reddimus  aequa. 
Te  Deus,  aeternos  motu  qui  temperat  ignes, 
Fulmine  praemisso  alloquitur,  terraque  tremente  : 
"  Fama,  siles  ?    An  te  latet  impia  Papistarum 
Conjurata  cohors  in  meque  meosque  Britannos, 
Et  nova  sceptrigero  caedes  meditata  laeobo  ?" 

Nee  plura ;  ilia  statim  sensit  mandata  Tonantis, 
Et,  satis  ante  fugax,  stridentes  induit  alas, 
Induit  et  variis  exilia  corpora  plumis  : 
Dextra  tubam  gestat  Temesaso  ex  aere  sonoram.* 
Nee  mora  :  jam  pennis  cedentes  remigat  auras, 
Atque  parum  est  cursu  celeres  praevertere  nubes : 
Jam  ventos,  jam  solis  equos,  post  terga  reliquit : 
Et  prirao  Angliacas,  solito  de  more,  per  urbes 
Ambiguas  voces,  incertaque  murmura,  spargit : 
Mox  arguta  dolos,  et  detestabile  vulgat 
Proditionis  opus,  necnon  facta  horrida  dictu, 
Auctoresque  addit  sceleris,  nee  garrula  caecis 
Insidiis  loca  structa  silet ;  stupuere  relatis 
Et  pariter  juvenes,  pariter  tremuere  puellae, 
Effcetique  senes  pariter;  tantaeque  ruiuae 
Sensus  ad  aetatem  subito  penetraverat  omnem. 

Attamen  interea  populi  miserescit  ab  alto 
jEthereus  Pater,  et  crudelibus  obstitit  ausis 
Papicolum  :  capti  poenas  raptantur  ad  acres  ; 
At  pia  thura  Deo,  et  grati  solvuntur  bonores ; 
Compita  laeta  focis  genialibus  omnia  fumaut; 
Turba  cboros  juvenilis  agit :  Quintoque  Novembris 
Nulla  dies  toto  occurrit  celebratior  anno. 

IN  OBITUM  PR^SULIS  ELIENSIS." 
Anno  jEtatis  17. 

Adhuc  madentes  rore  squalebant  gense, 
Et  sicca  nondum  lumina 

'  Dextra  tuham  geatat  TemeacBo  ex  are  sonoram 
Temese  is  a  city  on  the  coast  of  the  Tyrrhene  sea,  famous  for  its  brass. — T.  Warton. 

n  Nicholas  Felton,  bishop  of  Ely,  died  October  5,  1626,  not  many  days  after  bishop 
Andrewes,  before  celebrated  :  he  had  been  also  master  of  Pembroke-hall,  as  well  as 
bishop  Andrewes;  and  bishop  of  Bristol:  he  was  nominated  to  the  see  of  Litchfield, 
but  was  translated  to  that  of  Ely  in  1618-19.  He  is  said  to  have  been  a  pious,  learned, 
and  judicious  man. — Todd. 


SILVARUM  LIBER.  839 


Adliuc  liquentis  imbre  turgebant  sails, 

Quern  nuper  effudi  pius, 
Dum  mcBsta  caro  justa  persolvi  rogo 

Wintoniensis  Praesulis; 
Cum  centilinguis  Fama,  pro  !  semper  mali 

Cladisque  vera  nuutia, 
Spargit  per  urbes  divitis  Britannias, 

Populosque  Neptuno  satos, 
Cessisse  morti,  et  ferreis  sororibus, 

Te,  generis  humani  decus, 
Qui  rex  sacrorum  ilia  fuisti  in  insula 

Quae  nomcn  Anguillae  tenet.'^ 
Tunc  inquietem  pectus  ira  protinus 

Ebulliebat  fervida, 
Tumulis  potentem  saepe  devovens  deam  j 

Nee  vota  Naso  in  Ibida 
Concepit  alto  diriora  pectore; 

Graiusque  vates*  parcius 
Turpem  Lycambis  exccratus  est  dolum, 

Sponsamque  Neobulen  suam. 
At,  ecce  !  diras  ipse  dum  fundo  graves, 

Et  imprecor  neci  necem, 
Audisse  tales  videor  attonitus  sonos 

Leni,  sub  aura,  flamine  : 
"  Caecos  furores  pone ;  pone  vitream 

Bilemque,  et  irritas  minas  : 
Quid  temere  violas  non  nocenda  numina, 

Subitoque  ad  iras  percita? 
Non  est,  ut  arbitraris  elusus  miser, 

Mors  atra  Noctis  filia, 
Erebove  patre  creta,  sive  Erinnye, 

Vastove  nata  sub  Chao  : 
Ast  ilia,  coelo  missa  stellato,  Dei 

Messes  ubique  colligit ; 
Animasque  mole  carnea  reconditas 

In  lucem  et  auras  evocat : 
Ut  cum  fugaces  excitant  Horse  diem, 

Tbemidos  Jovisque  filliae; 
Et  sempiterni  ducit  ad  vultus  Patris : 

At  justa  raptat  impios 
Sub  regna  furvi  luctuosa  Tartari, 

Sedesque  subterraneas." 
Hanc  ut  vocantem  Icetus  audivi,  cito 

Foedum  reliqui  carcerem, 
Volatilesque  faustus  inter  milites 

Ad  astra  sublimis  feror  j 

V  QucB  nomen  Anguillce  tenet. 
Ely,  80  called  from  its  abundance  of  eels. — T.  Warton. 

w  Archilochus,  who  killed  Lycambes  by  the  severity  of  his  iambics.  Lycambos  had 
•lupposed  his  daughter  Neobule  to  Archilochus,  and  afterwards  gave  her  to  another. — 
T.  Wabton. 


840  POEMATA. 


Vates  ut  olim  raptus  ad  coelum  senex, 

Auriga  currus  ignei. 
Non  me  Bootis  terruere  lucidi 

Sarraca  tarda  frigore,  aut 
Formidolosi  Scorpionis  brachia ; 

Non  ensis,  Orion,  tuus. 
Prsctervolavi  fulgidi  solis  globum, 

Longeque  sub  pedibus  deam 
Vidi  triformem,  dum  coercebat  sues 

Frsenis  dracones  aureis. 
Erraticorum  siderum  per  ordines, 

Per  lacteas  vehor  plagas, 
V^eloeitatem  ssepe  miratus  novam ; 

Donee  nitentes  ad  fores 
Ventum  est  Olympi,  et  regiam  crystallinam,  et 

Stratum  smaragdis  atrium. 
Sed  hie  tacebo ;  nam  quis  effari  queal, 

Oriundus  humane  patre, 
Amoenitates  illius  loci  ?     Mihi 

Sat  est  in  aeternum  frui. 


NATUEAM  NON  PATI  SENIUM.^ 

Heu,  quam  perpetnis  erroribus  acta  fatiscit 
Avia  mens  hominum,  tenebris  immersa  profundis 
(Edipodioniam  volvit  sub  pectore  noctem  ! 
Quae  vesana  suis  metiri  facta  deorum 
Audet,  et  incisas  leges  adamante  perenni 
A.ssimilare  suis,  nulloque  solubile  saeclo 
Consilium  fati  perituris  alligat  horis ! 

Ergone  marcescet  sulcantibus  obsita  rugis 
Naturae  facies,  et  rerum  pu-blica  mater 
Omniparum  contracta  uterum  sterilescet  ab  aevo  ? 
Et,  se  fassa  senem,  male  certis  passibus  ibit 
Sidereum  tremebunda  caput  ?     Num  tetra  vetustas, 
A.nnorumque  oeterna  fames,  squalorque,  situsque, 
Sidera  vexabunt  ?     An  et  insatiabile  Tempus 
Esuriet  coelum,  rapietque  in  viscera  patrem  ? 
Heu,  potuitne  suas  imprudens  Jupiter  arces 
Hoc  contra  munisse  nefas,  et  Temporis  isto 
Exemisse  male,  gyrosque  dedisse  perennes  ? 
Ergo  erit  ut  quandoque  sono  dilapsa  tremendo 
Convexi  tabulata  ruant,  atque  obvius  ictu 
Stridat  uterque  polus,  superaque  ut  Olympius  aula 
Decidat,  horribilisque  retecta  Gorgone  Pallas; 
Qualis  in  ^gaeam  proles  Junonia  Lemnon 

«  This  was  an  academical  exercise,  written  in  1628,  to  oblige  ono  of  the  fellows  of 
Christ's  college,  "who  having  laid  aside  the  levities  of  poetry  for  the  gravity  and 
solidity  of  prose,  imposed  the  boyish  task  on  Milton,  now  about  nineteen  years  old. — 
T.  Warton. 


SILYARUM  LIBER.  841 


Deturbata  sacro  cecidit  de  limine  coeli  ? 
Tu  quoque,  Phoebe,  tui  casus  imitabere  nati  j 
Praecipiti  curru,  subitaque  fereie  ruina 
Pronus,  et  extincta  fumabit  lampade  Nereus, 
Et  dabit  attonito  feralia  sibila  ponto. 
Tunc  etiam  aerei  divulsis  sedibus  Hsemi 
Dissultabit  apex,  imoque  allisa  barathro 
Terrebunt  Stygium  dejecta  Ceraunia  Ditem, 
In  superos  quibus  usus  erat,  fraternaque  bella. 
At  Pater  Omnipotens,  fundatis  fortius  astris, 
Consuluit  rerum  summoe,  certoque  peregit 
Pondere  fatorum  lances,  atque  ordine  summo 
Singula  perpetuum  jussit  servare  tenorem. 
Volvitur  hinc  lapsu  mundi  rota  prima  diurno ; 
Kaptat  et  ambitos  socia  vertigine  ccelos. 
Tardior  baud  solito  Saturnus,  et  acer  ut  olim 
Fulmineum  rutilat  cristata  casside  Mavors. 
Floridus  ceternum  Phcebus  juvenile  coruscat, 
Nee  fovet  efFcetas  loca  per  declivia  terras 
Devexo  temone  deus;  sed  semper  amica 
Luce  potens,  eadem  currit  per  signa  rotarum. 
Surgit  odoratis  pariter  formosus  ab  Indis, 
^thereum  pecus  albenti  qui  cogit  Olympo, 
Mane  vocans,  et  serus  agens  in  pascua  coeli; 
Temporis  et  gemino  dispertit  regna  colore. 
Fulget,  obitque  vices  alterno  Delia  cornu, 
Cseruleumque  ignem  paribus  complectitur  ulnis. 
Nee  variant  elementa  fidem,  solitoque  fragore 
Lurida  perculsas  jaculantur  fulmina  rupes  : 
Nee  per  inane  furit  leviori  murmure  Corns, 
Stringit  et  armiferos  sequali  horrore  Gelonos 
Trux  Aquilo,  spiratque  hyemem,  nimbosque  volutat. 
Utque  solet,  Siculi  diverberat  ima  Pelori 
Res  maris,  et  rauca  circumstrepit  a3quora  concba 
Oceani  tubicen,  nee  vasta  mole  minorem 
^gseona  ferunt  dorso  Balearica  cete. 
Sed,  neque,  Terra,  tibi  SfEcli  vigor  ille  vetusti 
Priscus  abest,  s'ervatque  suum  Narcissus  odorem, 
Et  puer  ille  suum  tenet,  et  puer  ille,  decorem, 
Phoebe,  tuusque,  et,  Cypri,  tuns ;  ^  nee  ditior  olim 
Terra  datum  sceleri  celavit  montibusaurum 
Conscia,  vel  sub  aquis  gemmas.     Sic  denique  in  gevum 
Ibit  cunctarum  series  justissima  rerum ; 
Donee  flamma  orbem  populabitur  ultima,  late 
Circumplexa  polos,  et  vasti  culmina  coeli ; 
Ingentique  rogo  flagrabit  machina  mundi. 

y  Hyacinth  the  favourite  boy  of  Plioebus,  Adonis  of  Venus :  both,  liko  Xarcissus,  con- 
verted into  flowers. — T.  Warton. 

This  poem  is  replete  with  fanciful  and  ingenious  allusions :  it  has  also  a  vigour  of 
expression,  a  dignity  of  sentiment,  and  elevation  of  thought,  rarely  found  in  very  young 
writers. — T.  Warton. 
108 


842  POEMATA. 


DB  IDEA  PLATONICA  QUEMADMODUM  ARISTOTELES  INTELLEXIT.i' 
DiciTE,  sacrorum  praesides  nemorum  deae ; 
Tuque,  0,  noveni  perbcata  nurainis 
Memoria  mater,  quaeque  in  immenso  procul 
Antro  recumbis,  otiosa  ^ternitas, 
Monumcnta  servans,  et  ratas  leges  Joyis, 
Coelique  fastos,  atque  ephemeridas  deum ; 
Quis  ills  primus,  cujus  ex  imagine 
Natura  solers  finxit  humanum  genus, 
^ternus,  incorruptus,  sequaevus  polo, 
Unusque  et  universus,  exemplar  Dei  ? 
Hand  ille  Palladis  gemellus  innubae* 
Interna  proles  insidet  menti  Jovis ; 
Sed  quamlibet  natura  sit  communior, 
Tamen  seorsus  extat  ad  morem  unius, 
Et,  mira,  certo  stringitur  spatio  loci : 
Seu  sempiternus  ille  siderum  comes 
Coeli  pererrat  ordines  decemplicis, 
Citimumve  terris  incolit  lunae  globum  : 
Sive,  inter  animas  corpus  adituras  sedens, 
Obliyiosas  torpet  ad  Lethes  aquas  : 
Sive  in  remota  forte  terrarum  plaga 
Incedit  ingens  liominis  arcbetypus  gigas, 
Et  diis  tremendus  erigit  celsum  caput, 
Atlante  major  portitore  siderum. 
Non,  cui  profundum  caecitas  lumen  dedit.'' 
Dircaeus  augur  vidit  hunc  alto  sinu ; 
Non  bunc  silente  nocte  Pleioues  nepos' 
Vatum  sagaci  praepes  osteudit  cboro ; 
Non  bunc  sacerdos  novit  Assyrius,**  licet 
Longos  vetusti  commemoret  atavos  Nini, 
Priscumque  Belon,  inclitumque  Osiridem ; 
Non  ille,  trine  gloriosbs  nomine, 
Ter  magnus  Hermes,*'  ut  sit  arcani  sciens, 
Talem  reliquit  Isidis  cultoribus. 

"■  I  find  this  poem  inserted  at  full  length,  as  a  sf)ecimen  of  unintelligible  metaphysics, 
in  a  scarce  little  book  of  universal  burlesque,  much  in  the  manner  of  Tom  Brown, 
seemingly  published  about  the  year  1715,  and  entitled  "An  Essay  towards  the  Theory 
of  the  intelligible  world  intuitively  considered." — T.  Warton. 

a  Hand  ille  Palladis  gemellua  innuhce,  &c, 

"This  aboriginal  man,  the  twin-brother  of  the  virgin  Pallas,  does  not  remain  in  the 
brain  of  Jupiter  whore  he  was  generated;  but,  although  partaking  of  man's  common 
nature,  still  exists  somewhere  by  himself,  in  a  case  of  singleness  and  abstraction,  and 
in  a  determinate  place.     Whether  among  the  stars,"  Ac. — T.  Warton. 

b  Tiresias  of  Thebes.— T.  Warton. 

■=  PlUionea  nepoa. 
Mercury. — T.  Warton. 

<J  iVoji  hunc  sacerdos  novit  Assyrius, 
Sanchoniathon,  the  eldest  of  the  profane  historians. — T.  Warton. 

e  Trino  gloriosus  nomine, 
Ter  Magnus  Hermes. 
Hermes  Trismegistus,  an  Egyptian  philosopher,  who  lived  soon  after  Moses,  as  Mr. 


SILT  ARUM  LIBER.  843 


At  tu,  perenne  ruris  Academi  decus,' 
(Haec  monstra  si  tu  primus  induxti  scholis) 
Jam  jam  poetas,  urbis  exules  tuas. 
Revocabis,  ipse  fabulator  maximus; 
Aut  institutor  ipse  migrabis  foras. 

AD  PATREM.g 

Nunc  mea  Pierios  cupiam  per  pectora  fontes 
Irriguas  torquere  vias,  totumque  per  ora 
Volvpre  laxatum  geraino  dc  vertice  rivum ; 
IJt,  tenues  oblita  sonos,  audacibus  alis 
Surgat  in  officium  venerandi  Musa  parentis. 
Hoc  utcunque  tibi  gratum,  pater  optime,  carmen 
Exiguum  meditatur  opus ;  nee  noviraus  ipsi 
Aptius  a  nobis  qua  possint  munera  donis 
Respondere  tuis,  quamvis  nee  maxima  possint 
Respondere  tuis,  nedum  ut  par  gratia  donis 
Esse  queat,  vacuis  quae  redditur  arida  verbis. 
Sed  tamen  haec  nostros  ostendit  pagina  census, 
Et  quod  habemus  opum  charta  numeravimus  ista, 
Quae  mi  hi  sunt  nullae,  nisi  quas  dedit  aurea  Clio, 
Quas  mihi  semoto^somni  peperere  sub  antro, 
Et  nemoris  laureta  sacri  Parnassides  umbras. 
Nee  tu  vatis  opus  divinum  despice  carmen, 
Quo  nihil  aethereos  ortus,  et  seraina  coeli. 
Nil  m'agis  humanam  commendat  origine  mentem, 
Sancta  Prometheaa  retinens  vestigia  flammae. 
Carmen  amant  superi,  tremebundaque  Tartara  carmen 
Ima  ciere  valet,  divosque  ligare  profundos, 
Et  triplici  dure  Manes  adamante  coercet. 
Carmine  sepositi  retegunt  arcana  futuri 
Phoebades,''  et  tremulae  pallentes  ora  Sibyllae : 
Carmina  sacrificus  sollennos  pangit  ad  aras; 
Aurea  seu  sternit  motantem  cornua  taurum  j 

Warton  observes :  "  Thrice-great  Hermes/' — "  II  Pens."  v.  88.     Suidas  says  he  was  so 
called,  because  he  was  a  philosopher,  a  priest,  and  a  king. — Todd. 

f  At  tu,  perenne  run's  Academi  decus,  &c. 
"You,  Plato,  who  expelled  the  poets  from  your  republic,  must  now  bid  them  return," 
&c.     Plato  and  his  followers  communicated  their  notions  by  emblems,  fables,  symbols, 
parables,  allegories,  and  a  variety  of  mystiaa.1  representations. — T.  Warton. 

g  According  to  Aubrey's  manuscript  "  Life  of  Milton,"  Milton's  father,  although  a 
scrivener,  was  not  apprenticed  to  that  trade ;  he  says  he  was  bred  a  scholar,  and  of 
Christ-church  Oxford,  and  that  he  took  to  trade  in  consequence  of  being  disinherited : 
Milton  was  therefore  writing  to  his  father  in  a  language  which  he  understood.  Aubrey 
adds,  that  he  was  very  ingenious,  and  delighted  in  music,  in  which  he  instructed  his 
son  John :  that  he  died  about  1647,  and  was  interred  in  Cripplegate-church,  from  his 
bouse  in  Barbican. — 'T.  Warton. 

l"  Phoebades. 

The  priestesses  of  Apollo's  temple  at  Delphi,  who  always  delivered  their  oracles  in 
verse. — T.  AVarton. 

Suoh  productions  of  true  genius,  with  a  natural  and  noble  consciousness  anticipating 
its  own  immortality,  are  seldom  found  to  fail. — T.  Warton. 


844  POEMATA. 


Seu  cum  fata  sagax  fumantibus  abdita  fibris 
Consul  it  et  tepidis  Parcam  scrutatur  in  extis. 
Nos  etiain,  patrium  tunc  cum  repetcmus  Olympum, 
^tcrnaique  moras  stabunt  immobilis  aevi, 
Ibimus  auratis  per  cneli  templa  coronis ; 
Dulcia  suaviloquo  sociantes  carmina  plectro, 
Astra  quibus,  geminique  poll  convexa,  sonabunt. 
Spiritus  et  rapidos  qui  circinat  igneus  drbes, 
Nunc  quoque  sidei-eis  intercinit  ipse  cboreis 
Immortale  melos,  et  inenarrabile  carmen ; 
Torrida  dum  rutilus  compescit  sibila  Serpens, 
Demissoque  ferox  gladio  mansuescit  Orion ; 
Stellarum  nee  sentit  onus  Maurusius  Atlas. 
Carmina  regales  epulas  ornare  solebant, 
Cum  nondum  luxus,  vastaeque  immensa  vorago 
Nota  gulae,  et  modico  spumabat  coena  Lyoeo, 
Tum,  de  more  sedens  festa  ad  convivia  vates, 
^sculea  intonsos  redimitus  ab  arbore  crines, 
Heroumque  actus  imitandaque  gesta  canebat, 
Et  chaos,  et  positi  late  fundamiua  mundi, 
Reptantesque  deos,  et  alentes  numina  glandes, 
Et  nondum  iEtnaeo  qua3situm  fulmen  ab  antro. 
Denique  quid  vocis  modulamen  inane  juvabit, 
Verborum  sensusque  vacans,  numerique  loquacis  ? 
Silvestrcs  decet  iste  choros,  uon  Orphea,  cantus, 
Qui  tenuit  fluvios,  et  quercubus  addidit  aures, 
Carmine,  aon  cithara;  simulacraque  functa  canendo" 
Compulit  in  lacrymas  :  habet  has  a  carmine  laudes. 

Nee  tu  perge,  precor,  sacras  contemnere  Musas, 
Nee  vanas  iuopesque  puta,  quarum  ipse  peritus 
Munere  mille  sonos  numeros  componis  ad  aptos; 
Millibus  et  vocem  modulis  variarc  Canoram 
Doctus,  Arionii  merito  sis  nominis  h^eres. 
Nunc  tibi  quid  mirum,  si  me  genuisse  poetam 
Contigerit,  caro  si  tam  prope  sanguine  juncti 
Cognatas  artes,  studiumque  affine,  sequamur  ? 
Ipse  volens  Plioebus  se  dispertire  duobus, 
Altera  dona  mihi,  dedit  altera  dona  parenti ; 
Dividuumque  deum,  genitorque  puerque,  tenemus 

Tu  tamen  ut  simules  teneras  odisse  Camoenas, 
Non  odisse  reor  j  neque  enim,  pater,  ire  jubebas 
Qua  via  lata  patet,  qua  pronidr  area  lucri, 
Certaque  condendi  fulgit  spes  aurea  nummi*: 
Nee  rapis  ad  leges,  male  custoditaque  gentis 
Jura,  nee  insulsis  damnas  clamoribus  aures; 
Sed,  magis  excultam  cupiens  ditescere  mentem, 
Me  procul  urbano  strepitu,  secessibus  altis 
Abductum,  Aoniae  jucunda  per  otia  ripae, 
Phoebaeo  lateri  comitem  sinis  ire  beatum. 
Officium  cari  taceo  commune  parentis; 
Me  poscunt  majora :  tuo,  pater  optime,  sumtu, 


SILYARUM  LIBER. 


845 


Cum  mihi  Romuleae  patuit  facundia  linguae, 
Et  Latii  veneres,  et  quae  Jovis  ora  decebant 
GrandJa  magniloquis  elata  vocabula  Graiis, 
Addere  suasisti  quos  jactat  Gallia  flores; 
Et  quam  degeneri  novus  Italus  ore  loquelam 
Fundit,  barbaricos  testatus  voce  tumultus; 
QuEcque  Palaostinus  loquitur  mj'steria  vates. 
Deniquo  quicquid  babet  coolum,  subjectaque  ccelo 
Terra  parens,  terraeque  et  ccelo  interfluus  aer, 
Quicquid  et  unda  tegit,  pontique  agitabile  marmor, 
Per  te  nosse  licet,  per  te,  si  nosse  libebit : 
Dimotaque  venit  spectanda  scientia  nube, 
Nudaque  conspicuos  incliuat  ad  oscula  vultus, 
Ni  fugisse  velim,  ni  sit  libasse  molestum. 

I  nunc,  confer  opes,  quisquis  malesanus  avitas 
Austriaci  gazas,  Periianaque  regna,  prajoptas. 
Quae  potuit  majora  pater  tribuisse,  vel  ipse 
Jupiter,  excepto,  donasset  ut  omnia,  ccelo  ? 
Non  potiora  dedit,  quamvis  et  tuta  fuissent, 
Publica  qui  juveni  commisit  lumina  nato, 
Atque  Hyperionios  currus,  et  frsena  diei, 
Et  circum  undantem  radiata  luce  tiaram. 
Ergo  ego,  jam  dectse  pars  quamlibet  ima  catervae, 
Victrices  bederas  inter  laurosque  sedebo ; 
Jamque  nee  obscurus  populo  miscebor  inerti, 
Vitabuntque  oculos  vestigia  nostra  profanos. 
Est  procul,  vigiles  curte ;  procul  este,  querelae  j 
Invidiasque  acies  transverso  tortilis  hirquo ; 
Saeva  nee  anguiferos  extendo,  calumnia,  rictus  : 
In  me  triste  nihil,  foedissima  turba,  potestis, 
Nee  vestri  sum  juris  ego;  securaque  tutus 
Pectora,  vipereo  gradiar  sublimus  ab  ictu. 

At  tibi,  care  pater,  postquam  non  aequa  merenti 
Posse  referre  datur,  nee  dona  rependere  factis, 
Sit  memorasse  satis,  repetitaque  munera  gratu 
Percensere  animo  fidaeque  reponere  menti. 

Et  vos,  0  jiosti-i,  juvenilia  carmina,  lusus, 
Si  modo  perpetuos  sperare  audebitis  annos, 
Et  doniiui  superesse  rogo,  lucemque  tueri, 
Nee  spisso  rapient  oblivia  nigra  sub  Oreo ; 
Forsitan  has  laudes,  decantatumque  parentis 
Nomen,  ad  exemplum,  sero  servabitis  a!V0. 


AD  SALSILLUM,  POETAM  KOMANUM,  .ffiGROTANTBM.1 

SCAZONTES. 

0  MusA,  gressum  quie  volens  trahis  claudum, 
Vulcanioque  tarda  gaudes  incessu, 

>  Oiovanni  Salsilli  had  complimented  Milton  at  Rome  in  a  Latin  tetrastich,  for  lus 
Greek,  Latin,  and  Italian  poetry :  Milton,  in  retnrn.  sent  these  elegant  Scazontes  t' 
Salsilli  when  indisposed. — T.  Warton. 


846  POEMATA. 

Nec  sentis  illud  in  loco  minus^gratum, 
Quam  cum  decentes  flava  Deiope^  suras 
Alternat  aureum  ante  Junonis  lectum ; 
Adesdum,  et  bcec  s'is  verba  pauca  Salsillo 
Kefer,  Camoena  nostra  cui  tantum  est  cordi, 
Quamque  ille  magnis  proetulit  immerito  divis. 
Heec  ergo  alumnus  ille  Londini  Milto, 
Diebus  hisce  qui  suum  linquens  nidum, 
Polique  tractum,  pessimus  ubi  ventorum, 
Insanientis  impotensque  pulmonis, 
Pernix  anhela  sub  Jove  exercot  flabra, 
Venit  feraces  Itali  soli  ad  glebas, 
Visum  superba  cognitas  urbes  fama, 
Virosque,  doctasque  indolem  juventutis. 
Tibi  optat  idem  hie  fausta  multa,  Salsille, 
Habitumque  fesso  corpori  penitus  sanum; 
Cui  nunc  profunda  bilis  infestat  renes, 
Proecordiisque  fixa  damnosum  spirat; 
Nec  id  pepercit  impia,  quod  tu  Romano 
Tam  cultus  ore  Lesbium  condis  melos. 

0  dulce  divum  munus,"  0  Salus,  Hebes 
Germana !  Tuque,  Phoebe,  morborum  terror, 
Pythone  caeso,  sive  tu  magis  Paean 
Libenter  audis,  hie  tuus  sacerdos  est. 
Querceta  Fauni,  vosque  rore  vinoso 
Colles  beuigni,  mitis  Evandri  sedes, 
Siquid  salubre  vallibus  frondet  vestris, 
Levamen  aegro  fcrte  certatim  vati. 
Sic  ille,  caris  redditus  rursum  Musis, 
Vicina  dulci  prata  mulcebit  cantu. 
Ipse  inter  atros  emirabitur  lucos 
Numa,  ubi  beatum  degit  otium  oeternum, 
Suam  reclivis  semper  -^Egeriam  speetans. 
Tumidusque  et  ipse  Tibris,  hinc  delinitus, 
Spei  favebit  annuae  colonorum  ; 
Nec  in  sepulcris  ibit  obsessum  reges, 
Nimiura  sinistro  laxus  irruens  loro; 
Sed  frgena  melius  temperabit  undarum, 
Adusque  curvi  salsa  regna  Portumni. 

J  Quam  cum  decentes  flava  D&iope,  &c. 
As  the  Muse  sung  about  the  altar  of  Jupiter,  in  "  II  Penseroso,"  v.  47.— T.  Waeton 

''  0  dulce  divium  muiius,  &c. 
I  know  not  any  finer  modern  Latin  lyric  poetry,  than  from  this  verse  to  the  end. 
The  close,  which  is  digressional,  but  naturally  rises  from  the  subject,  is  perfectly 
antique. — T.  Wakton. 


SILVARUM  LIBER.  847 


MANSUS.i 

Joannes  Baptista  Mansus,  Marchio  Villensis,  vir  ingenii  laude,  turn  literarum  studio, 
necnon  et  bellica  virtuto,  apud  Italos  cliirus  in  primis  est ;  ad  quem  Torquad  Tassi 
Dialogus  extat  do  Amicitia  scriptus ;  erat  cnim  Tassi  amicissimus ;  ab  quo  etiaiu  inter 
Campaniae  principes  celebratur,  inillo  poemate  cui  titulus  '  Gerusalemme  Conquistata,' 
lib.  20. 

Fra  cavalier  inagnnniini,  e  eortesi, 

Risplendc  il  Manso. 

Is  a\ictorem  Neapoli  commorantera  summa  benevolentia  prosecutus  est,  multaque  ei 
detulit  humanitatis  officia :  ad  hunc  itaque  hospes  ille,  antequam  ab  ea  urbe  disce- 
deret.,  ut  ne  ingratum  se  ostendcret,  hoc  carmen  misit : — 

HiEC  uuoque,  Manse,  tuae  meditantur  carmina  laudi 

Pierides.  tibi,  Manse,  choro  notissime  Plia;bi; 

Quandoquidem  ille  alium  hand  aequo  est  dignatus  honore, 

Post  Galli  cineres,  et  Mecaenatis  Hetrussi. 

Tu  quoque,  si  nostras  tantum  valet  aura  Caracenre, 

Victrices  hederas  inter  laurosque  sedebis. 

Te  pridem  magno  felix  concordia  Tasso 

Junxit,  et  aeternis  incripsit  nomina  cliartis: 

Mox  tibi  dulciloquum  non  inscia  Musa  Marimum 

Tradidit ;  ille  tuum  dici  se  gaudet  alnmnuni,'"     . 

Dum  canit"  Assyrios  divum  prolixus  amores; 

Mollis  et  AusoniaS  stupefecit  carmine  nymphas. 

Ille  itidem  moriens  tibi  soli  debita  vates 

Ossa,  tibi  soli,  supremaque  vota  reliquit : 

Nee  manes  pietas  tua  cara  fefellit  amici : 

Vidimus  arridentem  operoso  ex  aere  poetam." 

Nee  satis  hoc  visum  est  in  utrumque,  et  nee  pia  cessant 

Officia  in  tumulo ;  cupis  integros  rapere  Oreo, 

Qua  potes,  atque  avidas  Parcarum  cludere  leges : 

Amborum  genus,  et  varia  sub  sorte  peractam 

Describis  vitam,  moresque,  et  dona  Minervae; 

uEmulus  illius,  Mycalen  qui  natus  ad  altam 

I  At  Naples  Milton  was  introduced  to  Giovanni  Battista  Manso,  marquis  of  Villa,  and 
at  leaving  Naples  sent  him  this  poem.  He  was  a  nobleman  of  distinguished  rank  and 
fortune,  had.  supported  a  military  character  with  high  reputation,  of  unblemished 
morals,  a  polite  scholar,  a  celebrated  writer,  and  a  universal  patron.  It  was  among  his 
chief  honours,  that  he  had  been  the  friend  of  Tasso :  and  this  circumstance,  above  all 
others,  must  have  made  Milton  ambitious  of  his  acquaintance.  He  is  not  only  com- 
plimented by  name  in  the  twentieth  canto  of  the  "  Gerusalemme,"  but  Tasso  addressed 
his  "Dialogue  on  Friendship"- to  Manso.  He  died' in  1646,  aged  eighty-foui. — T. 
Warton. 

■1  Ille  tuum  dici  se  gaudet  alumnum. 

Marino  cultivated  poetry  in  the  academy  of  the  Otiosi,  of  which  Manso  was  one  of 
the  founders.  Hither  he  was  sent  by  the  Muse,  who  was  "non  inscia,"  not  ignorant  of 
his  poetical  abilities  and  inclinations,  Ac.,  for  at  first,  against  his  will,  his  father  had 
put  him  to  the  law. — T.  Warton. 

°  Dum  canit,  &e. 
The  allusion  is  to  Marino's  poem  "II  Ad.one." — T.  Warton. 

0  Vidimus  arridenter.i  operoso  ex  aere  poetam. 
Marino's  monument  at  Naples,  erected  by  Manso.    Marino  died  at  Naples  in  1625. 

aged  fifty  six. — T.  Warton. 


Rettulit  ^Eolii  vitam  facundus  Homeri.' 
Ergo  ego  te,  Clius  et  magni  nomine  Phoebi, 
Manse  pater,  jubeo  longum  salvere  per  ajvum, 
Missus  Hyperboreo  juvenis  peregrinus  ab  axe. 
Nee  tu  longinquam  bonus  aspernabere  Musam, 
Quae  nuper  gelida  vix  enutrita  sub  Arcto, 
Imprudens  Italas  ansa  est  volitare  per  urbes. 
Nos  etiam  in  nostro  modulantes  flumine  cygnos 
Credimus  obscuras  noctis  sensisse  per  umbras, 
Qua  Thamesisi  late  puris  argenteus  uruis 
Oceani  glaucos  perfundit  gurgite  crines  : 
Quin  et  in  has  quondam  pervenit  Tityrus  oras. 

Sed  neque  nos  genus  incultura,  nee  inutile  Phcebo, 
Qua  plaga  septeno  mundi  sulcata  Trione 
Brumalem  patitur  longa  sub  nocte  Booten. 
Nos  etiam  colimus  Phcebum,  nos  munera  Phoebo 
Flaventes  spicas,  et  lutea  mala  canistris, 
Halantemque  crocum,  perhibet  nisi  vana  vetustas, 
Misimus,  et  lectas  Druidum  de  gente  choreas. 
Gens  Druides  antiqua,  sacris  operata  deorum, 
Heroum  laudes,  imitandaque  gesta,  canebantj 
Hinc  quoties  festo  cingunt  altaria  cantu 
Delo  in  herbosa,  Graiae  de  more  puellce, 
Carminibus  laetis  memorant  Corineida  Loxo/ 
Fatidicamque  Upin,  cum  flavicoraa  Ilecaerge, 
Nuda  Caledonio  variatas  pectora  fuco. 

Fortunate  senex,  ergo,  quacunque  per  orbem 
Torquati  decus,  et  nomen  celebrabitur  ingens, 
Claraque  perpetui  snccrescet  fama  Marini : 
Tu  quoque  in  ora  frequens  venies,  plausumque  virorum, 
Et  parili  carpes  iter  immortale  volatu. 
Dicetur  tum  sponte  tuos  habitasse  penates 
Cynthius,  et  famulas  venisse  ad  limina  Musas : 

P  Ifycalen  qui  natna  ad  altam 
Rettulit  ^olii  vitam  facundus  Ilomeri, 

Plutarch,  who  wrote  the  "  Life  of  Homer."  He  was  a  native  of  Boeotia,  where  Myoale 
Ls  a  mountain. — T.  "Warton. 

The  learned  translator  of  this  poem  into  English  verse,  the  Rev.  Joseph  Stirling, 
observes  that  Herodotus  is  here  intended ;  and  that  Mr.  Warton  is  mistaken  in  sup- 
posing Milton  to  allude  to  Plutarch :  for,  he  adds,  "  a  mountain  of  the  name  of  Mycalo 
in  Eneotia  will  not  be  found  either  in  Pausanias  or  Strabo :  Mycale  was  in  Asia,  Minor, 
the  country  of  Herodotus.  The  epithet  'facundus'  which  Mr.  Warton  admires,  is  par- 
ticularly applicable  to  the  father  of  history;  but  I  doubt  whether  it  would  be  allowed  to 
I'lutarch  on  the  banks  of  the  Ilissus,  though  he  is  rich  in  biographical  and  moral 
reflections." — Todd. 

1  Qua  Thamesia,  Ac. 

Spenser. — Hurd. 

>■  Quin  et  in  has  quondam  pervenit  Tityrus  oras. 
"Like  me  too,  Chaucer  travelled  into  Italy."    In  Spenser's  "Pastorals,"  Chaucer  is 
conBtantly  called  Tityrus.— T.  Warton. 

•  Our  author  converts  the  three  Hyperborean  nymphs,  who  sent  fruits  to  Apollo  in 
Delos,  into  British  goddesses.— -T.  Warton. 


SILVARUM  LIBER.  849 


At  non  sponte  domum  tamen  idem,*  et  regis  adivit 
Rura  Pheretiada6,  coelo  fugitivus  Apollo ; 
Ills  licet  magnum  Alciden  susceperat  hospes : 
Tantum  ubi  clamosos  placuit  vitare  bubulcos, 
Nobile  mansueti  cessit  Chironis  in  antrum, 
Irriguos  inter  saltus,  frondosaque  tecta, 
Peneium  prope  rivum  :  ibi  saepe  sub  ilice  nigra, 
Ad  citharae  strepitum,  blanda  prece  victus  amici, 
Exilii  duros  lenibat  voce  labores. 
Tum  neque  ripa  suo,  barathro  nee  fixa  sub  imo 
Saxa  stetere  loco ;  nutat  Trachinia  rupes, 
Nee  sentit  solitas,  immania  pondera,  silvas; 
EmotsEque  suis  properant  de  collibus  orni, 
Mulcenturque  novo  maculosi  carmine  lynces. 
Dis  dilecte  senex,  te  Jupiter  aequus  oportet 
Nascentem,  et  miti  lustrarit  luraine  Phoebus, 
Atlantisque  nepos ;  neque  enim,  nisi  earns  ab  ortu 
Dis  superis,  poterit  magno  favisse  poetao. 
Hinc  longaeva  tibi  lento  sub«florc  senectus 
Vernat,  et  (Esonios  lucratur  vivida  fusos ; 
Nondum  deciduos  servans  tibi  frontis  honores, 
Ingeniumque  vigens,  et  adultum  mentis  acumen. 
0,  mihi  si  mea  sors  ialem  concedat  amicum, 
PhcBbaeos  decorasse  viros  qui  tam  bene  norit, 
Siquando  indigenas  revocabo  in  carmina  reges" 
Arturumque  ctiam  sub  terris  bella  moventem  I 
Aut  dicam  invictae  sociali  foedere  mensae^ 
Magnanimos  heroas ;  et,  0,  modo  spiritus  adsit, 
Frangam  Saxonicas  Britonum  sub  Marte  phalanges  I 
Tandem  ubi  non  tacitaa  permensus  tempora  vitae, 
Annorumque  satur,  cineri  sua  jura  relinquam, 
Ille  mihi  lecto  madidis  astaret  ocellis ; 
Astanti  sat  erat  si  dicam,  sim  tibi  curse ; 
Ille  meos  artus,  liventi  morte  solutos,  .  . 

Curaret  parva  componi  mollitur  urna : 
Forsitan  et  nostros  ducat  de  marmore  vultus, 
Nectens  aut  Paphia  myrti  aut  Parnasside  lauri 
Fronde  comas ;  at  ego  secura  pace  quiescam. 
Tum  quoque,  si  qua  fides,  si  praemia  certa  bonorum, 
Ipse  ego  ccelicolum  semotus  in  aethera  divum. 
Quo  labor  et  mens  pura  vehunt,  atquc  ignea  virtus, 

«  At  non  sponte  domum  tamen  idem,  &c. 
Apollo,  being  driven  from  heaven,  kept  the  cattle  of  king  Admetua  in  Thessaly,  who 
had  entertained  Hercules :  this  was  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  river  Peneus,  and  of 
mount  Pelion,  inhabited  by  Chiron.-^T.  Warton. 

n  Siquando  indigenas  revocabo  in  carmina  reges,  Ac. 

The  "  indigense  reges"  are  the  ancient  kings  of  Britain. — T.  Warton. 

»  Sociali  foedere  menses,  &o. 

The  knights,  or  associated  champions,  of  King  Arthur's  round  table,  as  Mr.  Warton 
observes. — Todd. 


850  POEMATA. 


Secret!  haec  aliqua  mundi  de  parte  videbo, 
Quantum  fata  sinunt ;  et,  tota  mente  serenum 
Bidens,  purpureo  suflfundar  lumine  vultus, 
Et  gimul  aethereo  plaudam  mihi  laetus  Olympo. 

EPITAPHIUM  DAMONIS." 

ARGDMENTTJM. 

Thyrsis  et  Damon,  ejusdem  viciniae  pastores,  eadem  studia  secuti,  a  pueritia  amici 
erant,  ut  qui  plurimum.  Thyrsis  animi  causa  profectus  perege  de  obitu  Dan.onis 
nuDcium  accepit.  Demum  postea  reversus,  et  rem  ita  esse  comperto,  se,  Eiuam* 
que  solitudinem  hoc  carmine  deplorat.  Damonis  autem  sub  persona  hie  intelli- 
gitur  Carolus  Deodatus,  ex  urbe  Hetruriae  Luca  paterno  genere  oriundus,  csetera 
Anglus ;  ingenio,  doctrina,  clarissimisque  caeteris  virtutibus,  dum  viveret,  juvenis 
egregius. 

HiMERiDES  nymphge,*  (nam  vos  et  Daphnin,  et  Hylan, 
Et  plorata  diu  meministis  fata  Bionis) 
Dicite  Sicelicum  Thamesina  per  oppida  carmen ; 
Quas  miser  effudit  voces,  quae  murmura  Thyrsis, 
Et  quibus  assiduis  exercuit  wntra  querelis, 
Fluminaque,  fontesque  vagos,  nemoruraque  recessus; 
Dum  sibi  praereptum  queritur  Damona,  neque  altam 
Luctibus  exemit  noctem,  loca  sola  pererrans. 
Et  jam  bis  viridi  surgebat  culmus  arista, 
Et  totidem  flavas  numerabant  horrea  messes, 
Ex  quo  summa  dies  tulerat  Damona  sub  umbras, 
Necdum  aderat  Thyrsis ;  ^  pastorem  scilicet  ilium 
Dulcis  amor  Musae  Tusca  retinebat  in  urbe : 
Ast  ubi  mens  expleta  domum,  pecorisque  relicti 
Cura  vocat,  simul  assueta  seditque  sub  ulmo  j 
Tum  vero  amissum  turn  denique  sentit  amicum, 
Coepit  et  immensuni  sic  exonerare  dolorem : — 

Ite  domum. impasti,  domino  jam  non  vacat,  agni. 
Hei  mihi !  quae  terris,  quae  dicam  numina  coelo, 
■Postquam  te  immiti  rapuerunt  funere,  Damon  I 
Siccine  nos  linquis,  tua  sic  sine  nomine  virtus 
Ibit,  et  obscuris  numero  sociabitur  umbris  ? 
At  non  ille,  animas  virga  qui  dividit  aurea, 

"  Charles  Deodate's  father,  Theodore,  was  born  at  Geneva,  of  an  Italian  family,  in 
1574.  He  came  young  into  England,  where  he  married  an  English  lady  of  good  birth 
and  fortune:  he  was  a  doctor  in  physic;  and,  in  1609,  appears  to  have  been  physician 
to  Prince  Henry  and  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  afterwards  queen  of  Bohemia.  Ho  lived 
then  at  Brentford,  where  he  performed  a  wonderful  cure  by  phlebotomy;  as  a^ipears  by 
his  own  narrative  of  the  case,  in  a  letter  dated  1629.  One  of  his  descendants,  Mons., 
Anton.  Josue  Diodati,  who  has  honoured  me  with  some  of  these  notices,  is  now  the 
learned  librarian  of  the  republic  of  Geneva.  Theodore's  brother,  Giovanni  Deodati,  was 
an  eminent  theologist  of  Geneva;  with  whom  Milton,  in  consequence  of  his  connexion 
with  Charles,  contracted  a  friendship  during  his  abode  at  Geneva,  and  whose  annota- 
tions on  the  Bible  were  translated  into  English  by  the  puritans.  The  family  left  Italy 
on  account  of  religion. — T.  Wahton. 

*  Himeridet  nymphce. 
Himera  is  the  famous  bucolic  river  of  Theocritus,  who  sung  the  death  of  Daphnis, 
and  the  loss  of  Hylas.    Bion,  in  the  next  line,  wats  lamented  by  Moschus. — T .  Waeton. 

y  Thyrsis,  or  Milton,  was  now  at  Florence.— T.  Wartok. 


Ista  velit,  dignumque  tui  te  ducat  in  agmen, 
Ignavumque  procul  pecus  arceat  omne  silentum. 

Ite  domum  impasti,  domino  jam  non  vacat,  agni. 
Quicquid  erit,  certe,  nisi  me  lupus  ante  videbit, 
Indeplorato  non  comminuere  sepulcro, 
Constabitque  tuus  tibi  honos,  longumque  vigebit 
Inter  pastores :  illi  tibi  vota  secundo 
Solvere  post  Daphnin,  post  Daphnin  dicere  laudes, 
Gaudebunt,  dum  rura  Pales,  dum  Faunus  amabit ; 
Si  quid  id  est,  priscamque  fidem  coluisse,  piumque, 
Palladiasque  artes,  sociumquehabuisse  canorum. 

Ite  domum  impasti,  domino  jam  non  vacat,  agni. 
Hasc  tibi  certa  manent,  tibi  erunt  hsoc  praemia,  Damon} 
At  mihi  quid  tandem  fiet  modo  ?  quis  mihi  fidus 
Haerebit  lateri  comes,  ut  tu  saepe  solebas 
Frigoribus  duris,  et  per  loca  foeta  pruinis, 
Aut  rapido  sub  sole,  siti  morientibus  herbis  I 
Sive  opus  in  magnos  fuit  eminus  ire  leones, 
Aut  avidos  terrere  lupos  praesepibus  altis ; 
Quis  fando  sopire  diem,  cantuque,  solebit  ? 

J.te  domum  impasti,  domino  jam  non  vacat,  agrn. 
Pectora  cui  credam  ?  quis  me  lenire  docebit 
Mordaces  curas,  quis  longam  fallere  noctem 
Dulcibus  alloquiis,  grato  cum  sibilat  igni 
MoUe  pyrum,  et  nucibus  strepitat  focus,  et  malus  Austei 
Miscet  cuncta  foris,  et  desuper  intonat  ulmo  ? 

Ite  domum  impasti,  domino  jam  non  vacat  agni. 
Aut  aestate,  dies  medio  dum  vertitur  axe, 
Cum  Pan  aesculea  somnum  capit  abditus  umbra, 
Et  repetunt  sub  'aquis  sibi  nota  sedilia  nymphae, 
Pastoresque  latent,  stertit  sub  sepe  colonus; 
Quis  mihi  blanditiasque  tuas,  quis  tum  mihi  risus, 
Cecropiosque  sales  referet,  cultosque  lepores  ? 

Ite  domum  impasti,  domino  jam  non  vacat,  agni. 
At  jam  solus  agros,  jam  pascua  solus  oberro,  * 

Sicubi  ramosae  densantur  vallibus  umbrae ; 
Hie  serum  expecto ;  supra  caput  imber  et  Eurus 
Triste  sonant,  fractaeque  agitata  crepuscula  silvae. 

Ite  domum  impasti,  domino  jam  non  vacat,  agni. 
Heu,  quam  culta  mihi  prius  arva  procacibus  herbis 
Involvuntur,  et  ipsa  situ  seges  alta  fatiscit ! 
Innuba  neglecto  marcescit  et  uva  racemo, 
Neo  myrteta  juvant ;  ovium  quoqwe  taedet ;  at  illaB 
Mcerent,  inque  suum  convertunt  ora  magistrum. 

Ite  domum  impasti,  domino  jam  non,  vacat,  agni. 
Tityrus  ad  corylos  vocat,  Alphesiboeus  ad  ornos, 
Ad  salices  JEgon,  ad  flumina  puleher  Amyntas; 
"  Hie  gelidi  fontes,  hie  illita  graraina  musco. 
Hie  Zephyri,  hie  placidas  interstrepit  arbutus  undas." 
Ista  canunt  surdo;  frutices  ego  nactus  abibam. 

Ite  domum  impasti,  domino  ,j^am  non  vacat,  agni. 


852 


POBMATA. 


Mopsus  ad  haec,  nam  me  redeuntem  forte  notarat, 

(Et  callebat  avium  linguas  et  sidera  Mopsus) 

"Thjrsi,  quid  hoc?"  dixit,  "quae  te  coquit  improba  bilis? 

Aut  te  perdit  amor,  aut  te  male  fascinat  astrum : 

Saturni  grave  saepe  fuit  pastoribus  astrum, 

Intimaque  obliquo  figit  prsecordia  plumbo." 

Ite  domum  impasti,  domino  jam  non  vacat,  agni. 
Mirantur  nymphae,  et,  "  Quid  te,  Thyrsi,  futurum  est  ? 
Quid  tibi  vis  ?"  aiunt ;  "  non  hsec  solet  esse  juventa3 
Nubila  frons,  oculique  truces,  vultusque  severi : 
Ilia  chores,  lususque  leves,  et  semper  amorem 
Jure  peitit :  bis  ille  miser  quis  serus  amavit." 

Ite  domum  impasti,  domino  jam  non  vacat,  agni. 
Venit  Hyas,  Dryopeque,  et  filia  Baucidis  --Egle, 
Docta  modos,  citharaeque  sciens,  sed  perdita  fastu  j 
Venit  Idumanii*  Chloris  vicina  fluenti: 
Nil  me  blanditiae,  nil  me  solantia  verba, 
Nil  me,  si  quid  adest,  movet,  aut  spes  ulla  futuri. 

Ite  domum  impasti,  domino  jam  non  vacat,  agni. 
Hei  mihi !  quam  similes  ludunt  per  prata  juvenci, 
Omnes  unanimi  secum  sibi  lege  sodales !  * 

Nee  magis  hunc  alio  quisquam  secernit  amicum 
De  grege ;  sic  densi  veniunt  ad  pabula  thoes, 
Inque  vicem  hirsuti  paribus  junguntur  onagri : 
Lex  eadem  pelagi ;  deserto  in  littore  Proteus 
Agmina  phocarum  numerat,  vilisque  volucrum 
Passer  habet  semper  quicum  sit,   et  omnia  circum 
Farra  libans  volitat,  sero  sua  tecta  revisens ; 
Quem  si  sors  leto  objecit,  seu  milvus  adunco 
Fata  tulit  rostro,  seu  stravit  arundine  fossor, 
Protinus  ille  alium  socio  petit  inde  volatu. 
Nos  durum  genus,  et  diris  exercita  fatis 
Gens  homines,  aliena  animis,  et  pectore  discors ; 
Vix  sibi  quisque  parem  de  millibus  invenit  unum  j 
Aut  si  sors  dederit  tandem  non  aspera  votis. 
Ilium  inopina  dies,  qua  non  speraveris  hora, 
Surripit,  setemum  linqucns,  in  saecula  damnum. 

Ite  domum  impasti,  domino  jam  non  vacat,  agni 
Heu  quis  me  ignotas  traxit  vagus  error  in  oras, 
Ire  per  aereas  rupes,  Alpemque  nivosam  ! 
Ecquid  erat  tanti  Romam  vidisse  sepultam,  • 
(Quamvis  ilia  foret,  qualem  dum  viseret  olim, 
Tityrus  ipse  suas  et  oves  et  rura  reliquit) 
Ut  te  tam  dulci  possem  caruisse  sodale ! 
Possem  tot  maria  alta,  tot  interponere  montes, 
Tot  silvas,  tot  saxa  tibi,  fluviosque  sonantes  I 
Ah,  certe  extremum  licuisset  tangere  dextram, 


'  The  river  Chelmer  in  Essex  is  called  "Idumanium  fluentum,"  near  its  influx  into 
Blackwater-bay.    Ptolemy  calls  this  bay  "portus  Idumanius."— T.  Wakton. 


SILVARUM  LIBER.  853 


Et  bene  compositos  placide  morientis  ocellos, 
Et  dixisse,  "  Vale ;  nostri  memor  ibis  ad  astra." 

Ite  domum  impasti,  domino  jam  non  vacat,  agni. 
Quamquam  etiam  vestri  nunquam  meminisse  pigebit, 
Pastores  Tusci,  Musis  operata  juventus; 
Hie  Charis,  atque  Lepos ;  et  Tuscus  tu  quoque,  Damon, 
Antiqua  genus  unde  petis  Lucumonis  ab  urbe.» 
0,  ego  quantus  eram,  gelidi  cum  stratus  ad  Ami 
Murmura,  populeumque  nemus,  qua  mollior  herba, ' 
Carpere  nunc  violas,  nunc  summas  carpere  myrtos, 
Et  potui  Lycidae  certantem  audire  Menalcam ! 
Ipse  etiam  tentare  ausus  sum ;  nee,  puto,  multum 
Displicui ;  nam  sunt  et  apud  me  munera  vestra, 
Fiscellae,  calathique,  et  cerea  viacla  cicutaD  : 
Quin  et  nostra  suas  docuerunt  nomina  fagos 
Et  Datis,  et  Francinus  :  ••  erant  et  vocibus  ambo 
Et  studiia  noti ;  Lydorum  sanguinis  ambo.' 

Ite  domum  impasti,  domino  jam  non  vacat,  agni. 
Haec  mibi  turn  laeto  dictabat  roscida  luna, 
Dum  solus  teneros  claudebam  cratibus  haedos. 
Ah,  quoties  dixi,  cum  te  cinis  ater  habebat, 
Nunc  canit,  aut  lepori  nunc  tendit  retia  Damon , 
Vimina  nunc  texit,^  varios  sibi  quod  sit  in  usus ! 
Et  quae  tum  facili  sperabam  mente  futura 
Arripui  voto  levis,  et  praesentia  finxi : 
"  Heus,  bone  !  numquid  agis  ?  nisi  te  quid  forte  retardat, 
Imus  ?  et  arguta  paulum  recubamus  in  umbra, 
Aut  ad  aquas  Colni,  aut  ubi  jugera  Cassibelauni  ?  * 
Tu  mihi  percurres  medicos,  tua  gramina,  succos," 
Helleborumque,  humilesque  crocos,  foliumque  hyacinthi, 
Quasque  haibet  ista  palus  herbas,  artesque  medentum." 
Ah,  pereant  herbae,  pereant  artesque  medentum, 
Gramina,  postquam  ipsi  nil  profecere  magistro  1 
Ipse  etiam,  nam  nescio  quid  mihi  grande  sonabat' 

»  Lucumonis  ab  urhe. 
Liuca,  or  Lucca,  an  ancient  city  of  Tuscany,  was  founded  by  Lucumon,  an  Hetruscan 
king. — T.  Warton. 

•>  Et  Datie,  et  Francinua. 
Carlo  Dati  of  Florence,  with  whom  Milton  corresponded  after  his  return  to  England. 
— T.  Wabton. 

c  Lydorum  sanguinia  ambg. 
Of  the  most  ancient  Tuscan  families.     The  Lydians  brought  u  colony  into  Italy, 
whenca  came  the  Tuscans. — T.  Warton. 

d  Aut  ad  aqtiaa  Colni,  aut  ubi  jugera  Caaaibelauni  T 

The  river  Colne  flows   through   Buckinghamshire   and  Hertfordshire,  in  Milton's 

neighbourhood.     By  "jugera  Cassibelauni,"  we  are  to  understand  Verulam,  or  St. 

Albans,  called  the  town  of  Cassibelan,  an  ancient  British  king.     Milton's  appellations 

are  often  conveyed  by  the  poetry  of  ancient  fable. — T.  Warton.  , 

•  Tu  mihi  percurrea  medicos,  tua  gramina,  succoa, 
Deodate  is  the  shepherd-lad  in  "  Comus,"  ver.  619,  &c. — T.  Warton. 

He  hints  his  design  of  quitting  pastoral,  and  the  lighter  kinds  of  poetry,  to  write  an 
Bpio  poem.  This,  it  appears,  by  what  follows,  was  to  be  on  some  part  of  the  ancient 
British  story. — T.  Warton. 


854  POEMATA. 


Fistula;  ab  undecima  jam  lux  est  altera  nocte, 
^t  turn  forte  novis  admoram  labra  cicutis ; 
Dissiluere  tamen  rupta  compage,  nee  ultra 
Ferre  graves  potuere  sonos :  dubito  quoque  ne  sim 
Turgidulus,  tariien  et  referam ;  vos,  cedite,  silvae. 

Ite  domum  impasti,  domino  jam  non  vacat,  agni. 
Ipse  ego  Dardanias  Rutupina  per  aequora  puppes 
Dicam,  et  Pandrasidos  regnum  vetus  InogenisD, 
Brennumque  Arviragumque  duces,  priscumque  Belinum, 
Et  tandem  Armoricos  Britonum  sub  lege  colonos  ; 
Tum  gravidam  Arturo,  fatali  fraude,  logernen, 
Mendaces  vultus,  assumtaque  Gorlois  arma, 
Merlini  dolus.     0,  mihi  tum  si  vita  supersit, 
Tu  procul  annosa  pendebis,  fistula,  pinu, 
Multum  oblita  mihi ;  aut  patriis  mutata  Camojnis 
Brittonicum  strides ;  quid  enim  ?  omnia  non  licet  uni, 
Non  sperasse  uni  licet  omnia :  mi  satis  ampla 
Merces,  et  mihi  grande  decus,  (sim  ignotus  in  aevum 
Tum  licet,  externo  penitusque  inglorius  orbi) 
Si  me  flava  comas  legat  Usa,  et  potor  Alauni, 
Vorticibusque  frequens  Abra,  et  nemus  omne  Treantse, 
Et  Thamesis  meus  ante  omnes,  et  fusca  metallis 
Tamara,  et  extremis  me  discant  Orcades  undis. 

Ite  domum  impasti,  domino  jam  non  vacat,  agni. 
Haec  tibi  servabam  lenta  sub  cortice  lauri, 
Haec,  et  plura  simul ;  tum  quae  mihi  pocula  Mansus, 
Mansus,  Chalcidicae  non  ultima  gloria  ripse,* 
Bina  dedit,""  mirum  artis  opus,  mirandus  et  ipse, 
Et  circum  gemino  caelaverat  argumento : 
In  medio  rubri  maris  unda,  et  odoriferum  ver, 
Littora  longa  Arabum,  et  sudantes  balsama  silvae : 
Has  inter  phoenix,  divina  avis,  unica  terris, 
Caeruleum  ftilgens  diversicoloribus  alls, 
Auroram  vitreis  surgentem  respicit  undis  : 
Parte  alia  polus  omnipatens,  et  magnus  Olympus  : 
Quis  putet  ?  hie  quoque  Amor,  pictaeque  in  nube  pharetrae, 
Arma  corusca  faces,  et  spicula  tincta  pyropo ; 
Nee  tenues  animas,  pectusque  ignobile  vulgi, 
Hinc  ferit;  at,  circum  flammantia  lumina  torquens, 
Semper  in  erectum  spargit  sua  tela  per  orbes 
Impiger,  et  pronos  nunquam  collimat  ad  ictus  : 
Hinc  mentes  ardere  sacrae,  formaeque  deorum. 

Tu  quoque  in  his,  nee  me  fallit  spes  lubrica,  Damon, 
Tu  quoque  in  his  certe  es;  nam  quo  tua  dulcis  abiret 

s  ManauB,  Chalcidicae  non  ultima  gloria  ripce. 
Manso,  celebrated  in  the  last  poem,  and  a  Neapolitan.   A  people  called  the  Cbalcidici 
are  said  to  have  founded  Naples. — T.  Warton. 

h  Bina  dedit,  Ac. 
Perhaps  a  poetical  description  of  two  real  cups  thus  richly  ornamented,  which  MUton 
received  as  presents  from  Manso  at  Naples ;  or  perhaps  Uiis  is  an  allegorical  descrip- 
tion of  some  of  Manso's  favours. — T.  Wabton;    . 


SILVARUM  LIBER.  855 


Sanctaque  simplicitas,  nam  quo  tua  Candida  virtus  ? 
Nee  te  Lethaeo  fas  quaesivisse  sub  orco, 
Nee  tibi  conveniunt  lacrymae,  nee  flebimus  ultra : 
Ite  procul,  lacrymae;  purum  colit  oethera  Damon, 
^thera  purus  habet,  pluvium  pede  reppulit  arcum ; 
Heroumque  animas  inter,  divosque  perennes, 
^thereos  haurit  latices,  et  gaudia  potat 
Ore  saero.     Quin  tu,  coeli  post  jura  recepta, 
Dexter  ades,  placidusque  fave  quicunque  vocaris, 
Seu  tu  noster  eris  Damon,  sive  aequior  audis 
Diodatus;  quo  te  divino  nomine  cuncti 
Coelicolae  norint,  silvisque  vocabere  Damon. 
Quod  tibi  purpureus  pudor,  et  sine  labe  juventus* 
Grata  fuit,  quod  nulla  tori  libata  voluptas ; 
En,  etiam  tibi  virginei  servantur  honores.' 
Ipse,  caput  nitidum  cinetus  rutilante  corona, 
Loetaque  frondentis  gestans  umbracula  palmge, 
Sternum  perages  imraortales  hyraenasos ; 
Cantus  ubi,  choreisque  furit  lyra  mixta  beatis, 
Festa  Sionaeo  bacchantur  et  orgia  thyrso. 

*  En,  etiam  tibi  virginei  servantur  honores. 

Deodatc  and  Lycidas  were  both  unmarried. — T.  Warton. 

Dr.  Johnson  obsierves,  that  tfiis  poem  is  "written  with  the  common  bnt  childish 
imitation  of  pastoral  life:"  yet  there  are  some  new  and  natural  country  images,  and 
the  common  topics  are  often  recommended  by  a  novelty  of  elegant  expression.  The 
pastoral  form  is  a  fault  of  the  poet's  times.  It  contains  also  some  passages  which 
wander  far  beyond  the  bounds  of  bucolic  sone,  and  are  in  his  own  orginal  style  of 
the  more  sublime  poetry.  Milton  cannot  be  a  shepherd  lon^ :  his  own  native  powers 
often  break  forth,  and  cannot  bear  the  assumed  disguise. — T.  Wabton. 


856 


POEMA.TA. 


Jan.  28, 164«. 

A.D  JOAIfNEM  ROUSIUM,  OXONIENSIS  ACADEMLS  BIBLIOTIIECARIUM 

De  libro  Poematum  aniisso,  quem  ille  sibi  denuo  mitti  i^ostulabat,  ut  cum  aliis 
nostris  in  Bibliotheca  publica  reponeret,  Ode. 

Ode  tribus  constat  Strophis,  totidemque  Antistrophis,  una  demnni  Epodo  clausis ; 
quas,  tametsi  omnes  nee  versuum  numero,  nee  certis  ubique  colis  exocte  respun- 
deant,  ita  tamen  secuimus,  commode  legend!  potius,  quam  ad  antiques  conci- 
nendi  modes  rationem  spectantes.  Alioquin  hoe  genus  rectius  fortasse  dici 
monostrophicum  debuerat.  Metra  partim  sunt  xard  axiaiv,  partim  diroXtXv^'v. 
Phaleucia  quae  sunt,  spondaeum  tertio  loco  bis  admittunt,  qucd  iaem  in  secundo 
loco  Catullus  ad  libitum  fecit 

Gemelle  cultu  simplici  gaudens  liber,  Steophe  i. 

Fronde  licet  gemina,* 
Munditieque  nitens  non  operosa; 
',  Quem  manus  attulit 

Juvenilis  olim, 

Sedula  tamen  baud  nimii  poeta9 ; 
Dum  vagus  Ausonias  nunc  per  umbras, 
Nunc  Britaunica  per  vireta  lusit, 
Insons  populi,'  barbitoque  devius 
Indulsit  patrio,  mox  itidem  pectine  Daunio"- 
Longinquum  intonuit  melos 
Vicinis,  et  bumum  vix  tetigit  pede  : 
.  Quis  te,  parve  liber,  quis  te  fratribus  Antisteophb  1. 

Subduxit  reliquis  dolo  ? 
Cum  tu  missus  ab  urbej 
Docto  jugiter  obsecrante  amico, 
Illustre  tendebas  iter 
Thamesis  ad  incunabula^ 
Caerulei  patris, 
Fontes  ubi  limpidi 
Aonidum,  thyasusque  sacer, 
Orbi  notus  per  immensos 

i  John  Rouse,  or  Russe,  master  of  arts,  fellow  of  Oriel  college,  Oxford,  was  elected 
chief  librarian  of  the  Bodleian,  May  9, 1620.  He  died  in  April,  1652,  and  was  buried 
in  the  chapel  of  his  college.  He  lived  on  terms  of  the  most  intimate  friendship  with 
&.  J.  Vossius ;  by  whom  he  was  highly  valued  and  respected  for  his  learning  and 
activity  in  promoting  literary  undertakings.  Not  only  on  account  of  his  friendship 
with  Milton,  which  appears  to  have  subsisted  in  1637,  but  because  he  retained  his 
librarianship  and  fellowship  during  part  of  Cromwell's  usurpation,  we  may  suppose 
Rouse  to  have  been  puritanically  inclined. — T.  AVarton. 

Wood  informs  us,  that  Fairfax,  Cromwell,  Ac,  having  been  admitted  to  the  degree 
of  doctor  of  civil  law,  went,  after  the  ceremony,  to  the  Bodleian  library,  where  they 
were  received  with  a  speech  by  the  keeper  Rouse,  who  prevented  th«  plundering  of 
Bodloy's  chest.     He  bequeathed  twenty  pounds  to  the  library. — Todd. 

k  Fronde  licet  gemina,  Ac. 
By  "Fronde  gemina,"  we  are  to  understand,  metaphorically,  the  "twofold  leaf,"  the 
poems  both  English  and  Latin,  of  which  the  volume  consisted.     So  the  Bodleian  manu- 
script, and  printed  copies :  but  fronte  is  perhaps  a  better  reading. — T.  Warton. 

I  Iruona  populi. 
Guiltless  as  yet  of  engaging  in  the  popular  disputes  of  these  turbulent  times. — ^T. 
Warton. 

o>  Mox  itidem  pectine  Daunio. 
His  Italian  Sonneta. — T.  Warton.  > 


SILYARUM  LIBER.  857 


Temporum  lapsus  redeunte  coelo, 

Celeberque  futurus  in  aevum  ? 

Modo  quis  deus,  aut  editus  deo,  Stkophe  2. 

Pristinam  gentus  miseratus  indolem, 

(Si  satis  noxas  luimus  priores, 

Mollique  luxu  degener  otium) 

Tollat  nefandos  civium  tumultus,' 

Almaque  revocet  studia  sanctus, 

Et  relegatas  sine  sede  Musas 

Jam  poene  totis  finibus  Angligenumj 

Immundasque  volucres, 

Unguibus  imminentes, 

Figat  ApoUinea  pharetra, 

Phineamque  abigat  pestem  procul  amne  Pegaseo  ? 

Quin  tu   libelle,  nuntii  licet  mala  Antistrophe  2. 

xide,  vel  oscitantia, 

Semel  erraveris  agmine  fratrum, 

Seu  quis  te  teneat  specus, 

Seu  qua  te  latebra,  forsan  unde  vili 

Callo  tereris  institoris  insulsi, 

Laetare  felix  :  en,  iterum  tibi 

Spes  nova  fulget,  posse  profundam 

Fugere  Lethen,  vehique  superam 

In  Jovis  aulam,  remige  penna : 

Nam  te  Roiisius  sui  Stkophe  3. 

Optat  peculi,  numeroque  justo 

Sibi  pollicitum  queritur  abesse ; 

Rogatque  venias  ille,  cujus  inclyta 

Sunt  data  virum  monumenta  curae : 

Teque  adytis  etiam  sacns 

Voluit  reponi,  quibus  et  ipse  praesidet, 

-(Eternorum  operum  custos  fidelis ;  i 

Quasstorque  gazae  nobilioris, 

Quam  cui  praefuit  Ion," 

Clams  Erectheides, 

Opulenta  dei  per  tempia  parentis; 

Fulvosque  tripodas,  donaque  Delphica; 

Ion,  Actaea  genitus  Creusa. 

Ergo,  tu  visere  lucos  Antistrophe  3. 

Musarum  ibis  amoenos; 

Diamque  Phoebi  rursus  ibis  in  domum, 

n  Tollat  nefandoa  civium  tumultm,  <fec. 
1  fear  Milton  is  hero  complaining  of  evils  which  his  own  principles  contributed  either 
to  produce  or  promote  ;  but  his  illustrations  are  so  beautiful,  that  we  forget  his  politics  in 
his  poetry.  In  reflecting,  however,  on  those  evils,  I  cannot  entirely  impute  their  origin 
to  a  growing  spirit  of  popular  faction :  if  there  was  anarchy  on  one  part,  there  was 
tyranny  on  the  other :  the  dispute  was  a  conflict  "  between  governors,  who  ruled  by 
will,  not  by  law;  and  subjects,  who  would  not  suffer  the  law  itself  to  control  their 
actions."    Balgu/s  Sermons,  p.  65. — T.  Warton. 

0  Quam  cui  prcefuit  Ion,  Ac. 
Ion,  the  treasurer  of  the  Delphic  temple,  abounding  in  ricbea. — T.  Wabton. 
108 


858  POEMATA. 


Oxonia  quam  valle  colit, 

Delo  posthabita, 

Bifidoque  Parnassi  jugo : 

Ibis  honestus, 

Postquam  egregiam  tu  quoque  sortem 

Nactus  abis,  dextri  prece  soUicitatus  amici. 

Illic  legeris  inter  alta  nomina 

Auctorum,  Graise  simul  et  LatinsB 

Antiqua  gentis  lumina,  et  verum  decus. 

Vos  tandem,  baud  vacui  mei  labores.  Epodos. 

Quicquid  boc  sterile  fudit  ingenium, 

Jam  sero  placidam  sperare  jubeo 

Perfunctam  invidia  requiem,  sedesque  beatas, 

Quas  bonus  Hermes, 

Et  tutela  dabit  solers  Roiisi ; 

Quo  neque  lingua  procax  vulgi  penetrabit,  atque  longe 

Turba  legentum  prava  facesset : 

At  ultimi  nepotes, 

Et  cordatior  setas, 

Judicia  rebus  sequiora  forsitan 

Adhibebit,  integro  sina. 

Turn,  livore  sepulto, 

Si  quid  meremur  sana  posteritas  scies, 

Rousio  favente. 


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